Page 158 of 10 Days to Ruin

And then no one lived ever after. Certainly not “happily.”

I collapse into a study carrel, back pressed to walnut paneling. My hands won’t stop shaking. Sasha’s blood crusts under my nails from where I hit him.

Even funnier than my not-such-a-storybook ending is how I used to think I was Lois Lane. An intrepid reporter, a fearless heroine, a woman brave enough to take on the world and win. And, even though I fought it at first, I did truly come to think that Sasha might be my Superman.

But it turns out everyone is the same: liars, all the way down.

Him most of all. Liar. Fuckingliar.Liar with his mother’s eyes and his father’s fists. Liar who hid my sister like a trump card. Liar who set my dad up to die on his knees in front of everyone he ever knew. Liar who made me love him in the gaps between truths.

He knew.Sashaknew.Sasha lied.

Artisan lies. Limited edition, bespoke deception.

Nausea crests in my stomach. I dig nails into my calves to stay silent.

Outside, the blizzard blurs the city into a chalk drawing. Somewhere out there, Sasha’s probably stitching himself back together. Planning his next play. And I’m here, unraveling in the one place that ever made sense—amongst rows of bound truths, silent witnesses to all the sins we humans convince ourselves are for the greater good.

I press my cheek to a dusty copy ofThe New York Timesfrom 1997 that someone left out on the desk. The headlines scream about Princess Di, stock markets, a world that kept spinning after other tragedies.

Why does it feel like this will be the one that halts it on its axis?

Or, actually, is it worse if it keeps spinning?Myworld might be over, but no one else will care. They’ll just keep on going, falling in love, making babies, going to their sister’s houses for Christmas to laugh together in warm living rooms and give each other neatly wrapped gifts. I’ll be breaking into dark libraries and huddling my knees to my chest to ward off the cold.

I try to sleep. It goes poorly. Every time I close my eyes, I see Sasha there. He had ten days to convince me to marry him. And he did it. Against all odds, he fucking did it. I went from scratching and clawing to get away from him, to scratching and clawing to getcloserto him.

And in those half-dreams, it’s more scratching and clawing I’m doing. Only this time, I’m scratching and clawing at coffin lids closing over my face. At gilded cell bars clanking closed around me. At darkness descending like a rag held over my face until I can’t breathe anymore.

Clickgoes the coffin.

Clickgoes the cage.

Clickgoes the…

Footstep?

I gasp awake and look to see a shadow standing in front of me. “I had a feeling this was the place,” he says.

His voice wraps around me like barbed wire. I look away. I have to. If I look at him now, with snow still melting in his hair and blood crusted on his knuckles, I’ll break.

“Go away, Sasha. For God’s fucking sake, just leave me alone.”

“No.”

The single syllable vibrates through my ribcage. “Why not? Why thefucknot?” I cry out.

He waits until the echoes of my wail fade away into the library stacks. “You know why I’m here.”

“To gloat? My dad is dead. You don’t have to marry me and you still get everything you want.”

He shakes his head. “No. Not everything.”

I pry open my eyes. He’s a step closer than he was. Enough to catch half a moonbeam peeking through the skylight. His blue eyes are bright, but his shirt is in bloody tatters and his posture is damn near broken.

“Don’t,” I tell him. “You don’t get to do that. Not after lying to me about Jasmine. Not after I just watched my father get fucking executed. Not after letting me believe you weren’t this… thismonsterwho?—”

“Iama monster.” He catches my wrist when I try to shove him away. “But not that kind.”

I pull free. The motion knocks a book off the cluttered desk. The thud of it landing on the floor reverberates through the cavernous room.

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