Page 28 of Avidian
“You were gone all evening,” he says, picking up a trinket from the bookshelf and examining it like he’s studying some ancient artifact. “And I watched my father walk you back to your room. In that ridiculous outfit. Late at night.”
I was wearing a dress and sweater, after Marco said I had to put on something nice. Hardly what I’d call ridiculous.
“I’m really not in the mood for any fuss tonight, Malachi. As fun as it is to go back and forth with you, it’s been a long fuckingday.” I pull the covers up to my chin and flop my head back onto the pillow.
“What happened after you left? What did Viktor want? And where did you disappear to with my dad?” he asks as he sprawls out on the bed next to me, acting like he owns the place.
I turn my head toward him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
He grins, unbothered. “Very.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Viktor wanted to remind me that I’m nothing more than a tool to him and to make sure I’ll behave at his little party tomorrow. As for your dad? I had a front-row seat to why your family is so fucked up. Happy now?”
His grin falters slightly, and he tilts his head. “What do you mean? What happened?”
I glare at him, my exhaustion tipping over into irritation. “You really want to have this conversation now? Because I promise it’s not going to make me any fonder of your charming family.”
“Try me,” he says, letting his guard down. “You have my attention.”
I roll my eyes but quickly tell him about everything that happened with his father and Boris.
“You think that’s bad?” Malachi says, leaning back with his arms behind his head, crossing his legs as if we’re discussing the weather. “This is happening all across the country, and you’re in a position to make a real difference—with my help, of course.”
His casual demeanor grates on me, so nonchalant about people’s lives. “How can you act like it’s not a big deal?”
He turns his head to face me, his smirk unfaltering. “Hours ago, you didn’t want any part in this. You were happy to keep living the dream as a pet.”
The word “pet” ignites something in me. I punch him in the arm, the motion quick and instinctive, driven by frustration.
“Fuck you,” I mutter.
He rubs his shoulder, wincing slightly but still smirking. “For someone so tiny, with zero training, that actually hurt.”
I roll my eyes, fighting the urge to hit him again. Little does he know, I’ve actually had some training. When you spend most of your days stuck at Marco’s compound, you learn to occupy your time somehow. For me, that meant taking advantage of his extensive gym—and I mean extensive. Most of the security team uses it, and every now and then they show me a few moves—especially the ones who didn’t see me as a threat. Banks even taught me a thing or two over the years. I might look scrawny, but I can hold my own in a fight.
“Maybe you should take me more seriously.”
His grin widens. “Oh, I do. Believe me.”
“Get out.” I shove him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, sliding off the bed with exaggerated care like I might lunge at him again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night at the dinner party,” he says, heading toward the door. “And no one will know who you really are, so try to eavesdrop. The men will think nothing of a pretty girl hanging around.”
If he were any closer, I’d hit him again. Harder.
“Are you trying to tell me how to act around men? I know what I’m doing. Stay out of my way,” I say, flipping over and reaching up to turn off the lamp.
“Sweet dreams, Katja,” he laughs as the door clicks shut behind him.
I half expectedMalachi to show up today and deliver another infuriating lecture about the party tonight. But to my surprise, I haven’t caught a glimpse of him all day.
Maybe he’s finally learned to give me some space.
Anton stopped by earlier, gruff as always, to remind me to be ready by 7 p.m. That’s it. No explanation, no details about the party.
Fortunately, I’ve learned over the years to pack for any occasion. I pull out the perfect dress, the one I’d tucked away for emergencies like this—when blending in is as important as standing out.
Sitting at the small vanity in my room, I do my makeup with precision, sweeping dark, smoky shadows across my lids and painting my lips in a deep crimson that matches the dress perfectly. My hair falls naturally into soft, dark waves, brushing against my shoulders with the right amount of effortless elegance.
