Page 48 of Her Darkest Possession
I light the corner of Ryan's letter, and watch the flames crawl across his words. For a moment, it's weirdly satisfying, seeing his manipulative bullshit turn to ash.
Anatoly doesn't say anything. He just watches me and waits for me to keep talking.
The letter curls and blackens in the fireplace. I don't need to read the whole thing to know what the rest of it says. This is Ryan's playbook. I've seen it before.
"He says I must be confused or manipulated... or forced." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "As if he wasn't the one who..."
I stop myself, taking a deep breath. The memories still burn—not with the cleansing fire currently consuming Ryan's letter, but with a sick, oily flame that threatens to choke me.
"You know about the abortion," I turn to face him. "You know how it was forced on me to protect his father."
"Yes," he replies.
"But the part that you don't know." My voice cracks slightly, and I have to swallow hard before continuing. "Is that Ryan suggested that I take up the internship with his father in the first place. Insisted on it, in fact."
I shake my head and let out a mirthless hollow laugh. "I should've known from the first time he ever brought me to meet his parents. I should've known when his father kept staring at me across the dinner table that night. And then the next day, Ryan suggested that it would be a good idea to work as his father's intern that summer. Said it's a good way to get some practical experience to see how the press looks from the other side."
Anatoly's hands clench into fists, but he doesn't interrupt.
"I told him I didn't want to do something like that. Told him that I would much rather get an internship with a proper journalist office instead. But he talked me into it, saying that one internship with his father, and all sorts of doors will open for me. Even bought me an outfit for my first day of work."
The memory is as sharp now as it was the day it happened, and every detail plays back into my consciousness with painful clarity.
"And then," I continue as my anger builds. "While I was sitting there in the hospital after the doctor told me the pregnancy was terminated, Ryan came with a fucking lawyer to make sure I signed that NDA. And on his way out, he thanked the doctor. He fucking thanked him like he'd just gotten his oil changed. Like I wasn't even fucking there."
Tears stream down my face, but I barely notice them. The truth is out after years of being trapped inside me. I've confessed everything and it's too much for one day.
"I had to call an Uber to get home. And he came again three weeks later, after Mom and Dad found out. Not to apologize, but to fucking remind me that if I talk, his family will ruin me."
Anatoly's face has gone completely still, and that kind of stillness usually precedes a terrifying act of violence. But when he speaks, his voice is gentle.
"Come here,printsessa." He opens his arms for me.
I don't realize I'm moving until I'm in his arms, and his warmth surrounds me as he pulls me tight against his chest. His hand strokes my hair while I finally let myself cry. I finally get to mourn that terrified girl who was betrayed by a monster.
"You did nothing wrong," he speaks softly. "Nothing. That weak piece of shit failed you in every way a man can fail a woman who loves."
I stay in his arms as if I can stay there forever. Through the haze of tears, I can see the expensive paper curling into black ash as flames consume Ryan's worthless words. I watch it disappear up the chimney—his promises, his assumptions, and his casual denial of everything he helped put me through.
When there's nothing left but ash, I feel something in my soul lift and float away with the smoke.
"He will never hurt you again," he says. "As long as I'm breathing, that man will never get close enough to cause you another moment of pain."
The promise settles something deep in my chest. And it's not because I need protection, but because someone finally cares enough to offer it. I'm worthy something without giving anything in return.
"Fuck Ryan Bennet," I whisper. "And fuck his dead father too."
Anatoly's arm tightens around me and he kisses the top of my head softly. Just like he had after our lovemaking yesterday.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much." I turn in his arms, tilting my face up to look at him. The soft afternoon light catches the blue of his eyes, and make them seem almost luminous. "Thank you."
"For what?" he asks.
"For not making this about you," I reply. "For caring about how I felt."
Something flickers across his expression as if he's surprised by what I am saying.
