Page 64 of Scarlet Secrets

Demyan isn’t the hot man I thought he was. Oh, he’s hot, but he’s capable of deep, dark viciousness. The kind of cruelty I’d never before imagined.

He’s intent on blaming me for this. And he’s right. I never told him. But he was a one-night stand, one I dreamed of, masturbated to, but one I never knew beyond those hours and most of them weren’t spent getting to know each other.

More than that, he was a one-night stand my brother warned me to keep away from, and for the sake of the baby inside me, I did.

He’s acting like I set out to have his child hurt him. To twist the knife and I don’t know what to do with that.

It’s unreasonable, it’s poisoned, and while he doesn’t strike me as volatile, I think he has that in him beneath the layers of ice. Worse, I think he’s capable of all sorts of heinous acts.

Like locking me up and depriving me of my son.

And that’s just me. What about Sasha? I can’t even fathom what he’s going through. I’m all he knows. His little world is me, home, Kara, and my brother when he’s around. He’s used to love and familiar things and…

Not knowing what to do, I get up and pace, then with his stuffed toy in my hand, I go to the window to look out, the futility of the motion not lost as I hope a miracle will happen and I can see the grounds and my son, instead of the drive.

I squeeze his plushy.

He must be missing his toy.

He must be so confused and frightened.

I’ve never been away from him this long.

My legs shake and I sit on the bed, hugging the plush goat with its worn patches from Sasha, loving it so much. Ibreathe in his scent that still clings to it. He must be asking about me, desperate for his mama.

What’s Demyan told him? Dread trickles down my spine. I can’t help but think he’s never going to let me see Sasha again. Maybe he’ll keep me here forever, a fucked-up version of Miss Haversham, but instead of the decaying wedding feast, it’s just the decaying motherhood stolen from me.

I don’t want to think about Dickens.

I don’t want to go morbid.

But I can’t help it because, oh God, what if he tells Sasha I’m dead?

A laugh breaks free, tinged with hysteria. He’s not going to keep me up here for my life in yoga pants like the modern Haversham. No, Demyan will kill me.

Maybe that’s the plan, kill me and raise our son like I never existed and Sasha, at two, will forget me.

Worse, he’ll grow up cruel and twisted like his father.

I want to throw up.

“You’re letting your imagination take control,” I say, burying my face in the goat’s tummy. “He wouldn’t…”

I’d love to think Demyan wouldn’t do something so cruel. Not to his boy. Not even to me. But there’s a part that believes Demyan’s capable of anything.

Like keeping me around and turning me into someone Sasha hates.

He might?—

The door lock beeps and my head snaps up as the door opens.

Demyan’s there, filling the frame, dark hair curling soft on his forehead, handsome despite the flatness of ice in his light-blue eyes. He’s like a demon who wears the skin of an angel and he takes up way too much space. I can feel him, even from here, like a brush against my skin.

His gaze flickers over me. And I recoil at the burn of contempt.

Demyan steps in, closing the door, and he leans against it, hands in his suit pants pockets.

“Your son is fine,” he says, sounding bored. “In case you’re interested.”

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