Page 70 of Split

Roman finally breaks our eye contact, turning to share a glance with his brother. The two of them turn and stride toward the front door of the manor, and I follow behind at a comfortabledistance, keeping the gun clasped tightly in my hands and the barrel pointed at their backs. They open the door and step through, pausing in the foyer to look back at me as I push the door closed behind me with a shoulder.

“Upstairs, to my room,” I direct, keeping it together remarkably well for how stressed I am. Every muscle in my body is tight with tension, my pulse racing like a hummingbird’s.

Roman and Knox ascend the stairs ahead of me, following the split in the staircase to the left and entering the west wing of the manor. My bedroom is the only place in the house I know like the back of my hand, so going there is akin to giving me the home field advantage in a sporting match. I follow them inside, keeping a healthy distance as I skirt around them to put my back to the windows.

“Explain,” I grit out, my arms aching from the effort of keeping the gun pointed on them.

Roman’s eyes flicker to the weapon. “He brought that because he was here to kill you,” he states bluntly.

“What?” I scoff, scrunching my nose as I flinch back disbelievingly. “No.”

“Why else would he have it?”

“I don’t know, for protection?” I spit, my lips twisting in a scowl. “A lot of good it did him.”

“No, Eliza,” Knox cuts in, prompting me to shift my gaze to his identical face. “Your father sent him.”

My heart pounds harder, slamming against my ribcage. “You’re lying.”

“You’re the one who’s been lied to,” Roman murmurs. “Your father sent you here to die, Eliza. And when we didn’t finish the job, he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

“That’s not true!” I rasp, whipping my head back toward Roman, our gazes colliding. “Wesley said he was here to save me.”

“By putting a bullet in your head,” Knox scoffs. “You’re welcome for saving your life, by the way.”

My eyes ping back over to him. “So you could kill me yourself, like your last wife?” I remark bitterly.

His lips turn down in a frown. “I didn’t kill her.”

“You, then?” I question, glancing back over at Roman.

“No,” he replies flatly. “Alina took her own life.”

My eyes bounce between the two of them as a fresh wave of nausea curls in my gut. “So, what, you just replaced her with me so you two could carry on this twisted game of yours?”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” Roman mutters.

“No?” I lower the gun, marching over to my desk and yanking the top drawer open. “Then how do you explainthis?” I shout as I reach inside, brandishing the photograph I pilfered from the east wing. “This isher,isn’t it?”

“No,” Roman answers.

“Then who is it?” I demand, holding up the picture in one hand and the gun in the other as I stomp in his direction. “Why does she look like me?”

His brow creases, head tilting in question. “You don’t recognize your own mother?”

30

ROMAN

“My mother?” Eliza chokes, her lower lip wobbling as tears spring to her eyes.

She’s not in her right mind. Her emotions are changing on a dime, and I can see the warning signs of her impending descent into panic.

This was all too much, too fast. I told Knox we should wait. He didn’t witness the way she fell apart in the study, when I saw the patterns of the past repeating themselves with startling symmetry. Alina succumbed to the same madness that Eliza was able to claw her way out of, but she’s now on a swift descent back in. Her chest is heaving, her delicate body trembling. We need to walk her back from the edge.

“Of course,” I murmur, dipping my chin as I steadily hold her gaze. “You did mention that your father took her photographs down over a decade ago, and sheisquite young there. But yes, Eliza. That’s your mother, Anastasia Sorokin.”

She shudders a broken sob, pulling the picture into her chest and staring down at it in awe, a single tear tracking a wet path down her cheek. “Where did you… how did you…?”

---