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She was right, is all I can think. That crazy bitch, Brittany, was right.
My wife is trying to stab me in the back.
70
DAPHNE
It all happens so fast. I don’t even remember how I got here; I just know that Conrad is on me, breathing, grunting, grinding.
Then the door swings open. A familiar smell. That undeniable tightening in my gut.
I look up and see him and scream, “Pasha! Thank God! Get him off me!”
Pasha’s face is a mask of things I don’t know how to read. But right now, all that matters is that he grabs Conrad by the nape of the neck and hurls him aside like a ragdoll.
A flurry of punches. Conrad collapses.
I try to breathe, try to speak, but none of it goes well. Crying is about all I’m good for right now. “He followed me here. He snuck in… I tried to stop him…”
“Where’s Hazel?” Pasha growls.
“Her family—someone got hurt. I don’t know where. I just…” I touch the apartment door for balance because the whole floor feels like a tossing ocean at the moment. “I just fed her cat. Tried to leave…”
“Did he hurt you?”
I hiccup and shake my head. “He was going t-to… but you… you…”
“Let’s go.”
His voice is so harsh. Cold and crackling. His hand on my elbow is, too.
It all just happened so fast.
Pasha doesn’t say a word the entire drive home.
For once, I’m okay with his silence. I’m just relieved he’s here. And that he showed up in time to stop Conrad from doing the unthinkable.
I told Pasha the truth. As much as I could tell it between my shaky breaths, anyway. Hazel’s family had a sudden emergency, so I promised to play with her cat and give him some food before I left for home.
I was on my way out, about to text Viktor to pick me up at the cafe on the corner so I could grab a pastry, when Conrad appeared out of nowhere. He slammed me against the wall, shoved his knee between my legs, and bit down hard on my neck so I’d stop fighting him as much.
He’s certifiably insane. I’m sure of it. I don’t know what happened to him, but something snapped.
So, yeah—I’d rather endure Pasha’s silence than Conrad’s psychotic behavior.
We park in the garage, but Pasha doesn’t move to get out right away. He also doesn’t look at me. “I know the answer,” he rumbles, “but I need to hear it from you. Have you ever cheated on me?”
“Never.”
Pasha nods. “Good.”
That’s all he says between the car and the penthouse. He doesn’t touch me, either. Not like he usually does, to help me up or guide me safely through the building.
Don’t cry. Do not cry. It’s not your fault. He’s not angry with you personally; it’s just the situation.
When we do get inside our home, I’m surprised to see Mak, Sofi, and Asya there.
All of them very, very serious.
