Page 107 of Porcelain Lies

My eyes catch on something unexpected — a medical-grade refrigerator in the corner, its steel surface standing out against the white cabinetry. The scientist in me perks up at the sight of the specialized unit.

Hastily eating a few more bites of my pastry, I set it down and glance over my shoulder before approaching. The digital display shows a perfect 2°C temperature maintenance. Definitely not for storing leftovers.

Opening the door sends a wave of cold air across my face. Rows of medications fill the shelves, each one precisely labeled and organized. My breath catches as I spot the distinctive packaging of Gabapentin.

That’s for neurological disorders. What’s it doing here?

“Looking for something?”

I jump, slamming the fridge door shut. A woman stands in the doorway, her elegant posture a stark contrast to my guilty stance. Her dark eyes pin me in place, assessing and cold.

My heart is thundering as I face the woman. Her tailored suit and perfect poise make me painfully aware of my silk robe and damp hair.

“I was just…” The words stick in my throat.

“Who the fuck is she?”Boyana’s voice is strident.

Whoever she is, she clearly belongs here. Like the lady of the house. Like… a wife.

Oh God.

He’s married.

My appetite disappears in a rush, replaced by the familiar morning nausea.

Of course, Aleksei has a partner. A sophisticated, beautiful woman who probably doesn’t raid kitchens in her sleepwear. And what about that angry woman at the party? There seemed to be something between them too.

“Maybe it’s an open marriage. Rich guys like him do weird shit like that all the time,”Boyana chimes in, because that’s the way her twisted mind works.

Seriously, Boyana?

“Just what?” the woman presses, looking at me strangely. Her accent matches Aleksei’s, her tone sharp as cut glass. “Snooping through private medical supplies?”

“No! I mean, yes, but…” I wrap my arms around myself, the robe offering little protection from her icy stare. “I have a background in neuroscience. The names caught my attention. I shouldn’t have—”

“Miss Diana.” Imelda bustles in with fresh coffee. “Your morning tea is ready in the study.”

“Thank you, Imelda.” Diana’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. “I see our guest has made alternative breakfast arrangements.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I spot crumbs from the danish on my robe. “The portions were quite small…”

“Bozhe moy.” Diana pinches the bridge of her nose. “My brother and his bullshit.”

Brother?

She’s his sister!

Oh, thank God!

Relief floods me. The thought of having a baby with a married man is too much to add to my growing list of grievances. It would be beyond fucked up. And now that I’m looking at her, the resemblance is obvious: same dark eyes, same firm set to her jaw. Like a female version of him. Except her hair is a rich, dark shade of auburn where his is black.

Diana’s voice cuts through my relief like a blade. “Stealing food is beneath even common thieves. I expected better from someone carrying my brother’s child.”

My fingers clutch the silk robe tighter. “I wasn’t stealing—”

“Those pastries are for the staff’s breakfast.” She gestures to the half-eaten danish on the counter. “And rifling through private medical supplies? Unacceptable.”

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” The words come out small and pathetic.

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