Page 45 of Scarlet Chains
The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate. I can’t have him touching me. Not now. Not when my defenses are already crumbling, when seeing Slava’s innocent trust has stripped away every wall I’ve built around my heart.
Because the truth is, Osip’s touch still sets me on fire. Even after everything— after learning what he did to my father, after the miscarriage that felt like punishment for loving a monster, after the way I had to sneak out of his house like a thief in the night— his skin against mine still feels like coming home. And I can’t afford to come home. Not to him. Not to this.
He murdered Dad. The words cycle through my mind like a curse, a mantra to keep me strong.He ripped the life from the man who raised me, who sang me lullabies in Russian and taught me to make Borscht and told me bedtime stories about brave princesses who saved themselves.
I keep walking, my shoes making small splashing sounds with each step. The rain is relentless, turning my vision blurry. Whether from the water or the tears, I can’t tell anymore.
“Ilona, why…?”
I stop walking. Turn around slowly, letting the rain wash over my face as I look at him for the first time since we left that little boy behind.
“Why did you—?” he tries again.
“Stop.” I raise a hand, knowing he wants to take me to places I’m not prepared to go right now. “Promise you’ll be there for him,” I say instead.
Osip stands about ten feet away, his white dress shirt already transparent from the rain. The fabric clings to hischest, outlining the muscles and scars I used to trace with my fingertips in the dark. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead, making the sharp angles of his face even more pronounced.
But it’s his expression that stops my breath. He looks… defeated. Broken in a way I’ve never seen before. This is a man of power, who built a life of careful control and measured responses. I’ve seen him frustrated, seen him worried sick when I lost the baby, seen him coldly furious when someone threatened his business. But I’ve never seen him look lost.
Good, I think viciously.
Let him hurt.
Let him know what it feels like to lose something precious.
“Of course. Of course I’ll be—”
“I saidpromiseit!” My voice cuts through the rain like a blade. I take a step closer, close enough to see the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. Even soaked and vulnerable, he’s still imposing. Still dangerous in ways I’m only beginning to understand.
But right now, he’s also just a man who’s about to lose a child he clearly loves. And despite everything— despite the hatred burning in my chest, despite the betrayal— I need to hear him say it.
“I don’t know why you were not there for him.” Each word comes out roughly. “And maybe I don’t have to know. But promise me you will never betray him again.”
The way you betrayed me, I don’t say.The way you let me think we had a future while you carried the weight of my father’s murder like a secret between us.
He opens his mouth, and I see the exact moment he starts to reach for me. His hand lifts slightly, fingers spreading like he wants to cup my face the way he used to when he was trying to make me understand something important.
I step back immediately, shaking my head. The movement sends water droplets flying from my hair.
His hand falls to his side. “I promise. Of course I promise. He’s my son. There are a lot of things you don’t understa—”
“Good.” I cut him off again. I don’t want to hear his explanations. Don’t want to know what justified keeping me in the dark about who he really was while I fell deeper in love with an illusion. Some things can’t be explained away, no matter how silver his tongue is.
He probably doesn’t even know that I know, I realize with bitter clarity. He has no idea why I really left. He thinks it was the miscarriage, the loss of our perfect little family fantasy.
Should I tell him?
The question swirls in my head for a moment before I crush it.
Right. Confront a cold-blooded killer about the blood on his hands.
My father’s blood.
Maybe I’ll be next. Although, somehow I don’t think that would happen. Still, the knowledge I carry is damning enough. Enough to walk away again. To keep secrets of my own this time.
“Be there for him. Be a good father. Goodbye, Osip.”
I turn to walk away, but his voice stops me.
