Page 73 of Cashmere Ruin

“… Why?” she murmurs back.

“Because I say so.”

“But—”

“Now, April.”

Slowly, something emerges from the covers. Like a broken butterfly from a cocoon, April comes to stand in front of me: unsteady legs, smeared makeup, puffy eyes a thousand shades of red. “Happy now?”

“Happy” is a universe away: I’m beside myself with fury. “Tell me who did this to you.”

She rolls her eyes. “What does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Yeah, right.”

I cross the distance between us in one long stride. “Tell me who’s responsible for this, or I swear to God I’ll find out myself. And then you won’t get a say in what happens to them.”

The threat at least is effective. Without a word, April snatches something from the bedside table and shoves it in my hands. “Here.”

Then she drops back down on the bed.

Frowning, I unfold the crumpled piece of paper. It’s almost too dark to see, and the pretentious cursive in which it’s written doesn’t make it any easier, but in the end, I manage to make out the words.

You are hereby invited for afternoon tea at the Flowers Mansion,

13 West 10th Street. Time and details on the back.

“This…” I stare at the letter in my hands.The Flowers Mansion.That must be…

“Dominic sent it,” April explains. “Around a week ago. He wanted to see the baby.”

A week.She’s been holding on to this for a week, without breathing a single word to me about it. Another fucking lie for the pile. “And youbroughther?!”

Anger bubbles back up into my throat, ready to be shouted: how dare she take my child anywhere without my permission again? What was she thinking? Why?

But then I see her.

I’ve never witnessed anything like this: April Flowers, drained of all life. Her hazel eyes find mine, exhausted, and she rasps, “He was my father. What choice did I have?”

Hewasmy father.“Was”—past tense. Either something happened to the old bastard, or he did something himself.

Something that made even April cut him off for good.

And suddenly, it’s like I’ve got a knife lodged between my ribs, cutting deeper and deeper with every breath. It’s all I canthink about: April and the baby, defenseless in a den of wolves, without a single soul to protect them. Withoutme.

“You went alone?”

“Grisha drove me.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Then use your words, Matvey, because I’m too tired for games.”

“You want my words?” I snap. “I’ll use my words then: what the fuckwere you thinking?”

“I was thinking I was going to see my father!” she yells back. “That he wanted to meet his granddaughter, not that he’d try to buy her off of me!”

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