Page 35 of Split

My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I avert my eyes, immediately wishing I could force the words back down my throat now that I hear how crazy they sound.

“In a place like this, it’s easy to let your imagination run wild,” he muses, taking another sip from his glass. “Fear is a construct. If you don’t believe in it, then it can’t have any power over you.”

“Areyoua figment of my imagination?” I scoff bitterly.

He narrows his eyes on me, arching a dark brow. “Are you saying you’re afraid of me?”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

He snorts a wry laugh, raising his tumbler to his lips and finishing off the vodka inside.He doesn’t say no.Pushing up from his seat, he crosses the room to return to the bar cart and pour himself another drink. My resentful stare burns into his back as the clink of glass fills the silence that’s settled between us.

“Are my things ever going to be delivered?” I ask, emboldened by the vodka coursing through my bloodstream. “I gave my list to Clara last week, but I’m still waiting.”

Roman slowly turns to face me, his brow furrowing slightly as if this is news to him. “I’ll have to speak with her about it,” he murmurs.

“You mean she didn’t give it to you?”

“Must’ve slipped her mind.”

I make a scoffing sound in my throat, shifting my weight on the sofa. As I move, my cardigan slips off my left shoulder, falling to my elbow. I instinctively tug it back up to conceal my scars, jaw clenching as I glance back up at Roman.

“You don’t have to cover it,” he mumbles, gaze still fixed on my arm as he leans back against the bar cart and takes a swig of his fresh drink.

“I know,” I grit out. “I’m just used to covering up. My father didn’t like looking at it.” I drop my gaze to my lap, fingers tightening around my glass and eyes glazing over as the hazy memories of that day filter into my consciousness.The heat ofthe fire. My mother’s screams. “He’s not the one who’s had to live with it on his body, though,” I rasp. “He wasn’t in the car when it caught on fire and smashed into a telephone pole.”

“You mean it caught firewhenit hit the pole,” Roman mumbles, correcting me.

I snap my attention back to him, a scowl twisting my lips in response to his patronizing tone.

I should’ve known better than to actually be vulnerable with him.Shame on mefor thinking he possesses a shred of humanity.

“No, the fire was first,” I huff, irritation bubbling up inside me like a rising tempest. “Why do you think she swerved off the road?”

He narrows his eyes on me dubiously as he raises the tumbler to his mouth, finishing off the rest of the vodka inside with a single swallow. Licking the residue from his lips, he turns at the waist to set his glass back down on the bar cart with a soft clink.

“Have a good night,” Roman says in a clipped tone as he pivots toward the doorway, evidently finished with our conversation.

I glare after him angrily, grinding my molars.I should’ve known better than to attempt conversation with him in the first place.

17

“I’ll be back later, boys,” I coo, bending down give to Nox and Vesper each a parting scratch behind their ears.

They wag their tails happily, gazing up at me with their big pink tongues hanging out. They’re probably waiting for an invitation to come inside since it’s starting to drizzle, but Roman’s home today, which means I’m treading carefully. I’m not in the mood to argue withMister Volkov, so they’ll have to retreat to the kennels if they want to stay dry.

Beaming one last smile in their direction, I pivot toward the front door of the manor, the chill in the air biting at my legs through my sheer black tights. I almost objected to the figure-hugging sweater dress Clara picked out for me to wear today, but when I saw the suede ankle boots she paired with it, I folded like a house of cards. I’m a sucker for a cute pair of boots.

Upon entering the manor, I find Clara loitering in the foyer, as if she’s been waiting for me to come back inside.

“Lunch in the parlor again today, Mrs. Volkov?” she asks, even though that’s where I always have it.

“Yes, thank you,” I reply, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

I’m finding it more difficult every day to fake niceties with the frigid housemaid. Not only is she complicit in keeping me captive here, but it’s obvious she doesn’t like me very much. She’s firmly on team Roman.

Clara nods politely, turning on a heel to head for the kitchen. “Your things are on your bed,” she adds as she starts to walk away.

My heart skips a beat.

---