AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And Mischa waits, reminding me of a child ensuring that the adults are out of earshot before resuming his bullying of those weaker. “Don’t tell me you believe him? He’s a feeble-minded old fool—”
“You knew.” My voice clashes with his, a weak whisper against a shout. Surprisingly, mine wins out. “All this time…and youknew.”
His face blurs as my eyes well over and tears spill down with no hope of suppressing them. Everything he said flashes through my mind. His jealousy. His paranoia.
And Vanya…
His kindness. His gentleness. Didheknow? The answer sits like a stone in the pit of my stomach. No. He didn’t.
“Did you get a sick kick out of it?” I snarl, surprised when he flinches. “Watching him care for me? Holding my life over his head? Did you love teasing me about my mother when all along you knew!”
“And that is why,” Mischa says softly. “Why you shouldn’t believe everything you fucking hear. Don’t entertain your childish little fantasies because the reality isn’t what you want it to be—trust me on that.”
He could be mocking me again. I wish to God he were, but for a rare, stark moment, he’s being honest. I can see it in his face, the hints of pain that only slipped out when he talked about his sister.
“Vanya treats you kindly now, but that’s because you’re a nameless victim. An innocent. But if he knew the truth? Not only would he hate you, but the pity. The disgust. Bitch at me all you want, but trust that I know what it is like to be shunned by your own father. It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” I croak. “You don’t give a damn about me. If I’m his niece, Sergei has a reason to want his throne back, doesn’t he?”
His jaw clenches over an answer, but he doesn’t have to say a damn thing out loud.
“You’re a selfish bastard. God, I hate you—no, I pity you. Now I see why Vanya sticks around. It’s not because he knows you can change—he doesn’t. He’s just waiting for the moment he’ll have to put you down like the mad dog you are!”
I blush at my own vitriol. I’ve never spoken like this to anyone. Not Robert. Not Briar. In a sick, twisted way, it feels so damn good. At the same time…
Mischa’s face reveals nothing but a careful, blank mask—and I’d prefer any other reaction.
Without a word, he turns, leaving the room, his posture relaxed.
But hatred is like a boomerang. I feel the aftereffects strike me long after he’s gone, lancing across my chest in an unexpected manifestation.
Guilt.
