Page 138 of Destined for the Devil
Guilt ate away at me when I thought that his death seemed justified. He was an awful man, dark, ruthless, and destructive. Yes, he was also loyal and had the potential to make the right choice, but he pillaged and destroyed instead. He didn’t just make bad decisions—he made everyone’s life hell.
His life was hollow, and no one could regret his death.
Late that evening, I joined Roman on the balcony; the dark city the only witness to our words. "He asked Lena why she did it.” Roman’s voice was low and depleted. “But we all know why. He ruined her life. Just like anyone he came in contact with—he destroyed her as well.” I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, holding ontomytreasure. “Not only did he not love her—he cheated on her. He used her. He disrespected her. And she took it all. Until there was nothing left of her. He poisoned her life."
It was there for the both of us—relief that he was out of our lives.
Roman told me everything—all the betrayal, the lies, and the circus that Sergei orchestrated. Sergei hid so much, the consequences of his deception far-reaching. “He was like a fucking gangrene. Decaying me and my family.”
The story was twisted and dark. I hadn’t realized people could be so fake, so thoroughly rotten. But then I remembered John—another monster in disguise. Sometimes, these monsters would sit across from you at dinner. Sometimes…they’d call themselves family.
Every night after Sergei’s demise, Roman and I spent hours on the couch, at the dining table, and in our bed discussing everything that happened between us and in our lives over the past year.
It was therapeutic for both of us. We talked through the pain, thedevastation, and the regret.
We both wanted to leave it all behind. I wanted our married life to start off on the right foot—on a positive note, and I knew he was determined for that to happen as well.
During our chats, Roman explained who Mia and Kirill were. He looked sheepish while revealing how he linked my life with Mia, both of us oblivious. But I was touched. Even when we were broken up, he still took care of me.
Roman looked nothing like he did when we first met. The anger in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders…it was all gone. He didn't look broken. Besides the tattoos, no one would have guessed the lifestyle he lived. His face was softer now, caring and relaxed.
He looked happy.
Columbia deserved a fucking medal because after I pleaded with the administration and the dean to allow me to postpone my graduation, they conceded. I had already missed so much of the semester that there was no resuscitating the year. So they made an unprecedented exception—again—and allowed me to restart the semester in September, scheduling my graduation for December. As long as I paid the tuition again, of course. Ivy League kindness came with a price tag.
But that meant that Roman and I were free until September to enjoy our honeymoon, untethered and uncommitted. So, we traveled the coast of South America and the Caribbean on his decked-out yacht. We wandered through sleepy towns, swam in crystal-clear waters, and slept under the stars.
It was a dream.
Our last honeymoon stop was in Japan, and the stares we received were for the books. Roman’s height, and especially his tattoos, stopped people in the streets, but we had the best time. The culture shock was jarring, but we ate delicious food, saw breathtaking sights, and met the kindestpeople.
And we made love. Made memories. Made our connection stronger—unbreakable. We weremarried.
From completely different worlds, with wildly different pasts, but…
We were one.
Epilogue
ItwasAugust,ayear and a half after the fiasco in Italy, and Isla was four months pregnant with our first child.
Jesus Christ. I'd never imagined happiness could take up so much space inside me. I didn’t know a man could feel so fulfilled, so deeply rooted in love, so fully surrendered to it. I didn’t know I had it in me—this kind of devotion. This blind, overpowering joy.
Isla’s nausea subsided, but something else had skyrocketed: her sex drive. Jesusfuck, she wanted to have sex all the time—any hour, anyplace—and I gladly participated in it all. Not like we went a day without fucking, but this obliterated anything that happened to us in the past.
We were in New York, getting ready to head to Kirill and Mia's wedding—the event of the century, obviously. Like everything Kirill did, this was over the top and grand. They had something like six or seven hundred guests coming, and the whole event sounded tiring and exhausting.
I wondered whyhewas pushing for this to be as big as it was planned. A few times, Mia mentioned how the wedding seemed like it was too much.
She and Isla became friends, and when we were in New York, we frequently went out for dinner all together. Like a goddamn double date. Fuck, Kirill and I were living under the heels of our women, but neitherhe nor I seemed to want anything else.
I sat on the bed and watched Isla clasp her bra in front of the mirror. Her movements were gentle and slow, but my imagination was moving at a much faster pace.
"Actually, wait! I can't wear a bra with this dress,” she groaned. “Damn it. My boobs are so much bigger now. I can't go like this."
That was only half true. While her breast definitely grew a size—magnificently so—she could absolutely go without a bra. I watched her try the dress on, and it lookedperfect.Just like her. She was stunning and perfect.
She assessed herself in the mirror in the olive green silk that hugged every inch of her body like it was made for her, but her expression was uncertain.
