Page 34 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

Placing my glass down, I hang my head in my hands and breathe out a sigh. “I can’t go through this again, Lee. I can’t … feel anything for her.”

“Not everyone is Dasha,” Lee says, and just the mention of that name feels like a railroad spike through my heart.

Dasha — my fiancee of ten years ago. The one who turned me into the heartless asshole I am today after I caught her in bed with the man who would have been my brigadier.

My second in command and my fiance had been having an affair behind my back for three years. I found this out the hard way when I came home early from Brussels one evening and found them fucking in my bed.

It would have been easier to have them killed, but my father was there with me and saw everything. Kazimir Baranov does not take kindly to betrayal, especially not when it’s between the man he raised as his own son and the woman I loved.

He made me slit their throats right there and it would have been all forgotten had I not found out Dasha was pregnant when she died. To this day, I still don’t know if I killed my own unborn child.

“No, she’s not,” I breathe. “But I can’t risk it, not after … everything.”

I down the alcohol and lean back against the leather sofa, sighing. Falling for Gabriette is out of the question, so I need to maintain my distance. But how exactly do I do that when just her presence calls to me like a fucking siren song?

“So, what are you going to do? Why did you call me if you made up your mind?”

I turn my gaze back to her and shrug. “I guess I just needed to say everything out loud.”

“And do you feel better?” she asks with a lift of her eyebrow.

“Fuck no.”

Chuckling, she gets up from her seat and plants herself next to me. “Well, since I’m here to give you advice, it’s this: don’t overthink things. I understand your apprehension since I was there to help you pick up the pieces afterwards. But for the love of God, don’t paint Gabriette with Dasha’s brush.”

I blink. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. You’ve already marked her as a betrayer before she could have a chance to prove herself to you,” she says and places a hand on my shoulder. “Get to know her, Mischa. You might find out something that could surprise you.”

I look at my best friend and see the sincerity in her eyes. She’s the only one I really kept close after what happened, the only one who tried to help me get through the betrayal without losing myself in the hurt and anger.

I owe my sanity to her, as crazy as it sounds, so of course I would call her up as soon as I feel close to breaking point.

Pulling her into an embrace, I sigh. “Thank you,” is all I say, but I don’t think I need to explain why I’m thanking her. She simply nods and pats my back before diving into some proposal her uncle has for me.

She knows when I need to talk and when I need a distraction and honestly, I am thankful for that.

Now, to just get a grip on what I’m feeling for Gabriette.

GABRIETTE

I’m still in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck happened between me and Mikhail last night.

For weeks he’s been distant, pretending I don’t exist and barking out orders. Now, ever since the car shootout the other night, he’s talking to me and being gentle. What exactly is he trying to prove to me?

Granted, I loved going to the concert and being around others who share my passion. The only thing that ruined it was my reaction to that Brahms piece.

Why did it have to play at that perfect moment and dredge up old memories? He must have seen the look on my face when he touched my cheek, but luckily he didn’t ask me.

Then there was the way he looked at me in the elevator, like he wanted to devour me whole. And at that moment … to be completely honest, I would have let him. It’s been a long few weeks of tiptoeing around the fact that I don’t really hate him as much as I pretend I do.

Groaning, I grab the covers and cover my head. “Stop thinking with your goddamn pussy, Gabi,” I chastise myself because not only is it totally fucking WRONG to be thinking about Mikhail like that.

But there’s Damien.

Just thinking about his sweet face makes my heart ache and I curl up into a ball, wrapping my arms around my waist. I cheated on him, but honestly, does that matter after everything?

I loved him. He was my rock, but I find that I haven’t thought about him at all since I’ve been married. The worst part is I don’t even feel guilty about it … God, I’m sick.

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