Page 34 of Darkest Craving

VICTORIA

L ove is patience. Love is denial. Love is suffering.

Love is staying when you’re not wanted. It’s plucking out your heart and leaving it out on a tray for the one who owns it.

It’s knowing you might never get it back, or worse, that he’ll never even want to touch it.

Never smear his hands with your pain again.

Love… is giving everything you are and not expecting anything in return.

If you’re lucky, it’s reciprocated. If you’re not, you die.

It’s where I am now. Living through a slow, painful death.

It’s three in the morning, and I’m in front of Wolf’s bedroom door, waiting on the hard floor.

I lean my head against the wood behind me, hearing nothing from the other side. Either he’s in there and he’s ignoring me… or he hasn’t come home at all. Regardless, I’ll be here when he shows up. I need to talk to him. Even if he has completely shut me off.

The letter is clutched in my hand. Two pages–not enough to say everything I need to, but long enough to get my foot in the door. If only I can get him to listen… to let me tell him how sorry I am…

I don’t deserve his attention, I know that.

I took away the most important thing in the world for him, and all he did was love me, protect me—even when I didn’t even know he was.

It’s selfish, perhaps, my persistence. But I can’t just…

go on with my life. There is no life after Wolfgang. I don’t want it. Never again.

The sound of steps makes my pulse quicken. It’s quiet, muffled, and I would’ve missed it had I not been prickling my ears for a sign of any kind.

“Wolf?” I say, my voice breaking through the silence of the night. “I know you’re in there. I know you locked your door to keep me out.”

I get to my knees, sniffing as I stretch out the folded paper. It makes a shuffling noise in my trembling hands. “And I know you don’t want to see me right now… I—I understand. So I wrote you this,” I say, sliding the letter under the door and pushing it inside.

I put my palm against the door. “You don’t have to talk to me at all. Just please… read it? Please. I’m begging you.”

I wait in silence for his response, so fucking sick of only hearing my own voice. I need him to say something, even if it’s just telling me to leave him alone. I just…

Minutes pass, and eventually, I rest my head back against the door, curling up with my knees at my chest. My head dips every now and then, exhaustion gnawing at me. But I force myself to stay awake. What if he changes his mind? What if he chooses to come out and talk to me? I can’t miss that.

But my traitorous fucking body does it anyway. Because the moment I open my eyes again, I’m not seeing the hallway. I’m seeing my window, the curtains drawn back the same way as I left them yesterday, the sun shining into my eyes.

A long, pained sigh leaves my chest.

How did I even end up back in my room?

As I get up on my elbows, the answer rings in my head, breaking my heart into even smaller pieces. Just like the pieces of the letter I wrote last night. They’re scattered everywhere. On my body, on the bed, on the floor… my words now float into a space where no one’s ever going to hear them.

He got my message. Carried me to my bed, tore up the letter, and left.

“Because you might remain my wife on paper. But you and I? We’re done.”

He took care of me, but only because he takes care of things that belong to him. He told me this over and over. My heart yearns to read more into this gesture than what it really is–an obligation. Something he forced himself to do because the law binds us. Because we share a last name.

I hate it.

And yet… he touched me, carried me. I wish I’d been awake to feel him on my skin.

Getting up, I push the remains of my letter off my chest. Sadness washes over me, and I reach for my new phone on the nightstand.

I dial Sasha’s number and wait… And wait.

Pick up. Please, pick up.

“Hello?” he says, his voice bringing tears to my eyes instead of making me feel better. Now… I’ll have to confess to my mentor as well.

“Hi, Sasha.”

“Victoria… ? Where are you? Are you hurt?”

I nod, even if he can’t see it. I’m hurt. Just not in the way he’s asking me.

Letting out a shaky breath, I say, “I messed up, Sasha. I ruined everything.” I bring my hand to my mouth, sobbing into it.

“Hey, hey,” he coos. “It’s alright. It’s okay. Tell me what hurts.”

“Everything. I… I… We got it wrong. Wolfgang never harmed Anya and my mom. He lied to everybody.”

Silence hangs between us.

My chest heaves, and I curl into myself with the phone at my ear, trying to calm down.

“Whatever you did, you couldn’t have known…”

“Do not pamper me! You’ve never lied to me, so don’t you dare start now.” I grip my phone tighter. “I ruined him. And he won’t talk to me, won’t even look at me. Sasha… I need you to tell me what to do. I need…”

“Where are they, then? If he didn’t sell them, where did he take them? Are you absolutely sure this is true?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. I believe him. He sent them off to Russia.”

Sasha lets out a sigh. “After he called me to get you that horse, I should’ve known…”

“Know what?”

“That he loves you. Of course he came up with some sort of plan, even if he never told you about it. We didn’t see it coming because… well, his reputation precedes him. He’s not exactly known for being a good man.”

I turn on my back, wiping the trails of my tears with the palm of my other hand.

“Maybe he did love me then. But now… trust me, it’s all gone. He wants nothing to do with me.”

“Come on, sweet girl. Surely, I taught you better than this. Didn’t I?”

I sniff, my body slowly coming down from the height of my emotions.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… if a door closes, you kick down the next. And if you can’t do it, then you bring out an axe. And if you don’t have an axe…”

“…then you find stone and wood. And if you can’t find that, then you give up the axe. And bring a machine gun.”

“There you are.”

“I know, Sasha. I know all of this. But there really doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to get him to listen to what I have to say…”

“Yes, there is,” he says patiently. “Find your machine gun, Victoria. Find the one thing he cares about and give that to him. He still loves you. Love doesn’t go away in the blink of an eye. All you need to do is make him remember.”

***

Wolf doesn’t come home the next two nights. I kept waiting in the hallway and he never showed up. And when I asked Corinne, she told me he was, indeed, gone—to New York.

Now, he’s back, right here behind his office door. He’s not alone. I saw him come in with people—men I’ve never seen around the house. I have no idea what their meeting is about, nor do I need to know.

I thought about Sasha’s words a lot since we talked, and I might be wrong, but I figured the best way to show Wolf how sorry I am would be to put myself in the same situation I put him. He was blindsided that day. Humiliated, and at the mercy of the family who never gave him love.

This is me now, doing the same thing to myself. He might still not want to talk to me, but at least he’ll see me, and he’ll know I’m not giving up on us. No matter what it takes.

Heart pounding in my chest, I wrap my hand around the handle and push the door open.

Four big, muscular silhouettes come into view through the small crack it makes.

And in between their heads, my husband appears sitting at his desk, talking to them.

His eyes slide over to me, squinting before resuming his conversation as if I’m no one.

Hurt flashes through me, and I swallow it down, advancing into the room.

“What can I do for you, Victoria?”

My heart pulses faster. He can’t ignore me now.

The other men turn their heads slightly, taking me in, then turning back to Wolf. I hold my husband’s stare, getting closer, closer, closer, until I’m by the desk, and I can feel his energy rolling off him in waves. He’s so imposing, so big. So hurt.

I lower myself to my knees. His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring as he follows my movements. The way I fold my hands in my lap. The way I continue to look at him. The way I sit down on my heels in a room full of men, submitting to him.

“I’m sorry,” I say, hyper aware of everyone watching me. But I don’t care. I don’t care what they think, what they’ll think after they leave. All I care about is that my husband forgives me. “I’m sorry, Wolfgang. Please…” I swallow. “I’m begging you to forgive me.”

“Get up.”

I shake my head.

“Victoria… love of my life…” he mocks. “Get up and leave the room before I do something we’ll both regret.”

“Do it, then! Do whatever you have to do. I need you to—”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to reconvene at a different time, gentlemen. Seems my wife woke up in some kind of mood.”

Some kind of mood… as if we’re not going through something.

As if I’m not literally at his feet, begging for forgiveness.

We’re back to where it all started—to the part where he doesn’t care about me.

Only this time is worse, because all the fascination he may have had about me before is gone. Spent.

When the other men are out of the room, he turns to me. “I thought I made myself clear. We’re done. Why are you still here?”

“Because we’re not done!” I shout, still kneeling as I look up at him.

“We’ll never be. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to.

In the end, Wolf, you’ll have no choice but to forgive me.

Because I love you, and you know it, and I made a mistake—a terrible, terrible mistake that I’ll regret forever… ”

“You’re not going to give up?” he asks.

“No. Never.”

He smiles—that cold, empty smile of his that reminds me of our first encounters—and gets up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he towers above me. I hold my breath, waiting for something—anything. Praying he’ll give me something to hold on to—hope.

“Then I wish you luck, Victoria. Because one thing you should know about me is… once I’ve moved on from something, there’s no turning back.”

And then he leaves me there, breathless, aching, and alone.

I blink, and he’s gone.

I don’t cry, and my shoulders don’t shake this time. I’ve done that enough. Instead, I sit here, on his office floor, feeling empty, numb.

I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to be here, nor there. I feel like a ghost. Like a shell with no life in it. I’ve never experienced this feeling before.

Minutes— maybe hours—pass. My knees hurt, and my stomach growls. And suddenly, out of nowhere, hands wrap around my shoulders. Someone’s kneeling with me. Calling my name.

“What?” I ask, shifting my attention back to the present, to the man in front of me.

“I asked if you were okay,” Mikhail says.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“He can be such an asshole. Come on, let’s get you up.” I let him pull me up, holding on to his forearms. When I’m back standing, I come back to my senses. And I step back, away from him.

“What are you doing? Why are you here, cornering me?”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Cornering you?” I don’t reply. And he sighs. “Look. He’ll come around. You just need to give him some time.”

“Why the hell do you even care? You got what you wanted. I don’t need your pity or your advice. Just… go. Leave me alone.”

I look to the side, but not before I notice a flicker of something traverse his face. Hurt, maybe? No. Why would my words have any effect on him?

“Did I get what I wanted? Or did my mother get what she wanted?”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Wolf told me all about you two trying to steal his position,” I say.

“My brother may be smart, but he’s not omniscient. He can’t know what he never asks about.”

“Meaning?”

He shrugs. “I don’t want this. Never did.”

“Yeah, right.” I snort a laugh. “And you expect me to believe that?”

“You can believe whatever you want. I’m telling you the truth.

My mother dumped her life goals on me the moment I was born.

And for the longest time, I followed her lead, because I didn’t know who I was, or who I wanted to be.

It drove a wedge between me and Wolf, and now it’s probably too late to take it out, but…

yeah. I don’t want to steer this ship. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be as good as him.

We are what we are.” He smiles bitterly.

I don’t know what to say to that. It feels like a confession of sorts, like he needed to hear himself say that for some reason. Maybe to give him peace.

“And to answer your question,” he continues. “I care because I know my mother set you up. And I hate to be the one to say it, but…”

I nod, my shoulders slackening. “I know. You warned me about her…”

He walks to the window, looking out into the distance.

“Do you really think he’ll come around?” I ask.

“I think that when he’s ready to forgive you, he’ll hate himself for all the time you two have lost.”