Page 61 of Split

“Good morning, Mrs. Volkov,” Clara greets perfunctorily as I force myself to sit up in bed, throwing the covers back to stretch my aching limbs and take stock of the fresh bruises dotting my skin.

“Good morning,” I sigh, sliding out of bed with a wince. It feels like I’m in a haze as I limp over to the breakfast table and snatch up the steaming coffee mug, my thoughts sluggish and disjointed.

My body is sore but clean, my hair still slightly damp. I must’ve showered, but I have no recollection of it, nor do I remember returning to the manor or getting into bed.

Clara heads into my closet while I stare out the window sipping my coffee, hoping the caffeine will jumpstart my brain. For all the things I hate about the manor, I’ll admit that the coffee here is top notch. Not only is it somehow always the ideal temperature, but it’s also rich and smooth, the flavor bold and delicious.

I’ll miss it when I’m gone.

“They’re calling for rain this afternoon,” Clara informs me as she emerges from my closet with a stack of clothes, crossing the room to set them neatly at the foot of my bed.

“I’ll let the dogs in before it starts so they don’t get the floors muddy,” I murmur, watching the two of them from my window as they troll the perimeter of the lawn.

Clara quietly huffs to convey her disapproval, but she doesn’t verbalize it. I think at this point she’s begrudgingly accepted that there’s no point in trying to talk me out of turning the guard dogs into house pets.

The retreating tap of her Mary Jane’s against the floor signals her departure, the door closing with a soft click. My eyes glaze over as I continue staring out the window numbly, draining the rest of the coffee in my mug. Then I return to the table and refill it from the carafe, sitting down and eating every bite of the veggie omelet and breakfast potatoes on my plate, my appetite ravenous since Roman and I never made it to dinner last night. Not to mention the other strenuous…activitieswe engaged in.

Why does the memory of him chasing me through that maze excite me?

It’s far too much to unpack right now, so I don’t. I file it away in a box in my mind, shoving it all the way to the back of my consciousness until it’s no more than a distant notion; a detached afterthought. If I don’t acknowledge it, then it isn’t real.If I keep on ignoring the sinister truths about myself, I can remain in denial about how I’ve become just as depraved as my husband.

Maybe I always have been. I’m not sure whether he’s conditioned this response or if something dark has been lurking inside me all along, just waiting to come out to play. On the surface, I’m all pretty smiles and agreeable nods, but I felt the resentment brewing beneath long before my arrival at themanor, my rage simmering like a rising tempest. The very act of rebellion that led me here was borne of wrath.

Did I even want Wesley, or did I just want to retaliate against my father for years of abuse and neglect?

I knew he’d go ballistic when he caught us. I knew it’d undermine his plan to trade me off to Ilya Belov, a man forty years my senior, as a virgin bride. And I knew he was home that day, right down the hall from my room to hear my moans.

It wasme.Iset off this chain of events.

I sit with the ugly truth of it all for a few minutes as I stare blankly out the window, quietly sipping another cup of coffee. Then I pack it away again, burying the memories so deep in my brain that they cease to exist.I’m the victim, not the catalyst.

When the caffeine finally starts to kick in, I get dressed and throw my hair up in a messy bun, snatching the bag of dog biscuits off the breakfast tray and heading for the door. Vesper and Nox come running as soon as I set foot outside and whistle for them, panting eagerly as I crouch down to reward them with the treats. They devour them and lick the crumbs from my hands, their stubby tails wagging as I scratch underneath their collars and nuzzle into their fur.

“What do you wanna do today, boys?” I ask them as I push up to my feet, glancing around the lawn.

Every day on the estate is the same, the repetition starting to wear on me as they all blur together.Should I count paces? Check if Lev is around the shed? Explore the maze?

Definitely not that last one. I won’t be going anywhere near the hedge maze or cemetery while the memories of last night’s game remain fresh.

I start walking aimlessly across the lawn, Nox trotting off ahead of me and Vesper lagging behind. The garden shed comes into view and I spot Lev tinkering with something on a table beside it, his head down and concentration creasing his brow.Ordinarily, I’d wander over to chat with him, but instead I turn away. I’m not in the mood to fake smiles today.

My apathetic meandering somehow leads me to the gardens, the dogs chasing scents as they roam the paths with me in search of rabbits. The dahlias are dead. Lev clipped the last few blooms after he caught me in the shed, but I haven’t enjoyed looking at them. They’re just a reminder that everyone here is under my husband’s thumb, including me.

I roam the grounds of the estate until the air turns chillier, signaling the impending storm. Not wanting to get caught in it, I coax the dogs back toward the manor and they’re thrilled to be invited in, my twin shadows taking off down the hall as soon as we enter the foyer. I follow them to the back of the house, entering the study to find Roman lurking by the bar cart, pouring himself a drink.

“Little early for that, isn’t it?” I comment as he splashes vodka into a crystal tumbler.

“Not if you drink with me,” he grumbles, reaching for a second glass.

“No thanks,” I scoff, turning up my nose at him as I strut past to join the dogs by the fire. The frigid breeze planted a chill in my bones and being in the same room as my husband isn’t helping matters.

The sound of clinking glass fills the silence as Roman finishes up at the bar cart, his shoes clipping against the marble floor as he crosses the study.

“Here,” he grunts, stepping up beside me and thrusting a tumbler of vodka in my direction.

I turn an irritated glare on him, grinding my molars as my eyes flit between his own and the glass in his hand.

I told him I didn’t want it.

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