Page 208 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Your father,” I breathe.

I can see the exact moment Matvey shuts down. Whatever he’d been intending to say, it sinks back into his depths, sealed under a mountain of grief.

Good, the vindictive part of me rejoices.Let him feel the pain you felt.

But why doesn’t it feel good? Isn’t this the thing Matvey has been after all along—revenge? Shouldn’t it feel good?

So why do I just want to cry harder?

Without a word, Matvey turns his back on me. As he walks away, every step echoes like the crack of something broken. Something irreparable.

Something even I can’t fix.

I lie awake in bed until morning.

When the doorbell rings, I don’t even think: I gather myself and get the door.

“Matvey.”

He’s wearing the suit I made him. Han blue, like his eyes in the dark.

On the front, folded neatly in his jacket, is the pocket square I gifted him. He looks dreamy. But the bags under his eyes tell a different story: a man trapped in a nightmare.

I don’t get it. This is hiswedding day.He’s marrying the woman he loves—the one he actually wants.

So why does he look so wretched?

“You should be getting married,” I tell him in a rasping monotone.

Truth be told, it’s still early. I didn’t ask for details, but if this is anything like his previous wedding, he isn’t supposed to be at the venue for at least another hour.

The venue.I wonder if they changed it. If they’ll get married in some blooming garden across town, or if they picked the terrace again.Thisterrace. Just one floor above me.

If I stood at the balcony, would I hear it? The music, the march—theirI do’s?

If I just kept the windows open, would the sounds of my world shattering drift inside?

“I have something to discuss with you first.”

“Is this about whatever you were trying to say last night?” I ask.

Matvey’s expression turns bitter. “No. Clearly, I can’t trust you with that information.”

The words cut deep. I think back to my own remarks: the jab about his father. As hurt as I still am, I can’t help but regret it.

“Then what…?”

“I know about the induction.”

I stare up at him. “Since when?”

“Since Dr. Allan called you,” he replies. “You can’t keep secrets from me, April. It won’t work.”

“But you can keep them from me?”

Something flashes across Matvey’s face. Something like pain. “I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” I retort. “Always, Matvey.”

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