Page 40 of Darkest Oblivion
My voice broke, softer now, but edged with steel. “So tell me, Dmitri... what changed? What changed you?”
No answer. No flicker in his posture. Just silence, thick as a wall.
“Dmitri,” I said, my chest aching with a pressure that felt like it might split me in two. “What made you believe I ruined you? What did my family do to twist everything between us?” My voice wavered, but I forced it through the silence. “We could talk—God, we could fight, scream, anything but this. This prison, this hate.”
His profile stayed rigid, carved in stone.
I leaned forward, desperate but unyielding. “You once swore I’d be yours, and you’d be mine. Do you even remember saying that? Because this—” my hand trembled as I gestured to the air between us, the suffocating space in the car “—this isn’t us. It isn’t what we were. It isn’t what we were supposed to become.”
Still, nothing.
The silence shredded me, but I pressed on, my voice breaking into a raw whisper. “Dmitri... I need to know. Don’t hide behind silence. If you hate me, if I destroyed something in you, then tell me what it was. Tell me why. Don’t leave me clawing at ghosts.”
The car slowed, the engine’s purr fading. Giovanni stepped out, adjusting his cuffs.
“Stay close,” Dmitri said brusquely as he stepped down from the car.
He hadn’t answered a single question. Not one. As if my words meant nothing to him. As if he no longer had emotions at all—perhaps he truly didn’t. The thought hollowed me, hurt worse than any cruelty he could have spoken.
He didn’t glance back. His silence was a blade, sharper than insult, cutting deep into the places I still remembered him as human. My chest seared, as though carved open by it.
Then the door on my side swung wide. He stood there, hand extended, his face unreadable. My pulse hammered. I placed my hand in his, the touch both a lifeline and a shackle, and he led me out into the grand hall.
Crystal chandeliers blazed like icy suns, casting prisms over marble floors polished to a mirror sheen.
Men in tailored tuxedos leaned against gilded pillars, their sharp eyes glinting with malice.
Women in dripping jewels swept past like predators dressed as peacocks.
Perfume, cigar smoke, and whiskey mingled thick in the air, the waltz echoing like a dirge.
Dmitri’s hand in mine was iron—possessive, protective, suffocating.
Whispers rippled around us, curiosity and envy laced with fear.
He guided me to a high mahogany table, velvet stools gleaming under crystal light. “I need to greet a few friends,” he said sharply. “Stay here.”
Then he was gone, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd, approaching men in pinstripe suits and fedoras, their cigars glowing like embers.
They were kings. He was their dark prince. And I... I was the pawn he’d left behind.
I shifted on the stool, heat prickling at the back of my neck. That’s when I heard it—whispers slicing through the music.
“Look at her—she barely fits on that seat. God, her ass is spilling over.”
“She must sweat buckets in those clothes. How does he even touch her?”
“Dmitri’s wife? Please. If I had to kiss that mouth, I’d puke.”
Laughter—low, cruel—followed, hidden behind jeweled fans and crystal glasses.
My throat burned, my vision blurred, shame clawing its way into my chest.
Their words burrowed deep, echoing every insult Dmitri had ever spat at me.Heavy. Unremarkable, A burden on the eye.
I sat frozen, nails digging into my palms beneath the tablecloth, fighting not to crumble. They couldn’t see me break. Not here. Not now.
A server passed, his tray glittering with crystal flutes.
