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“The problem,” she says slowly, “is that I love you.”

Bozhe moy!

I stare at her like a dumbass. The words should please me. Instead, they land like a warning shot. “How is that a problem?”

“Because…” She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle. “Because I shouldn’t love you. Not after what you did.”

Blyad.

Could she mean…?

“What exactly do you think I did?” I ask carefully.

She holds my gaze, unflinching now that she’s found her courage. The next words come with terrible clarity.

“Is it true that you ordered my father’s death?”

The champagne glass freezes halfway to my lips. My blood turns to ice in my veins.

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck!

How? How could she know? Who told her?

“Who told you that?” I keep my voice steady, though inside I’m calculating every possibility, every betrayal that could have led to this moment. Someone close to me has talked. Someone will pay.

“Does it matter?” Her eyes are locked with mine, unflinching, demanding truth where I’ve only ever offered shadows. The green of her irises seems darker now, hardened by suspicion. “I want to know if it’s true. Did you have my father killed, Aleksei?”

The pieces suddenly align— her coldness, her withdrawal, her reluctance to let me touch her. Since just before our daughter was born, she’s known. Or suspected.

The truth I’ve hidden. The past I thought I’d buried. It all makes sense now.

The champagne in my hand trembles slightly, the only outward sign of the shock coursing through me. Stella watches, her eyes never leaving my face, searching for confirmation she’s already found in my reaction.

The silence between us stretches, filled with the weight of her accusation and the consequences of my answer.

Whatever I say next will change everything.

Unless it won’t.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aleksei

Blyad.

So she knows.

The champagne turns bitter on my tongue. I set the glass down carefully, buying seconds to think. To calculate.

What am I supposed to tell her? If I lie, I’ll be an even bigger piece of shit than she already thinks I am. Then I already am. Not to mention she wouldn’t believe me. The truth is written all over my face— I can feel it in the way my jaw has locked, in the sudden stillness of my body.

Lying would just push her away more. Maybe permanently.

Pizdets.