Page 52 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

I’m floored by his vulnerability, by the genuine fear I see in his eyes—fear of getting hurt, fear of hurting me.

“I don’t want to be another regret in your life, Mikhail,” I say softly, swallowing past the emotion. “I’ve got my own past, my own fears, and the last thing I want is to give you a reason to close up again. To regret me.”

He looks at me for a long moment, as if weighing the risks and rewards of taking this leap with me. Then he sighs, almost as if he’s releasing years of pent-up emotions.

“Who says you’re a regret? You’re a risk, Gabriette, one I can’t even dream of taking in my line of work. But I found myself leaping in without even thinking of the risks. I can’t look back after this.”

A risk. I’m just a risk?

“Mikhail,” I weigh my words carefully. “I’m not just a thing to possess. I’ve got feelings, and yes, you’ve trampled over them by being cold these last few weeks. But I’m not some delicate flower either. I need to know we’re in this together. Can you give me that? Are we a ‘we’?”

His eyes search mine, like he’s looking for something. After what feels like an eternity, he nods.

“Yes, we’re a fucking ‘we.’ And I intend to prove that, every goddamn day, if I have to,” he growls before sealing our newfound understanding with a kiss—a kiss filled with promises, uncertainties, fears, but above all, a willingness to try.

“What happened between us last night wasn’t just physical, it was emotional, at least for me. I felt exposed, like you could see right through me. It terrified me, but it also felt... freeing. I just need to know it meant something to you, too.”

He clenches his jaw. “You’re asking for a piece of me I never wanted to give to anyone again. But you deserve that and more. Yes, it meant something, Malyshka. More than I can put into words.”

Those words send a shiver down my spine, but I’m not done. I lean in, kissing his cheek and smiling as I pull back. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear.”

Mikhail looks at me, his eyes softening more than I’ve ever seen before. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” he says, reaching over for the tray of food. “Eat. You’ll need your strength for what I’ve got planned.”

I laugh, finally allowing myself to lean into this new reality. My guard is down, and for the first time, I feel like we’ve got a fighting chance at something real.

We eat in a comfortable silence, but my mind is anything but quiet, buzzing with thoughts of the future and all its beautiful uncertainties. With Mikhail beside me, though, those uncertainties seem a lot less daunting.

“So, are you working from home today?” I ask, taking a sip of coffee.

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Yeah, working from home. You catch the undertone to that?”

My heart leaps into my throat. “I think I do,” I say, grinning back.

MIKHAIL

Sitting behind the expansive oak desk in my office, I glance out the window. The sky’s shifting from a radiant orange to a deepening indigo. It’s a damn good metaphor for what’s happening inside me.

Last night with Gabriette, I caved—no; I fucking broke. For years, I’ve fortified walls around my heart, never letting anyone in. But Gabriette... she didn’t just find a chink in the armor; she tore the whole goddamn thing apart.

The last time I trusted a woman was Dasha, and she left me with a blade in the back. Ten fucking years, and the sting of betrayal hadn’t worn off—until Gabriette. My jaw tightens just thinking about how much power she holds over me now.

But instead of dread, I feel... liberated. Lighter, even.

The phone on my desk buzzes, disrupting my thoughts. I look at the screen—my father. We’re close, always have been. A bond forged in fires not many could understand. I swipe to answer.

“Pappa, how are you?” My voice carries genuine warmth; conversations with my father always stir something deep within, a blend of respect, nostalgia, and a yearning for approval that I’ve never quite outgrown.

“I’m well, Mikhail. How are you holding up? Your mother tells me you’ve been spending a lot of late nights at the office,” he inquires, concern lacing his tone.

I chuckle dryly. “Well, the business isn’t going to run itself. And there’ve been... complications.”

“Aah, complications. Is that what we’re calling her now?” he knows me too well, always reading between the lines.

“Something like that,” I say, my words tinged with both humor and a vulnerability I don’t dare fully express. “She’s different, Pappa. She’s gotten under my skin, into my head... shit, into my heart.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, the kind of silence that’s heavy, filled with unsaid things. He was there when I found Dasha in bed with Michael. He was there when I took my knife to both of them.

He’s the one who taught me to have no remorse for betrayal — Kill first, no questions asked.

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