Page 175 of Sinful Games

I grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard, set them on the table, and carefully placed the bagels on top. Then I went to the fridge, grabbed some sodas, and set them beside the plates.

“There we go,” I said with a small smile.

Steven grinned, taking a huge bite of his bagel. “This is exactly what we needed,” he said with his mouth full. “Food is the best medicine.”

After nearly two years of living and working with Steven, I still hadn’t found the courage to tell him the real reason I moved to NYC. He and Nikita think I just needed a fresh start from Russia, but the truth is buried much deeper. Steven knows about my "divorce," but that’s where the story ends.

Valeria had only shared with her cousin that I’d left Alexsei, couldn’t bear to stay in Russia, and needed a swift visa to the States. In our weekly four-hour calls, she always urged me to open up to Steven and Nikita.

“You can trust them, Caia,” she’d say, her voice thick withempathy. “It’s important to talk about Lukyan, to let his memory breathe. If you keep suffocating it in your heart, one day it’ll demand release, and you won’t be able to handle the pain.”

Deep down, I knew she was right. But I couldn’t do it. Fear held me back—fear that Steven’s view of me would change, that he’d pity me or, worse, judge me for abandoning my life and fleeing to New York.

But after finding that box in Alexsei's room, filled with those letters, something in me shifted. His words showed how much strength it took for him to let me go. If he could do that, maybe I could face my own fears and share my truth.

“So, this is your little dungeon,” Steven said, bits of bagel stuck to the corner of his lips. “Fancy setup. Man, I’d kill for an ex like yours. You're living it up in this million-dollar apartment while I’m stuck in a shoebox. Can we swap exes?”

I took a bite of my bagel, savoring the smoked salmon and chive cream cheese. “Yeah, Alexsei is… something else,” I said, a sad smile playing on my lips.

Steven furrowed his brows as we ate, chatting about his upcoming photography gigs and the latest spat with Nikita over their new house in Boston. They’d just bought it a month ago and were renovating, but Nikita hated the royal green Steven picked for the living room.

“I don’t even know why I bother asking for his opinion,” Steven sighed. “His taste is awful—except for relationships, of course,” he added with a wink.

I chuckled. “Well, at least he’s got his priorities straight where it counts.”

After we cleared the table, I motioned for Steven to follow me into the living room, carrying our drinks to the coffee table. We sank into the couch, drinks in hand.

“So…” Steven started, his hand landing on my arm, a playful glint in his eye. “I don’t want to sound like a fashion critic or anything, but you’re rocking the whole ‘hot mess’ look today. You sure you’re okay?”

I laughed softly at his comment, but suddenly, tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over before I could stop them. Steven’s face shifted from playful to concerned.

He gently squeezed my hand. “Hey, it’s okay.”

I wiped my tears away, feeling embarrassed. “Sorry,” I muttered, taking a deep breath.

“Caia, what’s going on? You can talk to me, sweetie.”

“I haven’t been completely honest with you, Steven,” I whispered, barely able to look at him.

Before Steven could react, I stood abruptly. “Wait here a second.”

I padded into the guest room, nerves tightening with each step. My gaze fell on my bag, tossed carelessly beside the bed like it, too, had given up on life. Kneeling, my fingers brushed the fabric, trembling slightly.

I hauled it onto the bed, unzipping it like I was diffusing a bomb. My hand plunged into the mess, fingers scrambling.

Finally, I grabbed my wallet. I fumbled it open, searching until I found the picture. Seeing it again knocked the air out of me. I took a second, bracing myself, before heading back to the living room, the picture tight in my hand.

Steven was still on the couch, his eyes glued to me.

“There,” I whispered, holding out the picture.

Steven took it gently, the air between us thick with silence as he studied it. His brow furrowed as the image sank in—a beautiful spring day, Alexsei, Lukyan, and I looking like a picture-perfect family from some fairytale.

Areallytwisted fairytale.

“You have... a son?” Steven asked.

“Hada son,” I corrected, my voice quieter than I intended.

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