Page 24

The garden darkens around me as the sun slips lower, the heavy scent of roses turning sickly in the cooling air. The mansion looms behind me, vast and silent, a cage made of marble and gold.

I push myself up from the bench, legs shaky beneath me, the weight of everything threatening to pull me back down. The mansion looms ahead, all cold stone and shuttered windows, but I force my feet forward.

I have to go inside. I have to find a way to call my father. I have to—

A rough hand clamps over my mouth.

I barely have time to gasp before I’m yanked backward, a hard arm locking around my waist, dragging me into the thicket of hedges near the back entrance.

Thorns scratch at my arms as I’m hauled deeper into the shadows, away from the safety of the paths, away from the light spilling from the windows.

Panic claws at me.

I thrash, kicking wildly, but whoever has me is too strong. I can’t scream—the hand over my mouth is too tight, muffling every sound into useless whimpers.

“Don’t fight, Alina,” a low voice hisses in my ear. “Your father sent me. I’m here to get you out.”

The words freeze me solid. I know that voice.

Jackson Waters.

Slick, smiling Jackson. The man who’d cornered me at the party with a drink and an easy grin, the one Andrei had driven away with nothing more than a look.

My pulse hammers harder, almost painful against my ribs. I don’t know whether it’s fear or hope that grips me tighter.

Is he telling the truth?

Jackson eases his grip slightly—enough for me to breathe, enough for me to stumble along as he drags me sideways through the dark garden, keeping close to the crumbling outer wall. His body shields mine from view, moving low and fast, always keeping us away from the pools of light.

“Listen to me,” he mutters urgently, keeping one hand tight around my wrist. “You’re not safe here. He’s not who you think he is.”

The words are like acid in my ears.

He’s not who you think he is.

Neither is my father. Neither is anyone.

I stumble over a tree root, and he tightens his grip, steadying me with a curse under his breath. His urgency feels real. Desperate.

So had Yelena’s grief.

My mind whirls in helpless, frantic circles.

Jackson’s hand is sweaty against my skin. His breath is hot against my temple. We’re nearing the side gate now—the one servants use, hidden from view, nearly swallowed by ivy.

I hesitate. Everything inside me screams that this is wrong. That this is a different kind of trap.

Except, part of me wants to believe him.

Wants to believe that my father, whatever his sins, is still trying to save me.

That he’s reaching across the ocean of betrayal and blood and lies to pull me back to him.

That there’s still something left of the man who held my hand when I was small, who spun bedtime stories from thin air and called me his whole world.

Doubt gnaws at me. Sharp. Ruthless.

If he lied about who he was—if he lied about Maxim’s murder—what else has he lied about?

The version of him I knew, the man I defended so fiercely, could never have pulled a trigger on another human being. Could never have taken a life for a paycheck. Could never have drowned in blood money and still kissed me good night like nothing was wrong.

Now this man, Jackson, claims to be his messenger. His rescuer.

My mind twists itself in knots, tangled between the past and the brutal, ugly present.

Andrei is a monster; there’s no pretending otherwise. He’s violent, controlling, ruthless to the bone.

At least he never hid it. From the moment he took me, he made no secret of what he was. He didn’t dress it up with promises or smiles. He didn’t pretend to be anything other than sharp teeth and iron fists.

My father wore a mask, and I loved that mask my whole life.

I stumble slightly, dragged over the uneven stones. Jackson tugs me forward again, urging me toward the gate faster now, his fingers tight and bruising around my wrist.

Too desperate.

Too insistent.

Something twists hard in my gut—a low, sick warning that cuts through the fog of confusion and grief.

This is wrong. Something doesn’t add up.

I slow my steps, digging my heels subtly into the ground, resisting without making it obvious. Jackson yanks harder, muttering curses under his breath.

I swallow hard, my voice barely steady, barely there.

“Where are you taking me?”

The question falls into the heavy night air, brittle and trembling.

For a heartbeat, Jackson doesn’t answer. Just one split second of silence.

It’s enough to hear the lie forming behind his teeth.

He covers it fast, voice light, too light. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere Andrei can’t find you.”

Safe.

A meaningless word. A word that doesn’t match the bruising grip he has on me, the frantic way he keeps glancing over his shoulder, the subtle panic radiating off him in waves.

I may not trust Andrei, but I trust this even less.

My mind flashes with Yelena’s face, with Andrei’s cold fury when Jackson approached me at the party. He knew. He knew Jackson was dangerous. Maybe not why. Maybe not exactly how. He knew.

I dig my heels in harder this time, yanking my arm back with all the strength I can muster.

Jackson curses louder, trying to drag me forward, but my feet skid across the stones, resisting.

“Let me go,” I whisper.

He doesn’t. His grip tightens, and that tells me everything I need to know.