Page 59 of Beautiful Cruelty

"She's back in her room," Lenka announces from the doorway.

I nod, expecting her to leave. But her footsteps don't retreat. When I look up, she stands with her hands clasped, watching me with that same expression she wore when I was a boy who'd done something foolish.

“You had no right to mention Pyotr or my mother to her, Lenka Feliksovna.”

"You owe her the truth, Vadim Petrovich. She is to be your bride.”

The crystal tumbler hits my desk harder than intended. "I don't owe her anything."

“No?” Lenka's weathered features harden. "You ask this girl to risk everything—her freedom, her safety, perhaps her very life—for your plan. Yet you give her nothing in return."

"She knows what she needs to know."

"Is that fair to her?"

My jaw clenches, but I don’t answer.

Lenka steps closer, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. "You can trust her with your truth. You can trust her knowing about Polina."

The mention of my mother sends ice through my veins.

"Some truths are better left buried,” I say.

"Are they? Or are you just afraid to face them yourself?"

"You forget your place." My words come out blunt and defensive.

"My place is to tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear."

I set down my glass harder than intended. "I'm doing what needs to be done."

"No. You're doing what's easy. Pushing her away before she can see the full depth of who you are. Before facing your own past.” Her voice softens. "You're not Pyotr, no matter what others have said to you. There is still a part of Polina inside of you. As long as that part remains in you, you will not become the monster that he was."

I rake my hand through my hair, the whiskey burning a path down my throat. "I almost crossed a line with her at dinner."

"What line would that be?"

"The same line that Pyotr crossed with my mother."

The confession burns like acid on my tongue. My fingers tighten around the glass, and I can't force myself to bring the real word of what Pyotr did to the surface.

“No, you didn’t, Vadim Petrovich.” Lenka's expression doesn't change, but her eyes soften with understanding, and her voice carries the weight of decades of witnessed horrors. “Pyotr broke people. He destroyed them."

"In that moment." The words catch in my throat. "Iwantedto break her. The way he would’ve.”

"But you didn't." Lenka's voice carries the weight of decades of witnessed horrors. "That's what matters. You stopped yourself."

Her words settle heavy in my chest. But I can still remember the screams that used to echo through these halls. The sobs.

And the hollow look in my mother's eyes whenever she looked at me.

"What if next time I don't?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.

"The very fact that you ask that question proves that you won’t. It proves that you're not him." Lenka steps closer, her presence steady and grounding like always. "Pyotr never questioned himself. Never doubted. Never stopped. You pulled back. You gave Lacey a choice that Pyotr never gave."

I drain my glass, letting the burn match the disgust churning in my gut. "Choice? I dragged her here against her will."

"For a purpose greater than yourself." Lenka steps closer. "To save others."

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