Page 23 of Dark Prince

First, I check the garden, knowing that it’s started to capture her interest. Not finding her there, I move on to the library, a haven for her where she can indulge in quiet moments. But she's not in either of her usual refuges.

Puzzled, I flag down one of the security guards passing by. “Have you seen my wife?” I ask, trying to control my impatience.

The guard nods, his expression neutral. “Mrs. Ivanova went to her personal bedroom upon arriving home about two hours ago, sir. She hasn't come out since,” he informs me.

Wasting no further time, I head straight for her room, my pace quickening with every step. When I reach her door, a sense of foreboding tightens around my chest. I reach out, turning the handle, only to find it locked.

The locked door is an anomaly—a silent message that Maura is seeking solitude or perhaps that something more troubling is at play. Standing there in the dimly lit hallway, the anticipation and excitement that filled me moments before shifts to concern. I knock softly at first, then more insistently when I receive no answer.

“Maura?” I call out. “It's me. Are you in there?”

Although I can sense Maura's presence on the other side of the door, there’s still no response, only heavy silence.

Frustration begins to simmer within me.

“Maura, talk to me,” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.

After a moment that feels like an eternity, she finally responds, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just need some time alone.”

Her words halt my growing frustration, replacing it with concern. “Did something happen? I understand if you need space but shutting me out completely won't help us solve anything,” I try to reason, hoping to bridge the gap her silence has created.

But she's firm in her resolve. “Please, Luk, just... not now.”

As I stand there, my hand on the door handle, the urge to force the issue, to break through the barrier she's put up, is overwhelming. I'm torn between the desire to respect her wishes and the almost primal need to tear down the obstacles between us, to confront whatever has driven her to this.

Rage boils inside me like hot magma. I clench and unclench my fists, the door between us becoming the focus of my anger.

“Maura, open the door.” My voice is even and calm but sharp as the edge of a razor.

Silence.

“Open the door right now.”

More silence.

“Maura. Right. Now.”

Still no answer.

Finally, I can’t take it any longer. I raise my fist and slam it down hard against the thick wood.

“Maura! Open the door—now!”

No response. I slam my fist again and again. The door cracks a bit as pain shoots through my hand and into my wrist.

“You will open this door right now!”

The rage within me is a living thing, a ferocious, primal force I've spent a lifetime learning to control. Just as I'm wrestling with this inner turmoil, a familiar voice cuts through the haze of my anger.

“Luk,” Grigori calls out, his voice grounding me. I look up to see him approaching, an expression of concern etched on his face.

He places a firm hand on my shoulder once he reaches me, a silent signal that it's time to step back and regroup.

“Patience,” he advises.

My heart’s beating hard, the rage still there, that monster I know all too well dwelling within. I turn my attention back to the door, feeling the urge to rip the goddamn thing off its hinges.

“Come, my friend,” he says. “You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

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