Page 89 of Beautiful Cruelty

"You look beautiful in it,zvyozdochka," he whispers. "My little star."

"Your accomplice," I repeat his words in Irina's store. "Your wife. Fake as this marriage is."

"Do you still feel that this marriage could be fake?"

"Isn't it?" I turn. "Don't husbands and wives share everything between them? Aren't we supposed to carry each other's burdens? You promised me honesty, Vadim, and I've shown you mine. What will it take for you to show me yours? What will it take for you to tell me what haunts you?"

The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging heavy in the air between us. His hands go rigid against my waist.

His entire body stiffens, and the temperature in the room seems to drop. The warmth from moments ago vanishes as his face transforms into an expressionless mask.

But his eyes... God, his eyes hold such raw pain it makes my chest ache.

I've crossed a line. The realization hits me. This man who expertly wields power and control, who can make people disappear with a word, suddenly looks... vulnerable. Lost.

My hand moves of its own accord to cup his cheek. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have?—"

"No." His voice comes out rough, almost strangled. He steps back, breaking contact, and my hand falls empty to my side. "You're right. I did promise you honesty. And I haven't held up my promise. So, what do you want to know?"

"Your mother." I confess. "Lenka told me her story is the saddest and cruelest one that this place has ever known. You yourself pulled away at dinner the other night when I mentioned her. And even Irina seems to know at least a hint of the awful things that must've happened to her. But not me."

My heart aches as I watch Vadim struggle with his pain. His shoulders are rigid, jaw clenched tight as he stares out the window.

My mother's necklace catches the light, reminding me of the lengths he went to retrieve it. He did that for me, twisted arms and probably broke a few to bring back this piece of my past.

Yet here I am, carelessly prodding at his wounds without considering the cost.

"Vadim..." I whisper, not sure what I'm asking for, but needing him to know I'm here.

The need to comfort him, to somehow ease that haunted look in his eyes, overwhelms me. I want to pull him close, to tell him it's okay to hurt, to let him know he's not alone.

But I can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but watch as he wrestles with demons I don't yet understand.

When he finally speaks, his voice comes out rough, like each word costs him something precious.

"My mother Polina was sixteen when Pyotr first saw her." His hands grip the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn white. "She was one of Kirsan's girls."

The implications floor me. My stomach churns as pieces start falling into place.

"Pyotr paid for exclusive access to her." Vadim's voice grows hollow. "He brought her here, to Pankration. Behind these walls, he did everything in his power to remind her that she wasn't even a person to him."

He trails off, but I understand. The cruelest story these walls have witnessed.

"She tried to kill herself." His voice cracks. "Stole a letter cutter one day from his office, and opened her veins in the bath, but Pyotr caught her." He shakes his head, unable to continue. "He brought her back to life as a reminder that she didn’t even have the right to die without his permission."

I understand now. Why he keeps people at arm's length, why he reacts the way he does at the mention of his mother.

“Later, he laid her out before the entire household of Pankration, bloody and clinging to life, and raped her for all of them to see." His words come out barely above a whisper. "That was the night he made me."

Tears burn behind my eyes as I watch this powerful man laid bare by his past. I want to reach for him, to somehow ease the weight of this burden he carries. But I stay still, giving him the space to continue.

"She eventually did escape this place with the help of my stepmother Olga." Vadim's voice grows quieter, more pained."Not because Olga cared for her, but because Olga wanted to spite Pyotr for his infidelity. But the damage was already done. Pyotr never stopped hunting her. Never stopped hunting for me. And for my entire life, she hated me. Every time she looked at me, all she saw was him. His face. His voice. His hands."

"You were a baby," I whisper. "None of it was your fault."

"One day." His hand shakes beneath mine as he continues. "He found us. And she could finally be rid of me."

He swallows hard. "I screamed for her to save me, to not let this stranger take me away. But she turned away. She couldn't even look at me."

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