Page 152 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Do you?" Olga's lips curl into that dangerous smile again. "Because there are parts even Pyotr's bastard might not know about his own creation." Olga's voice drops lower, more intimate. Like we're sharing secrets. "But you? You've suffered like Polina did. It would be irresponsible of me not to tell you the full truth, one Stravinsky’s wife to another, so you might know exactly what you've married."

My heart pounds against my ribs. Part of me wants to run from whatever horror story she's about to reveal. But another part needs to know.

To understand.

Wordless, I nod.

"Two days after Polina was brought back from death's door, Pyotr told her that he had a surprise for her." Olga's lips twist into a cruel line. "He dragged her from her bed in chains like a dog to this very room where the entire household was forced to wait. And then he brought out her little brother."

My eyes dart to the antique carpet beneath my feet, and my stomach roils in anticipation of what fresh horrors Olga is about to reveal.

"She screamed when she saw him, and begged Pyotr to let the boy go." Her words slice through me. "She promised she wouldn't try it again, promised to be good, promised to let him do whatever he wanted to her."

My hands tremble and I reach slowly for my throat, remembering the way Vadim's fingers felt as they tightened around it.

The way I begged him to hurt me.

"Pyotr didn't, of course. He slit the boy's throat in front of Polina. And then..." Olga's voice turns to ice. "He raped her with her brother's blood still warm on his hands."

I barely make it to a potted plant in the corner before my stomach empties itself. The acid burns as I heave, sending fresh tears down my face. When I finally straighten, trembling, Olga's eyes drill into me with a terrifying intensity.

"I haven't heard screams like that for thirty-six years until yesterday,devushka," she says softly. "And that was proof enough that Pyotr's blood runs hot in the bastard's veins."

I continue to retch until nothing comes up but bitter bile. My throat burns, my eyes stream with tears. Olga doesn't move to help me. She just watches, her silence more devastating than any words could be.

When my stomach finally stops heaving, I slump against the wall, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. The robe has slipped off one shoulder but I can't find the strength to fix it.

The shadows in this room feel alive now, writhing with the ghosts of past horrors. Every surface seems tainted by what happened here.

"I can help you escape." Olga's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Just like I helped Polina. You're not the first girl I've saved from a Stravinsky, and you won't be the last."

"But..." My voice cracks. My heart pounds against my ribs. "Where will I go? What about my family?"

"I will help you forge a new identity, a new life, far away from all of this." Her eyes drift to my neck. "Far away fromhim. This is your chance to start fresh. A chance to be free before Pyotr's darkness can take him."

"You don't understand," I whisper, more to myself than to Olga. "He didn't want to do it."

"It doesn't matter that he didn't want to," Olga replies. "It only matters that he did in the end."

The image of his face haunts me—the anguish in his eyes when I demanded he hurt me, the tears that fell as he tried to resist. And still I pushed him, knowing exactly what buttons to press.

I'm just some woman whose fiancé you killed.

Those words ring in my head now, a testament to my cruelty. I knew mentioning Nathan would hurt him. Iwantedit to hurt him.

You took all my choices away.

Another lie. I made my own choices. I chose to stay after Paris. I chose to help Svoboda. And yesterday...

Yesterday, I chose to make him cross that line.

My stomach churns with fresh nausea as understanding crashes over me. If Vadim becomes like Pyotr, it won't be because of his father's blood running through his veins.

It will be because I pushed him there.

I forced him to embrace the very darkness he's spent his whole life running from. I made him act out his worst fears about himself.

And for what? Because I couldn't handle my own guilt? Because I needed someone else to punish me when I couldn't punish myself?

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