We reached the mansion in no time. The sun was already set replaced by the traitorous moon hanging arrogantly in the damn sky. I stepped out of the car and the faint crunch of stones under my boots pulled me in the present, though my mind churned with thoughts I could not quiet.
The ride home had been comfortable, but my head had been anything but.
Judas’s gentleness, the strange softness in his gaze-it clashed violently with the memories of what he’d done to me. Why did he haunt me like this? Why did I care about the darks in his eyes when I should only see the blood on his hands?
I tightened my grip on the cardigan.
What did I know about him, really? Nothing. Just the scraps he let me saw. A smirk here, a touch there. But what lay beneath? What monsters crawled in the depths of his soul?
The thought made me shudder. What did he bury under all that arrogance? Guilt? Regret? Love? Hate? Maybe it was all the same to someone like him.
We entered, and the faint smell of lemon polish and herbs wafted out. Inside, the house felt warmer than usual, alive. It was Rara.
“You’re back on time,” she called from the dining room, her voice as cheerful as the sound of bells. “I just made risotto. Ralph’s been pestering me for days to cook it.”
I smiled, grateful for her presence, her simplicity. Taking the cloth from her hands, I began wiping down the plates she’d been setting on the table. She ruffled my hair affectionately, and I blushed, feeling oddly childlike in her warmth.
Krystina set a shopping bag on one of the chairs, walked over to her mother, and wrapped her arms around her. “I missed you.”
Rara turned, cupping her daughter’s face as if she were a little girl again. “You’ve been out all day. Did you have fun?”
Krystina nodded. “We did. It was nice to get out for a bit.”
They moved around the table, chatting about the day while I stood by, half-listening. My thoughts drifted again, unbidden this time.
Why did she tell me all of that earlier? About Judas, about Zayne? What did she want me to do with that knowledge?
My fingers tightened on the cloth, and I blinked rapidly. And why did I care? I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be here, pretending that this- my gaze flicked to the golden chandelier -was anything but a cage.
The sound of heels clicking on the tiled floor jolted me back. I turned, and there stood Anya.
She wore a bold, wine-red dress that hugged her curves unapologetically. The slit on the side reached scandalously high, revealing long legs that seemed to go on forever. The neckline plunged low, teasing without surrendering, and the sleeves hung off her shoulders, giving her the appearance of a queen who knew she was being watched-and thrived on it.
“Don’t look so shocked, darling,” Anya drawled, tossing her waves of dark hair over her shoulder. “I felt like being… memorable tonight.”
“Mission accomplished,” I muttered under my breath, but she heard me anyway.
“Careful,” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”
Krystina laughed, shaking her head. “Ignore her, Sera. She lives for the dramatics.”
“Someone has to,” Anya quipped, grabbing a wine glass from the cabinet. “This house would be unbearably dull without me.”
Rara chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t listen to her, girls. She’s a handful, but we love her anyway.”
“Oh, anyway,” Anya mocked, pouring herself a generous amount of wine. “You wound me, Rara.”
I watched Krystina and Anya trade jabs affectionately. It was… nice.
But it made the gnawing ache in my chest sharper. How did they manage to laugh so easily when the world outside feels like it was crumbling? When I felt like breaking down for no reason.
I picked up a plate and began setting it down with more force than necessary. Rara noticed, her gaze softening as she looked at me. “Are you alright, dear?”
I forced a smile. “Just tired.”
Tired wasn’t the word. I was extricating. But how could I explain that when I didn’t even understand it myself?
I returned from the kitchen and the air in the dining room felt heavier, laced with tension I couldn’t quite place. Everyone was already seated. Ralph was cutting into his risotto, his posture relaxed, while Killian and Alexei were locked in a heated argument. Their voices rose and fell like waves crashing against stubborn rocks.
And then there he was-Judas Romanovski.
He stood near the head of the table, speaking rapid Russian into his phone, his voice low and commanding like a quiet storm. The room seemed to bend around him, as it always did. He paced in a slow circle, his dark eyes scanning the room as though he owned it-and everyone in it.
I watched him move, the way his hand raked through his hair in that practiced carelessness. As he ended the call, he rounded the table with deliberate ease, slipping into the chair beside Killian.
I swallowed hard. Should I sit next to him? My eyes darted to the empty chair beside him, and then to the one beside Krystina. I hesitated, my thoughts colliding like shards of glass.
What was I even expecting? My chest tightened. So what if he was gentle with me before? So what if he said those… words? Did they mean anything? Did I?
Judas always said I was just a pawn. A means to an end. A temporary piece on his endless chessboard of power and ambition. So why was I still here? Why did I even care?
“Sera.” Krystina’s voice broke through the noise in my head. “Sit. The food’s getting cold.”
I froze. Sit? For how long? How much longer could I keep pretending? The plates, the food, the luxury-it all felt like a cruel joke. How long could I eat these lavish meals and wear these clothes, pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t?
“Sera?” she said again more concerned.
I looked at her, but I couldn’t hold her gaze. I couldn’t hold anyone’s gaze. I didn’t belong here. I never did. My pulse quickened and my throat tightened. The walls of the room seemed to close in.
“I-I’m not hungry,” I muttered.
Rara’s concerned expression flickered in the corner of my vision, but I couldn’t focus.
“Sera,”
“I’m tired,” I blurted, my words tumbling out in a rush. “Please, continue without me.”
I didn’t wait for anyone’s response. I couldn’t bear it. I turned and stormed out, feeling their eyes boring into my back. Was he watching me? Was Judas looking at me? My mind screamed at itself. For God’s sake, shut up, Sera!
I ran. The halls blurred past me, the gilded frames and ornate furniture blending into meaningless shapes. Not our room. I choked on the thought. Our? Since when did it become our?
The memories clawed at me. I was just a girl he wanted to f- I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. He brought me here, used me and would discard me.
I fell to my knees. This life wasn’t mine. The truth hit me like a whip. I should be in Russia, studying, working, paying off the loans. Helping my mother.
Tears blurred my vision as I pressed my palms to the cold marble floor. Not here. Not in this gilded prison, playing dress-up in someone else’s nightmare.
I gasped, my chest heaving as I clawed for air that wouldn’t come. “Breathe, Sera. Just breathe.” But the words were useless.
When we are crushed like grapes, we cannot think of the wine we would become.
But I wasn’t becoming anything. I was breaking, splintering under this life that wasn’t mine.
My sobs broke free. What was I doing?
And what did he want from me?
The tears came harder now. Judas Romanovski. My captor. My tormentor. My savior? I hated the thought as much as I hated myself for letting it cross my mind.
I didn’t belong here.
But it was a lie. Because somewhere in the cracks of my brokenness, I feared I didn’t belong anywhere else, either.