Page 35 of Fractured Empire

There was never anything wrong with you, Leon.

I can’t think of another man that would put up with such a cold bitch of a wife, let alone one who would put up with it without cheating on her. And yes, I said cold bitch.

I’m not afraid of the words; that’s exactly how I acted around you. It was the only way I could keep you from getting any closer. If I let you in, we would be doomed. And not only did you deserve to survive my death with your heart intact, but I deserved to not know the feeling of loving you, Leon. If I loved you, I wouldn’t be able to handle dying.

My death wouldn’t have been peaceful, or a relief of long-standing pain, it would be earth-shattering. You’re not the kind of man that someone can love casually, and I’m sorry that I’ve likely made you doubt that. I’m sorry that I’ve held all of the cards in this relationship, and I’m sorry that I didn’t give you a choice in any of it.

Like I said, I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave me.

Lord knows, I held more grudges than most while I lived. You’re free to do the same.

But don’t resent my decision to give the boys a new mother. Don’t mope around about how you need to be married again to someone you aren’t in love with for a second time. Because I promise you, this one won’t be like me.

She’ll fall for you, Leon. Hard and fast.

She won’t have secrets to hide, or a life expectancy of ten years or less. She’ll adore our sons, and she’ll adore you. You’ve earned the relief that falling in love with her will bring you, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it.

I was never meant for an epic love story. But you were.

Take care of our boys, but take care of yourself too.

And if you’ve made it through this whole letter, you’ve proven my previous point. You’re a good man, Leon Moretti. I hope that sharing the years that you shared with me haven’t broken you. You’re stronger than that—stronger than me—stronger than you know.

I’m sorry,

Cleo

Hands trembling around the thick paper, I exhale and scan back over the scrawling ink like the words may have disappeared as I read them. Because how could they be real? Cleo may not have spoken that many words to me in our entire marriage, and yet there they all are. Still available to be seen. Still real.

I don’t know how many times I reread the letter before I force myself to put it down. Seeing her words, and hearing them try to assure me that there’s nothing wrong with me so that I don’t live with that feeling until the end of time…it shifts something inside of me. I understand her more now, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

Cleo may call herself a cold bitch.

But she was never a monster.

Chapter Sixteen

Katya

My mother finds me standing in the kitchen doorway, puffy eyed and silent. My arms are folded in on my sides, and despite getting off the plane more than twenty minutes ago, I feel like I’m still in the sky—suspended in thick, tension-filled air. Chloe refused to say a word to me throughout our entire flight, and she wouldn’t even look at me after seeing Leon’s guards escort me onto the plane. She deliberately had a separate car waiting for her at the tarmac too.

Our plan was originally for her to come back to the house with me, to talk about our experience with my parents and hers. But of course, she abandoned our previous arrangement in favor of going straight home with her father. She doesn’t want to be my friend anymore, let alone come home with me to talk about how I stole everything she’s ever wanted. At least, everything she’s ever wanted for the past two weeks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” my mom says softly, holding out a hand toward me and motioning for me to come closer. “Have you been crying the whole ride home?”

“Not the whole way.” I have to force my feet to step forward, despite feeling weak and unsure. My mother isn’t one to judge, especially before getting every side of a story, but I know Chloe’s parents must have contacted her. They took her from the airstrip rather than coming here, after all.

“It’s okay, bábika. Everything is going to be okay, hmm?” She surrounds me with a hug as soon as I’m close enough, and wraps me up tight. “You didn’t do anything wrong, so there’s no need to wear such a sad face, Katya.”

Just the sound of my childhood nickname makes me feel safe. She’s been calling me bábika, little doll in Slovak, since I could walk. There’s no special meaning behind it other than tradition. Her mother called her that, her mother’s mother called her that, and now she calls me that. And since marrying Linus, the two of them gave Gaia the Greek version of the same nickname. It’s such a small thing, but endlessly comforting to hear all the same.

“What did she say?” I croak the question, pressing my cheek into her shoulder, and wondering how she could possibly already be so sure of my innocence.

“Don’t worry about what she said,” my mother advises, pulling back to look me in the eye. “Chloe says things she doesn’t mean when she’s angry. You know this, I know this…she’ll come around.”

“She said things she can’t take back this time, didn’t she? What did she tell you?” I ask again, needing to know how much my mother is aware of.

She sighs, caressing my face and unsticking a few tear-stained strands of hair from my wet cheeks. “Leon Moretti wants you to be his wife. She’s disappointed that she wasn’t his choice, and she blames you for it.”