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I don’t want him to regret our past or second-guess my feelings for him now. I had always thought I would only ever want Nikolai. Even after all the lies. Even after he tried to murder me—I didn’t think I deserved anything more.
Daniel proved to me that just wasn’t true.
“I love you more than I ever even thought was possible,” I whisper softly.
My lungs fill to the brim and it burns. I jump before Daniel can say another word.
This doesn’t feel so bad.
As I fall, the wind becomes colder, threatening to tear my skin from my bones. I close my eyes against the backdrop of Daniel's agonizing and desperate screams.
This must be what freedom feels like.
CHAPTERONE
One Month Earlier
Helena
“This is your life now, Helena.”
I shouldn’t refer to myself as Helena. It’s not going to be my name anymore. As soon as I can convince myself to step out of this rust bucket of a car, I’m going to become Sofia Petrov. Helena Russev no longer exists. I can’t even say with any honesty that I’m going to miss her. She was a backstabbing bitch who didn’t care who she hurt or what she had to do to get what she wanted.
Someday, I fear I’m going to merge completely with the characters I create for myself. After that, I suppose I won’t remember my true self at all. Hell, maybe that’s already happened. My whole life, I’ve had to change myself to be the woman I was expected to be.
The version of me that was once Helena would be ashamed to meet Sofia. She wouldn’t give her a second glance if they passed each other in the street. Helena was on the verge of marrying Nikolai, a Russian mafia boss. She was constantly miserableand bored. She lived in the lap of luxury, but it was only going to get her so far. She was so easily distracted that nothing felt real after a while.
I can’t pretend like I don’t miss the private jets, Louboutin’s, and couture gowns made specifically for me by the best designers in the world. I just have to get over it,somehow. Looking at me now, you would never know what sort of life I lived only a year ago.
Because now I’m parked out front of Creekview Middle School.
The building has seen better days. I imagine that schools receive little funding in a place like this. Some of the red brick has faded, and there are unmanned metal detector stations outside the front doors. At the very least, my beat-up car fits in. Every other car in the nearly empty lot appears to need a tune-up and a new coat of paint. Students crowd around the building's perimeter, standing in small groups on the dead grass, waiting for the morning bell to ring and let them in.
I can’t remember if I was ever like them. What must it be like to feel so carefree? To spend as much time as you like doing whatever you wanted? Doing homework half-assed and making plans for whatever party or hang-out was planned for the weekend. I suppose it would be like a small kind of bliss.
And it’s exactly the sort of slow life that I’m after now.
I pull down the visor and flip open the small mirror to examine my reflection.
I refuse to cry again.
If I don't get a grip on myself quickly, my under eyes will be permanently swollen. I don't have time to waste by missing a range rover. I can't afford to be late on my first day. I have to make an effort to make a good first impression.
Sighing, I press the pad of my ring finger into the puffy skin of my undereye. At least, my new, shorter hair complements my angular face nicely. I'm still getting used to the honey blonde. I never expected to have to give up my signature black waves, but this is supposed to be a fresh start. New clothes, new hair, new surroundings... new me.
Whether you like it or not, this is your life.
If I keep saying it over and over to myself, it will start to feel real sooner or later.
I’ve kept my makeup neutral, nothing that will make me stick out. For a touch of drama, I’ve allowed myself a pencil skirt that clings to my curves. I got the skirt and a few other pieces for my new business-casual wardrobe from the department store in town—pieces like the flowy, powder-blue shirt that I’ve neatly tucked into the stretchy fabric of my skirt.
The town itself is only slightly more modern than this school, for the most part. The houses are all quaint with white picket fences. I haven’t felt brave enough to scope out the nightlife scene here yet or any of the restaurants. All in good time.
There’s no point in rushing.
I touch up my lip gloss again before I shut the visor and rake my fingers through my hair to push some volume back into it. When my fingers brush over the jagged collection of scars hidden by my hairline, I pause. They serve as a constant reminder of what happened to me and why I'm still here... like a phantom pain that won't go away no matter how hard I try.The doctors tried to tell me how much work it would take to repair my skull after I awoke from my coma... However, I did not want to hear it. I still don't. I want to put it all behind me.
I yank my hands from my hair. With a deep breath to steady myself, I shove the door of my car open with a rusty squeak.
