Page 81 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

It’s a look that chills me to my very core, a look that makes me question everything I’ve come to know about this man. A man who just hours ago told me he loved me, but now stands before me as if he’s staring at a stranger—or worse, an enemy.

MIKHAIL

The gun feels like a lead weight in my hand as I drop it to my side, my gaze pinned to Gabriette’s horrified face. She looks like she’s seen a ghost—or maybe the devil himself. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but that’s all gone out the fucking window.

After the goddamn video, this embrace was the final betrayal. Her face is a mask of pure horror, disbelief etched into every line and curve of her beauty.

It feels like a shard of glass twisting in my gut. And yet, the image of her, wrapped in Damien’s arms, stokes the fire of my rage into an inferno. But what burns through me, fuels the tempest of my rage, is that touch. The intimacy of her tears on another man’s shoulders.

“How long, Gabriette?” My voice is a gravelly snarl as I approach her. “How long has this been going on?”

“How long, what? Mikhail, I don’t—”

“Don’t play innocent with me!” My shout echoes in the empty room, resonating with the fury pumping through my veins. “How long have you been fucking that piece of shit?”

She blanches. “What?! Why would you—”

I silence her with a glare and pull out my phone, jab at the screen, and thrust it in front of her face. “Explain this.”

Her face goes white, paler than I’ve ever seen her as the sounds of her moans echo across the empty room. She fucked this cunt in a music room, told him she loved him while taking his cock.

But I don’t have time for her excuses, her explanations. I’ve seen what I needed to see. “Mikhail, listen to me. That video, it’s not—”

“I’m not in the mood for your fucking lies,” I spit the words at her, my whole body vibrating with a rage that’s reached its apex. “You think I’m a fool? You stand there with his blood on your face, his touch still warm on your skin, and expect me to believe you?”

“Mikhail, please,” she stammers, tears streaming down her fucking face like she’s the victim here. “This isn’t … I didn’t know he was filming this! I would never risk us, especially now since I—I’m pregnant.”

Pregnant? I freeze. But it’s a deceptive stillness, the eye of the storm where my internal chaos rages unchecked. The word is like a bomb, both a promise and a threat.

A life growing inside her that could be half me and half her, yet my mind races back to the damning video. To her in Damien’s arms, to a past where another woman shattered my trust.

She’s looking at me, her eyes all wide and desperate, as if she expects that one word to be a magic eraser for the shitstorm we find ourselves in. I’m not buying it, but for the first time since I walked into this room, I hesitate.

I flash back to Dasha, ten years ago—the lies, the betrayal, and the child that could have been mine. How fucking ironic that history should choose this moment to loop back on itself.

The bitter irony of it all tightens around my chest like a vise. It’s like the universe is looking down at me and laughing its ass off.

“Get on your knees,” I say, my voice choking with a darkness I can’t shake off as I raise the gun to her head. “Now.”

She trembles, and takes a step towards me. “Mikhail, please—”

“I said, I’m not in the fucking mood for your lies!” I practically roar, my words echoing in the hollow chamber of the empty ballroom.

My chest feels like it’s about to explode, and my thoughts are a frenetic jumble. The air between us is thick with tension, a volatile blend of betrayal, heartache, and a murderous rage that’s reaching a fever pitch inside me.

“I’m pregnant with your child, Mischa,” she says again, her eyes brimming with tears that make my heart wrench in a sickening way. Her vulnerability does nothing to extinguish my blaze of fury; if anything, it adds fuel to the fire.

“As you’ve said,” I spit out the words, a venomous concoction of disbelief and disdain. “How convenient for you to bring it up now, isn’t it?”

“You have to believe me! That video, it’s not what it looks like. I love you. I was going to tell you tonight, as a gift. I would never betray you!” she pleads, her eyes locked onto mine, desperate, begging for something—understanding, love, forgiveness—that I’m not sure I can give.

Her words penetrate the red haze of my anger, but only just. A gift? As if life could be wrapped in a bow, presented as a token in some twisted play for my affection. But the part of me that loves her, that’s always loved her, quivers with hesitation.

“Your gift?” I snarl, almost spitting the words as if they taste vile on my tongue. “How convenient. A life created in the middle of deception. You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true—!”

“On your fucking knees, Gabriette. That seems to be the perfect position for you after what I’ve seen in that video. No fucking wonder you came home with carpet burns on your knees. It all makes sense now,” I grit out.

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