Page 151 of Beautiful Cruelty

It's not a question, but a simple statement. But I'm stunned at how easily she says it. For a moment, I can't breathe. My mind turns back to the memory of yesterday.

The stark difference between how we hurt each other in every way possible on the stairs and how he held me tenderly in the shower is playing hell on my mind.

Even now, I can feel the ghost of his touch—at times careful and loving, and at times rough and bruising.

That contrast. That goddamn contrast.

It hurts worse than any physical pain could.

"No," I finally whisper, my voice hoarse. "He didn't."

"I know what I heard yesterday." Olga's voice cuts through me like winter wind. "The entirety of Pankration heard. For a single moment, it was as if this place's old master had returned."

I wrap my arms tighter around myself, fighting a shiver. The silk of my robe suddenly feels too thin, too revealing.

"He didn't rape me. I asked him to do those things that you heard."

No. I didn't ask him. Iforcedhim to do it.

"Asked him?" Her laugh is bitter, hollow. She leans forward. "Pyotr would tell us the same thing. That we asked him to do the terrible things he did to us."

"Vadim's not Pyotr!" My stomach twists at the comparison. "Vadim wouldn't do that to me without asking."

"You believe those words?" Her eyes sweep over my bruises, and she points to my neck. "Even after that?"

"Even after this." My voice shakes but I force myself to meet her gaze.

Olga's lips curl into a cold smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Do you think that makes him better? That just because he waited for you to ask, it makes him different from Pyotr?"

"Doesn't it?" I ask, unsure if I'm asking her or trying to convince myself.

She leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you remember what I told you in Paris?"

I swallow hard. "You said he would put blood on my hands."

"Did he?"

I remember Irina's death with painful clarity—the way her blood soaked through my trembling fingers and stained my dress as we fled Paris on the jet.

But I also remember the way Vadim's blood filled my mouth yesterday. As much as he may have put blood on my hands, I did the same to him.

But Olga is expecting an answer, and so I take a breath and admit. "He did."

She nods, a small sound tumbling out of her nose as she does so.

"That was just the beginning." Her words slice through me like knives and she points at my bruises. "And so are those."

Silence falls between us for a few heartbeats as Olga lets me mull over her words.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" Olga asks, her eyes never leaving my face.

I shake my head, trying to suppress another shiver. Something about this room feels wrong. The shadows seem darker, more menacing. The air itself feels thick with old pain.

"This is where Pyotr's bastard was conceived." Her words hit me like ice water. "This very room."

My eyes dart around, taking in the heavy curtains and antique furniture with new horror. Everything suddenly feels tainted.

"I know the story," I whisper, though my voice catches. "He told me already."

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