Simon’s face goes blank with rage. “Your father…” he scoffs.
My entire body begins to shake. My legs are no longer capable of holding my weight. I collapse to the floor sobbing, heartbroken, and in pain.
“I want my babies back, Simon. They need me,” I sob, my heart speaking its truth.
In a flash, Simon is with me, scooping me into his arms and carrying me to the sofa. Even after the horrible things I said to him, he is still there without hesitation.
My heart swells with guilt and sorrow as I look up at him, straddling his legs. I cup my hands around his face and kiss him. The kiss tastes of salted tears. His hand slides up my back and cups the back of my head.
In an instant, the anger and hurt switch to blind passion, and we are tearing clothes off each other.
I lie breathless on his chest, wearing his shirt. He is in nothing but his pants.
“I’m so sorry I said those things,” I mutter against his warm skin. “I didn’t mean any of them.”
He sighs. “I know, baby. I know we are both going through so much right now. The hurt comes out in different ways.”
“No,” I say, sitting up and looking down at him. “I mean… I really didn’t mean them, but I said them on purpose.”
He knots his brows, staring at me through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean, Selene?” he asks cautiously as he moves to sit up as well.
I stand up from the sofa and start gathering my clothes and putting them back on. Simon does the same, getting dressed, putting his shirt back on when I hand it to him.
I slip my hand into the pocket of my cardigan and brush my finger over the side of my phone again. “I need some sleep. I think you should get some too,” I sigh, heading out of the living room towards our bedroom. Simon follows quickly behind.
Three days later, I am crouched in a blind spot in a low daisy bush in my father’s garden. I’m counting the seconds for the camera to rotate. Five… six… seven…go!
My legs spring into action, and I run towards the servant’s entrance. I have less than thirty seconds to get that lock open. But it’s something I’ve done before, and I’m confident I can do again.
I shove the tool into the lock and begin working it. Sweat coats my palms, making it hard to move quickly, but within twenty seconds, I hear the click.
Relief washes through me, and I push the door open, ducking inside and pulling it silently closed behind me.
The house is quiet. I take a slow breath, and my lungs fill with a scent that pushes memories into my mind. Memories I would rather not think about—ever. Ignoring the traumatic moments replaying in my thoughts, I move forward, making my way through the house towards his office.
If there is evidence anywhere around here, that’s where it will be.
But when I step into the office, my heart stops. My father is sitting at his desk. His arms are folded across his chest, and he has a smile on his face. There isn’t a flicker of surprise in his expression when he greets me. “Hello,daughter.” He says the word like it’s a dagger to be thrown at me.
“Alek,” I say, standing up a bit straighter, trying to look confident despite the weakness in my knees.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of you breaking into my home?” he asks casually.
I walk into his office and take the seat opposite him, so I am also at his desk. He raises one brow and waits for me to settle.
“I know what you want,” I say finally.
He laughs. My father does not have a welcoming or friendly laugh. He has the kind of laugh that makes your skin crawl.
“DO you know? Well, let’s hear it. What is it that I want?”
“You still want information on the Volkovs. You still want me to spy on them,” I say calmly, letting one corner of my mouth curve into a smile.
“And?” My father asks, as though he’s bored.
“And, I want my children back,” I say with a shrug. “I think it’s time we came to an agreement.”
He cocks his head to the side, studying my face. “I’m listening,” he remarks.
