Page 103 of Beautiful Cruelty

Kuular.The name sounds familiar. And then hits me.

Kirsan Kuular.

Is Sayanaa… Kirsan’s daughter? Suddenly, Irina's words during my dress fitting come rushing back—about how Kirsan and Pyotr were once partners. About how they perfected the awful system that took advantage of the never-ending stream of girls who dreamed of joining the world of fashion.

I try to speak but can't find the words as I digest Olga’s revelation.

His fiancée.Why didn’t Vadim tell me he was engaged to Kirsan’s daughter? Did he think that if I knew, I wouldn’t have agreed to this heist?

But what would he have gained by keeping me in the dark?

And although I don’t want to, my mind keeps circling back to that night at Nathan's office—walking in to find Caroline perched on his desk, her legs wrapped around his waist. The betrayal burns fresh in my chest.

Did he do this so that I wouldn’t think I was the other woman?

Did he think I would say no if I knew?

"It's not too late," Olga says, her voice softening to a silky purr. "Tell me what you're really doing here with Pyotr's bastard, and I can help you get out before you face the consequences of his deceit."

My fingers tighten around the back of the chair, feeling the rich velvet beneath my touch. The offer sounds tempting.

But something about Olga's words leaves me feeling suspicious of her intent.

The way she struck Vadim. Twice. The cruel curl of her lips when as she calls him 'bastard.' The calculated gleam in her eyes as she watches me now, allegedly offering me her help.

No, I decide. I can't trust her.

"I appreciate your concern," I say, straightening my spine. “And thank you for telling me about his fiancée. But I know exactly where I stand with Vadim. And I know what I’m doing.”

"Do you,devushka?"

Those perfectly shaped eyebrows arch and she steps closer, and her perfume becomes almost suffocating as she boxes me in. The rings adorning her fingers catch the light as she reaches for my face.

I step back before she can touch me.

“I won’t change my mind.”

"No?" She lets out a bitter laugh. "Then why are you here?”

I meet her icy stare. "I'm here because I choose to be."

“You misunderstand me. WhyParis?” Her perfectly manicured nail traces the edge of my jaw. "Why the same city where Sayanaa lives? Why not a ceremony in Seattle where your family can attend?"

My heart pounds against my ribs as I process Olga's questions. The real reason we're in Paris sits like a lead weight in my stomach. One wrong word to her and I know she can unravel everything.

So, I hold her gaze steady. "We wanted something intimate."

"Intimate?" She spits the word like poison. "In the Alexander Nevsky cathedral? Nothing about any of this is intimate. You're lying to me. And not very well. What game is he playing that requires such an elaborate charade? That inspires such devotion in you?”

“No game.” I stand a little taller. “You can believe what you want. About me. About him. About this."

"Listen carefully,devushka.” Her fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look at her. "Whatever game Pyotr's bastard is playing, whatever scheme he's wrapped you up in, itwillend with blood on your hands. That's what they do, the Stravinskys. That's whathedoes."

I wrench away from her grip. "You don't know him at all."

"I know him better than you ever will." Her smile turns cruel. "After all, I watched him become exactly what his father needed him to be."

My fists clench at my sides as I stare at this elegant monster of a woman. "Vadim isn't?—"

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