Page 190 of Cashmere Cruelty

I watch him walk out the door through a veil of stubborn tears. They cling to my eyelashes, but I keep them there. I refuse to let them fall.

I refuse to be vulnerable in front of Matvey Groza ever again.

Only when the door clicks behind his back do I let it happen: I fall. I fall with everything I have. Knees to the floor, tears streaming down my face, dreams shattered around me.

And my heart, somewhere among the wreckage, broken beyond repair.

That’s when the phone rings.

60

MATVEY

When I walk out of the penthouse, I don’t turn. I just put one foot in front of the other and keep going.

I take the elevator. I cross the lobby. Someone from the concierge tries to get my attention, but I ignore them. I make my way out into the streets.

I duck into an alley.

Then I punch the wall with all my might.

“Blyat’!” I curse without restraint. “V rot yebis, pizdets?—”

I let my rage fly out of my mouth and pulse through my fist. The pain is searing, but I welcome it. If I can punch hard enough to break my bones, that’s all I’ll have to feel.

Notthis.

The pain of losing her.

“Come fucking again?” I snarl at the woman in front of me.

“You heard me,” Petra replies in a whisper.

“You know perfectly well that can’t be.”

“Ithasto be.”

My finger twitches on the trigger. “I havenevertouched you, Petra. Nor have I ever wanted to.” I spit those last words with venom. With disgust. For this woman, I can feel nothing else.

“You’re not listening,” Petra babbles.

“And you’re not making any fucking sense!”

“I’m not saying itisyour baby!” she all but screams. “I’m saying that ithasto be!”

The look on her face is crazed. Deranged. At this moment, I can’t sense a single scrap of reason within her.

I almost lower my gun out of pity. She’s lost it. She’s finally lost it.

Then I hear Yuri’s voice behind me.

I punch the wall again. And again, and again, and again. Blood is trickling down my fingers now, but I only clench them harder. “Fuck!”

I hit the wall over and over. Soon, the spot in front of me starts filling with red. In the darkness, it looks black as sin.

“Fuck,” I spit again, gritting my teeth against the pulsing pain. Not the one in my hand—that’s nothing to me.

The one in mychest.

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