Page 34 of Crimson Sin
“Char, I've never seen anything like it,” I whisper into the phone, my free hand twisted in the sheet. “The way people looked at him, the fear in their eyes. This isn't just some business arrangement. This is more dangerous than I imagined.”
I tell her about the car ride home, suffocating with unspoken words and simmering fury. About how Daniil's silence felt morethreatening than any shout could have been. And then, my voice dropping even lower, I tell her about what happened when we got home. About his mouth on mine, desperate and consuming. About the way the anger between us burned into something that felt like falling and flying at the same time.
I leave out the most intimate details, but Charlotte hears it anyway in the breathless quality of my voice and the pauses between words. She always does.
“He was different last night,” I continue, my thumb tracing the edge of the sheet. “Not the calculating man I agree to fake marry. He was almost desperate. Like he needed me in a way that went beyond our arrangement.”
There's silence on the other end of the line. I know Charlotte is processing everything I've told her, filtering it against her protective instincts and her natural suspicion of men who seem too good to be true.
“Well,” Charlotte finally responds as she blows out a long breath. “That definitely escalated quickly. Jesus, Nae.”
I can almost see her pacing around our tiny apartment in her fuzzy socks, the way she always does when she's thinking hard about something. The mental image makes homesickness twist in my stomach.
“Are you okay?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “I mean, really okay? Not just physically, but emotionally? Because this is heavy stuff, and I know you. You don't do casual.”
My fingers tighten as I chew on my bottom lip. “I don't know,” I admit. “I feel like I'm drowning, Char. Like every time I think I understand what's happening, the rules change again.”
“Do you think it meant something? What happened between you two?”
That’s the question I've been avoiding since I woke up alone. “It felt like it did,” I confess, my voice breaking slightly. “It felt like everything. But then I woke up in his bed and he was gone, just vanished like it never happened. No note, nothing.”
Charlotte exhales sharply, and I know that sound. It's her “I'm about to give you advice you don't want to hear” sound. “Nae, honey, you need to be careful. Really careful. Men like that don't play by the same rules as the rest of us. They're masters of manipulation, and making people feel things that serve their purposes. Whatever that was between you two last night, it might have felt real to you, but that doesn't mean it was real on his end.”
The words strike a nerve, even though I know she's only trying to protect me. “You think he's just using me.”
“I think he's a dangerous man who needs something from you, and he's smart enough to know that the best way to ensure your cooperation is to make you feel like you mean something to him. That doesn't mean his feelings aren't real, but it doesn't mean they are, either.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper, the sharp pain grounding me. “I know you're right. I know I should be more careful and more guarded. But Charlotte, when he looks at me, when he touches me, it doesn't feel like manipulation. It feels like he's seeing something in me that no one else ever has.”
“That's exactly what makes it so dangerous,” she replies gently. “Promise me you won't lose yourself in this. Promise me, you'll remember who you were before this arrangement. Because thatwoman was pretty amazing, and she deserves better than being someone's convenient solution.”
The words lodge in my throat like broken glass. “Too late,” I whisper, and even I can hear the defeat in my voice.
She hears it too, but doesn't push, which I'm grateful for. We talk for a few more minutes about mundane things; her latest client drama, the weird smell coming from our upstairs neighbor's apartment, anything to maintain the illusion of normalcy. When we finally hang up, I promise to call again later, though I'm not sure when later will be or what state I'll be in when it comes.
The silence of the house settles around me again. I slide the phone back onto the nightstand and stand, smoothing down the skirt of my dress. I can't hide in this room forever, no matter how much I want to pull the covers over my head and pretend none of this is happening.
I wander through the estate, my footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor. The dress sways gently around my legs as I walk, the fabric a comfort against my skin. I pass tall windows that look out over manicured hedges and gardens that must cost a small fortune to maintain. The morning light streams through the glass, covering everything in a golden glow that should be beautiful but instead feels artificial, like a movie set designed to impress rather than comfort.
The hallways are filled with oil paintings in heavy golden frames, portraits of stern-faced men and elegant women who must be Daniil's ancestors. Their eyes seem to follow me as I pass, judging this American interloper who dares to walk their halls. Fresh floral arrangements sit on antique tables, the blooms so perfect they look fake, though I know they're probably replaced daily by the staff.
I take a right at the end of a long corridor, following the faint sound of a voice drifting from somewhere ahead. The sound grows clearer as I approach what appears to be a sitting room, and I realize someone is on the phone. The voice is familiar, cultured, and smooth with just a hint of accent.
Viktor.
My stomach drops, and I slow my steps, pressing myself against the wall just around the corner from the doorway. I know I shouldn't eavesdrop, and I know it's potentially dangerous, but something in his tone makes me freeze. There's a smugness there, a satisfaction that sets off every alarm bell in my head.
“The marriage certificate was never filed,” Viktor's voice drifts clearly from the room, and my blood turns to ice. “Invalid marriage. No license on record, no priest registered with the state. It won't hold up to any real scrutiny. We just need concrete proof, something that will satisfy the estate lawyers.”
Panic seizes my breath, and I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. The words cut through me, each one more devastating than the last.
“I'm working on it,” Viktor continues, and I can hear the smile in his voice, cruel and victorious. “Daniil won't see it coming. He actually thinks my apology about last night was sincere. Let him think that. The more comfortable he gets, the more he relaxes his guard, the easier it will be to tear this whole thing down.”
My heart pounds so hard that I'm sure it must be audible. It pounds in my ears like thunder. I press my back against the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible, trying to disappear entirely.
“Yes, exactly,” Viktor's voice continues, and there's genuine excitement there now, the thrill of victory within reach. “Once it all falls apart and I can prove the marriage is fraudulent, the inheritance goes into immediate review. And I already have all the documentation ready to file my claim. The lawyers are standing by.”
I take a step back from the wall, then another, my legs shaking so badly I'm not sure they'll support me. The hallway seems to stretch endlessly in both directions, and for a moment, I feel completely disoriented, lost in this maze of wealth and deception.
