Turns out, it’s both of ours. When she pushes back, her lips are bloodied, her eyes full of tears, and her face is a map of destruction.
“You’ll never keep me, asshole. You made your choice, and I’m making mine.” She grabs me by the shirt and then punches me in the face. “Fuck you!”
And then she pushes off me and runs to the entrance.
My lips pull in a smirk. Does she think she can leave me?
She must’ve underestimated what I really meant by never.
There will never be a day when Sasha is no longer mine.
23
SASHA
I slowly open my eyes, and a strong headache spreads from my temples to my forehead.
A burn explodes in my lower lip, and my body feels like a heavy brick.
I prop myself up on my elbows and groan when nausea assaults my throat. Damn it.
I’m not a drinker, so why the hell did I consume so much alcohol…？
Memories from last night hit me in my already-fried brain.
The party, the engagement, the…way Kirill so easily suggested that it’s normal that he has Kristina and me.
I bit and punched him and was so determined to leave, but then a few steps later, I collapsed outside of his bedroom due to the amount of alcohol I consumed on an empty stomach.
He must’ve carried me here. That’s the only way I would’ve ended up in his bed.
I look down at myself and release a breath when I find my crumpled shirt and even my chest bandages intact.
If I’d let him have his way with me after swearing never to go near him, I’d never forgive myself.
The pain that I didn’t even manage to numb with alcohol resurrects from the ashes, and my bleeding heart nearly bursts from the pressure.
My hand balls into a fist, and I hit the center of my chest, but it’s still hard to breathe or even find a reason to breathe.
I start to get out of bed. I can’t stay here where I’m surrounded by his scent. He’s not mine anymore. He’s Kristina Petrova’s.
He was never yours, idiot.
That reminder brings tears to my eyes, and I stumble out of bed so fast, I fall in a heap of covers.
My knees take the hit and I cry harder. Right then, moments from when he carried me back here last night come to me in small bursts.
I grab the edge of the mattress in horror and recall the epic breakdown I had. I should’ve ended it after I punched him, but when he carried me here and laid me on this very bed, I held on to his neck and begged him to be with me.
Oh, shit.
“What does she have that I don’t? Why can’t you be with me?”
“I chose you over my family, so the least you can do is choose me over her.”
“Is it because I’m not feminine enough? Do you hate that I’m like this? I can abandon that, too. I might get killed, but who cares? You certainly don’t, you fucking asshole!”
“I can’t believe I dedicated my life to you, and you so easily replaced me with some beautiful blonde. I’m a blonde, too, by the way. But I have to hide that or else those people will find me.”
Oh, no.
Shit.
Fuck!
I cradle my head between my hands. I can’t believe I said all of that out loud. I was crying, too, and hugging him. Then I pushed him away and cursed him in all the languages I know—including French. When he tried to lay me down on the bed, I punched him in the chest. He let me do whatever my intoxicated brain thought of.
That’s so damn embarrassing.
I really shouldn’t have been allowed to drink. At all.
Especially when I’m heartbroken.
But then again, that’s the reason I started drinking in the first place. I couldn’t stop replaying the image of that woman, his fiancée, hanging on to his arm, and I needed to make it disappear.
Even if only for a moment.
I didn’t know I would make a fool out of myself in the process.
I rack my brain for what else I could’ve said in that hyper mood. It’s a disaster that I mentioned leaving my family. If I also revealed their identity…
No, I don’t think I did.
There was a lot of crying and cursing, though, which contributed to my epic headache.
I touch my forehead and freeze when I recall Kirill’s lips on it last night before he murmured, “You can hate me all you want, curse, hit, and take all your emotions out on me, but you’re not allowed to leave me.”
I think that was around the time I finally fell asleep.
My gaze filters back to the clock. Eleven a.m.
Fuck.
A small knock sounds on the door, and I freeze. If it’s Kirill, I don’t know how the hell I’m going to deal with him. It’s hard enough that he thinks this whole thing is okay. How can he possibly think that he can have the best of both worlds and I’ll be okay with it?
I secretly took pride in how he never looked at any other woman the way he looked at me. Hell, he’s never even looked at other women, and I was the sole object of his desire.
I was even fascinated by how he couldn’t get enough of me. How he made an effort and made me feel like it wasn’t just about the physical connection.
But then, not only did he get himself another woman, but he’s also going to marry her.
The knock comes again, and I release a breath. It can’t be Kirill. He doesn’t knock.
Anna steps inside, holding a tray, and pauses when she sees my state. I stumble to a standing position and wince when pain explodes in my temples.
She hastily places the tray on the nightstand and sits me back down.
“Don’t force it,” she says in a soft voice. “You okay?”
I nod.
“Kirill said you weren’t doing well and could use some breakfast.” She motions at the tray she bought, which is similar to one she’d make for Kirill.
Anna warmed up to me after she found out I saved him in Russia and again after that cartel shipment incident.
I think I got her seal of approval for having the ability to protect Kirill. And for what?
I dedicated my life to him, but he gave me the middle finger in return.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Nonsense. Look at your malnourished face.” She brings me a bowl of what looks like soup. “Here, have this. It’ll help with the hangover.”
I start to protest but stop when she raises a brow and hikes a hand on her hip, silently saying, ‘I dare you to try.’
Clearing my throat, I grab the bowl and drink it in one go.
Anna doesn’t leave until she gets me to eat a piece of toast with jam and butter and two boiled eggs.
After she’s gone, I take a shower and head to the closet. My heart shatters all over again, and I burst into tears as I put on my clothes.
This part of the closet will belong to his wife now. Everything will. His bed. His body. His last name.
I hit my chest over and over again.
Why the fuck does this hurt so much? No one told me about the pain of having a broken heart.
After the wave subsides, I lift my chin and stare at my face in the mirror. Even though it’s tear-streaked and my eyes are bloodshot. I make a vow to myself that I won’t ever be this weak again.
Never.
And in order to do that, I have to remove myself from Kirill’s immediate surroundings.
A sob fights to break through, but I swallow it down even as a tear clings to my lower lid and then streams down my face.