Page 123 of Desperate Crimes
Disposable.
To be used.
A Volkov daughter with the right blood, the right pedigree, the right signature on the right document.
Was this all a lie?
Did I really believe in the fairytale?
That he saw me?
That he wanted me?
I turn and walk fast—too fast—down the wide hallway toward the east atrium, needing air, needing space, needing anything other than the ache forming behind my ribs.
My heels click like accusations on the marble floors.
“Leanna!” my mother’s voice calls, followed by the rustle of silk. “Leanna, wait.”
But I can’t.
I keep walking.
She catches up anyway. So do Aunt Destiny and Anna Fury, her expression soft and unsure.
“I—I can’t talk about this, Mom,” I murmur, my voice brittle.
She doesn’t stop. “But Lee-Lee, why didn’t you tell us? I just want to know what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing,” I whisper, hugging myself.
“You married him for love, right?” Mom asks, her voice cracking.
“I love him,” I confess.
Her hand touches my arm, but I can’t meet her eyes. “You didn’t even call me. What about your sister, does she know? Were you two dating? How did this happen?”
The words lodge in my throat like glass.
I can’t tell her.
I just shake my head. An apology on my lips. “I know I didn’t call. I’m sorry.”
Aunt Destiny speaks then, her voice low and velvet and full of all the things I don’t want to hear.
“You’re not alone, sweetie. Not in this. Whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t let it eat you alive.”
I blink back the sting in my eyes.
And then Anna—his mother—steps closer, and there’s something about the way she moves.
Calm. Regal. Knowing.
She’s seen the worst of men. Lived beside it. Loved it anyway.
“Leanna,” she says gently, “my son isn’t perfect. Neither is his father. But I can tell you one thing I know for sure.”
She pauses until I lift my gaze to hers.
