Page 2 of Corrupt: XXX Vadim 2
“Already?” Ms. Anderson’s bright smile strains at the edges. “Don’t you want to get to know Mr. Vadim and Ms. Tiffany?”
Magda’s blue eyes flash with a hint of emotion that vanishes before I can identify it. “No.” She neatly clasps her tiny hands and marches into the hall. A second later, the front door slams shut, and Ms. Anderson collapses onto the nearest chair with a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry. Magdalene is a wonderful little girl—so brilliant. I mean, you don’t know the half. But I won’t deny that she has proven to be…challenging lately, especially for her current foster family. Two years ago, and things were wonderful, but it’s as if since her illness… Well, she decided to go from a sweet, respectful child into—” She seems to remember her current surroundings and breaks off. Clearing her throat, she shuffles through her briefcase and extracts a handful of documents. “Her placement with her current family ends on Monday,” she explains. “They’ve decided to move back to Michigan after the end of the term, though they did request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. If it’s not too soon, Magda will be ready for placement with you as soon as Tuesday. It is unusual to move so quickly in the process. Still, after the whole teddy bear incident—” she breaks off again and coughs to disguise the action. “Anyway, with the term ending, and Magda’s unique health concerns, it could be a challenge to find a suitable family. Thankfully, I see here that you have passed all of the relevant courses.”
“Health concerns?” I hear myself croak.
“Yes.” Ms. Anderson nods. “She suffers from insulin-dependent diabetes, so she requires a strict dietary regimen and a provider qualified enough to assist with monitoring her sugars regularly. And I’m sure you’re aware of the unfortunate setback last year, so her health is a significant factor in finding the right placement. She is also unusually gifted, as you might have been able to tell. Her intellect can make her interactions with some adults…unnerving. For that reason, she requires a very stimulating education that, coincidentally, one of the schools here in Fair Haven, is able to provide. She even received an anonymous scholarship to cover the costs for the duration of her entire schooling, so you can see why keeping her here would be a priority.”
Vadim says nothing, his gaze distant. Perhaps he’s ruminating over those few key words.Intelligent. Challenging. Unnerving.Or, like me, he’s marveling at the fact that the description of that child could have easily fithim.
“Excuse me,” I blurt, unable to hold back any longer. “Where is her mother? Her birth mother?”
“Her m-mother?” Ms. Anderson blinks and glances at Vadim. “Magdalene was discovered abandoned at the age of five, left right on the steps of an orphanage.” She shakes her head sadly. “We, unfortunately, have no real information on her birth parents. Adoption would be the aim of this placement, as we have already discussed with Mr. Gorgoshev.”
“Of course,” Vadim grates, his gaze averted from me. The wall is back up, and I seethe at that, perhaps irrationally. Maybe it’s selfish to want something more from him now—some shred of emotion to cling to. Regret? Smugness?Something.
“Excuse me.” I turn to the door, moving quickly. “I… I have a horrible headache.”
Only now does a familiar voice call out, “Tiffany...”
I falter despite myself. He has the nerve to sound hoarse. Tortured. I hear his chair move, but I shake my head. “Don’t,” I say firmly as I start for the stairs. “Do not follow me.”
I make my escape into the bedroom, and I don’t stop until I’m barreling into the closet, snatching items from hangers at random. The fact that I own nothing here really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme. I selfishly take handfuls of clothing—both his and mine—and shove whatever I can into one of his briefcases. When the case is stuffed to the brim, I take it and march down the stairs. As I descend the final steps, I catch him ushering Ms. Anderson from the door. The second she’s gone, he closes it, his back to me.
“Tiffany…”
“What?” I throw the briefcase at him, and it lands harmlessly at his feet. He doesn’t even flinch. “Get out of my way.”
“What do you want me to say?” he demands, and I stiffen at his tone. The harsh, bitter cadence is a damn near match for Magda’s. Their anger is as chilling as their hostility, erected like an invisible brick wall against anyone who dares approach them.
Even if that person has their heart laid bare.
“What should you say?” I hiss incredulously. “Maybe that you have a daughter!”
He’s silent, his hand on the doorknob. Despite my anger, a tiny bit of unease bites through, making me falter in my descent. Would he really try to keep me here? Trap me here?
To rebel against that very possibility, I force myself down onto the next step. Then another.
“You have a daughter, and youabandonedher,” I add to twist the knife, parroting the word Ms. Anderson had used. “You put her in foster care? So now what? You yank her back out? Is that what you wanted your fake wife for? A decoy to game the system to regain custody of your own child? Answer me! I swear to God—”
“She doesn’t know I exist.”
My shoulders deflate at the raw pain in his tone, and dizzying confusion displaces some of the anger. “So why…”
“I didn’t know she did either until two years ago,” he explains, turning to face me. His eyes trace the floor rather than meet mine directly. He cradles his temples in the palm of his hands, his jaw clenched. “One day, someone went through great lengths to slip me an envelope that contained only the picture of a five-year-old little girl and her location in an orphanage upstate. I only had to see her face, and I knew. Those eyes…” He shakes his head, clearing away the memory. “There was nothing else—no information on who left her or why. I arranged to have our DNA matched, but the results were no surprise. Afterward, I intervened to have her brought here, where she could receive an education. I secured her safety…”
The raw pain in his voice makes me sway, and I grasp for the banister, gripping it so tightly my knuckles whiten. At the same time, I grit my teeth to keep my expression from faltering. “You learned of her years ago, but you let her go into the foster care system?”
He flinches, leaning against the door as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “I didn’t know what to do. I… I couldn’t take care of her—not then.” He sounds so earnest about that. His tone, paired with Ena’s vague hints of his mental state, makes me wonder just how unstable he had to be at that point.
It doesn’t take rocket science to come up with the answer—so unhinged, he didn’t trust himself around his own child.
“And her mother?” I descend another step but don’t approach him.
He meets my gaze, and I know whatever he’s about to say is anything but a lie. “I can’t explain that right now. You need to trust me on that.”
But I can’t. There’s something in how his eyes shift, darkening in that way he does when his wall is up. When he’s hiding something. When he’s pushing me away.
