Page 82 of Unveiled

Another text comes in from Anya. I stare at my phone.

Anya

How about this one?

I look at the screen. She’s wearing a soft champagne-colored dress that hugs every curve but covers every inch of her. She has a beautiful little shrug draped over her shoulders.

Anya

This is the one I’d wear in public.

Her message pings alongside a winky emoji and a picture. A second follows almost instantly. Then a second picture arrives. She’s taken off the shrug in this one.

Anya

And this is what happens when you take it off.

My lips twitch in a rare grin. Heat stirs in my chest as I rise from the chair, phone in hand. My voice hardens. “I love my wife, motherfuckers. I’m going home.”

Laughter echoes in the room, but Matvei is strangely silent. He frowns at his screen, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Wait.”

“What?” I’m feeling impatient. I need to see hernow.

Matvei blows out a breath, his shoulders stiff. “Something… doesn’t fit. But I need to check one more thing first.” He shakes his head. “We’re closing in on the truth, but I’ll need time to confirm it.”

My blood chills. Something is wrong. I pull Anya’s location on my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen.

“How long?”

“Soon. Hopefully tomorrow.”

The knot in my chest tightens. Anya is waiting. She’s worried about her brother, and I know damn well how fragile the peace between us is. The other shoe is about to drop.

Chapter 22

ANYA

I saton the stoop of our crumbling home, my chin resting on my knees, trying not to cry. Eighteen wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Eighteen was supposed to be special, meaningful. There should have been cake and candles, my favorite treats from the local store, and maybe a book I’d been saving for.

I’d been planning my birthday for weeks, even saving up a little money from errands around the neighborhood. But it was gone now. My brother Eli found it hidden under my pillow—a really stupid place to hide money. He took it, just like he always did when he needed a quick fix for his gambling.

I felt stupid for hoping this year might be different.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. My mom tried—she really did—but she forgot dates so often I doubted she even remembered it was my birthday. And she was working today, anyway.

I told myself I didn’t care, but the tightness in my chest said otherwise. It’s just a day, I told myself. Just a day like any other. And now I’m eighteen.

Ophelia tried to make it special, but she got in trouble at school, and her mom grounded her. She passed me a note in class that said, “Happy Birthday! Your boobs look so much bigger today.”

It made me laugh and smile at her, but later, I found myself secretly staring at my chest in the mirror, wondering if they actually did look bigger.

I told myself I didn’t care that no one else paid attention to me today. No gifts, no celebration, nothing. My stomach growled, and I wrapped my arms tight around my legs, pretending it was just another normal day.

I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right in front of me.

“Anya.”

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