Page 165 of Dirty Damage

I wince. Oleg and I might have children. We might be “equals.”

But we’ll never be the happy stick figures on the hill.

The pool, the dock, and all the shiny things Oleg keeps surprising me with will only ever be the shiny facade disguising the truth.

I never dreamt something like this could be mine…

… because it can’t.

As much as I tell myself I’m different from Sydney, I auctioned my life and happiness away to the highest bidder.

I’ve made this bed, and now, I have to lie in it.

“Do you like it?” Oleg presses. “Andrew has a few other places lined up, but I thought this one fit the bill. I knew you’d like the kitchen. Plus, this pink room for?—”

“I’m just happy to have a roof over my head,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes. I can feel Oleg’s stare burning a hole in the side of my face, but I refuse to look at him. “If you want the house, get it. It’s your money.”

I don’t wait for his response.

I just flee down the hallway, leaving him standing there among someone else’s memories, someone else’s perfect life captured in frames that I couldn’t recreate even if I wanted to.

The sooner I accept that, the better.

48

OLEG

My phone vibrates against the nightstand. A death rattle in the dark.

The blue glow illuminates Sutton’s sleeping form beside me. She’d tossed and turned most of the night before finally falling asleep. I check the time at the same time I see who’s calling.

Fuck—Oksana at four in the morning.

It’s too late and too early for my mother to be calling me for any good reason.

Something’s wrong.

I slip from the bed, careful not to disturb Sutton, and pad barefoot into the hallway. The marble floor is cold beneath my feet, grounding me in this final surreal moment between sleep and whatever chaos awaits.

“Maman,” I answer, keeping my voice low. “What’s going on?”

“We didn’t manage to stop it.” Her voice crackles with fury. “The deal went through.”

My brain, still fuzzy with sleep, takes a moment to process her words. “What deal?”

“The deal,” she snaps. “Boris’s fucking sunk deal. He went behind our backs. The money’s already changed hands. Hundreds of millions, Oleg. Poured into a failing business.”

My free hand curls into a fist. I have to physically stop myself from putting it through the nearest wall.

“Jesus Christ,” I spit out. “How did you find out?”

“Got a call from Russia. Boris paid forty million over asking price. They jumped on it like sharks to blood.”

Of course they did. Who wouldn’t take free money from a fool?

The rage building inside me is familiar—an old friend I’ve known since the day I watched my sister burn.

It demands action.

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