Page 19 of Beautiful Agony

Megan waits in the sitting room, looking oddly at home despite the opulent surroundings. When she sees me, her eyes immediately go to my neck, seeing the shadows of the bruises. I resist the urge to adjust my collar.

I rush into Megan's arms, and she squeezes me back before I can even wrap my arms around her. Relief and happiness balloons in my chest, and cocoons me in a blanket of comfort I didn't realize I desperately needed.

"God, I missed you so much," I whisper into her shoulder.

"Me too, sis." Megan squeezes me tighter. "These past few weeks have been insane. I keep wanting to text you random memes but then remember I'm supposed to be maintaining radio silence."

We pull apart and I wipe at my eyes. "What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to stay at the safehouse."

"Well, I have this meeting with your scary Russian husband about the first real piece we're publishing." Megan's eyes sparkle with barely contained excitement. "And since I was coming by anyway, I figured I'd see my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister."

"Details." She waves her hand dismissively. "I tried to convince your husband's hot blond friend to stop by Three Birds on the way here, but apparently he takes this whole security detail thing very seriously."

I can't help but grin at the mention of Demyon. "Oh? Hot blond friend?"

"Don't start." Megan's cheeks flush slightly. "He's just... aesthetically pleasing to look at. You know, in an objective way."

"Uh huh." I raise an eyebrow. "I'm sure you're speakingveryobjectively."

Megan's rolls her eyes, her lips curving up in a smirk. "Anyways, just apologizing in advance for not showing up with your favorite emotional support cupcakes from Three Birds."

"Honestly? I probably wouldn't be able to keep them down anyway." I lean back in my chair, trying to find a comfortable position.

"What's wrong?" Megan's brow furrows with concern. "Are you sick?"

"Just some nausea for the past couple days." I wave off her worry. "It comes and goes."

"You're probably working too hard." Megan gives me that look—the same one Laura used to give me when I'd pull all-nighters during high school.

"Maybe." I shrug, not wanting to talk aboutwhyI'm throwing myself into my work. "What's this first piece you're working on?"

"Oh!" Her eyes light up. "So I'm sure you know this, but it's about that massive rescue operation—two locations actually. One at the docks and another out in Tacoma. Vadim tells me that he's got firsthand accounts from several victims who were saved, and that he wants me to review them before I take them to the Voice."

I know exactly what rescue operation she's talking about—the one where Vadim saved me and Serena. The memories flood back: the shipping container, the screams from upstairs, Sayanaa's cruel smile.

But before I can say anything, a wave of nausea overtakes me, and my stomach lurches violently. Without warning, I double over and vomit all over the clean marble floors.

"Lacey!" Megan is instantly at my side, holding back my hair.

"I'm fine," I manage to say before another wave of nausea hits and I dry heave, my stomach muscles clenching painfully. Nothing comes up this time except bile.

Lenka appears beside me, her footsteps quick and purposeful on the marble floor. "Let me make you some tea,devushka." She gestures to one of the staff. "Clean this up."

Megan helps me into a nearby armchair, her arm steady around my waist. The plush velvet feels cool against my burning skin.

"Must've been something I ate," I mumble, pressing my hand against my churning stomach. The nausea is starting to pass, leaving behind that hollow, shaky feeling that comes after being sick.

But Megan doesn't respond right away. When I look up at her, she's studying my face intently, like she's piecing together a puzzle. Her eyes drift from my hair to my face to my stomach, and then back to my eyes.

"Lacey..." She bites her lower lip once Lenka leaves to make some tea. "Have you and Vadim been using any protection?"

My cheeks burn hot as I avoid Megan's gaze. "I... we..."

"Lacey." Megan's voice carries that familiar tone—the same one she used when grilling me as a kid.

"No," I finally admit. "We haven't."

---