65. April

65

APRIL

"If I can't have you, no one can."

After the initial shock has passed, I can only feel one thing: rage.

How dare he? Who does he think he is? Discarding me like a broken toy, then claiming no one else can have me? Condemning me to a life of loneliness because?—

Because what?

He loves me?

As if.

As. Fucking. If.

That night, I'm a statue of salt. I endure dinner like I'm enduring stitches. I set my jaw, bite down on my lip, and I don't say a damn thing.

Silence—but on my terms.

"April…"

Of course—now, he speaks. The silence isn't working now that he isn't its master any longer. "About this wedding… there's something you should?—"

"No."

I watch him blink. "‘No'?"

It's a sick parody of last night's exchange. "No," I repeat, putting down my napkin with enough force to make the plates tremble. "I don't want to hear it."

"You have to."

"Oh, I ‘have to'?" I hear myself laugh, but there isn't a single trace of joy in it. It's a broken, howling sound. Like the wind through an abandoned house. "Yesterday, you made it abundantly clear it was none of my business. And now, I have to listen to you?"

"Sit down," Matvey growls.

"Or what?" I challenge him, though in truth, I didn't even realize I'd stood. "You'll find a smaller cage to lock me into?"

"Don't test me."

I can't believe I ever fell for his act. Can't believe I let this man fool me for as long as I did. Right now, every word out of his mouth is confirmation: all he wants is power over me.

All he wants is control.

That's not true , a quiet part of me whispers at the back of my mind. It's the part I buried, the part that's still licking her wounds, bleeding from the gash in her heart. He cared for you once. Maybe he cares still.

I silence that voice and fix my stare on Matvey. "Test you?" I echo. "Why? What can you possibly do to me that you haven't already? You put a target on my back from day one. Thanks to you, I got kidnapped, cut off from everything I've ever loved, assaulted in my own home. I stared down the barrel of an assassin's gun, challenged the whole mob in handcuffs, and even had to pull a freaking heist . For your fiancée, might I add."

"April, the wedding with Petra?—"

"Do not say her name!"

The scream surprises me. I didn't think I was capable of this: this unbridled anger. The fury of a broken thing.

But broken things have to take on new forms to survive.

"Don't say her name," I repeat, this time in a whisper. "Don't talk to me about your wedding. Don't talk to me about ‘family' when all you've ever done is scorn ours."

"April—"

"You never wanted me. You never wanted our child. You took us in out of sick jealousy, just so no one else could have the toys you didn't care to keep. Because, even broken, they were yours. "

"You are mine," he snarls, rising to meet my eyes from above. "Both of you are mine. That will never change."

"And that scares me half to death."

Matvey reels back as if slapped, but I can't stop now, not even if I wanted to. With the floodgates finally open, everything has to come rushing out. Even the dirt at the very bottom. All the black and rotten and bloody things I always kept to myself, hoping no one would ever see. My darkness.

"You ruined me, Matvey Groza. You ruined my life—and now, you want to ruin my child's."

"April, I would never?—"

"But you already have!" I half-laugh, half-sob. "Look at what happened the other day. I was in a hospital, Matvey, not knowing whether my baby was still alive inside me. All because of your Bratva. Because of you."

Matvey clenches his jaw. His lips press into a tight line, but he doesn't say a thing. Doesn't seem to have a single argument to defend himself.

Once again, he chooses silence.

So I speak for the both of us. "Ever since we met, you've done nothing but force me into a life I didn't want."

"I never once forced you, April."

"Maybe not," I concede. "Maybe I was so lonely that I just let you." I take a step forward. "But I won't let you anymore. Not if you want me to be even more alone. Not if you want our child to grow up alone like I did. Like you did. Not if you intend to turn into…"

The words get stuck in my throat. I've said a lot of horrible things today, but this—this is too sharp. Too evil.

And yet, it's also true.

"Say it," Matvey growls, as if reading my mind. "Say what you're thinking."

I hesitate. "Into…"

" Say it, April."

It's his tone that gives me the final push: aggressive, scary, cruel.

"Your father," I breathe.

I can see the exact moment Matvey shuts down. Whatever he'd been intending to say, it sinks back into his depths, sealed under a mountain of grief.

Good , the vindictive part of me rejoices. Let him feel the pain you felt.

But why doesn't it feel good? Isn't this the thing Matvey has been after all along—revenge? Shouldn't it feel good?

So why do I just want to cry harder?

Without a word, Matvey turns his back on me. As he walks away, every step echoes like the crack of something broken. Something irreparable.

Something even I can't fix.

I lie awake in bed until morning.

When the doorbell rings, I don't even think: I gather myself and get the door.

"Matvey."

He's wearing the suit I made him. Han blue, like his eyes in the dark.

On the front, folded neatly in his jacket, is the pocket square I gifted him. He looks dreamy. But the bags under his eyes tell a different story: a man trapped in a nightmare.

I don't get it. This is his wedding day. He's marrying the woman he loves—the one he actually wants.

So why does he look so wretched?

"You should be getting married," I tell him in a rasping monotone.

Truth be told, it's still early. I didn't ask for details, but if this is anything like his previous wedding, he isn't supposed to be at the venue for at least another hour.

The venue. I wonder if they changed it. If they'll get married in some blooming garden across town, or if they picked the terrace again. This terrace. Just one floor above me.

If I stood at the balcony, would I hear it? The music, the march—their I do 's?

If I just kept the windows open, would the sounds of my world shattering drift inside?

"I have something to discuss with you first."

"Is this about whatever you were trying to say last night?" I ask.

Matvey's expression turns bitter. "No. Clearly, I can't trust you with that information."

The words cut deep. I think back to my own remarks: the jab about his father. As hurt as I still am, I can't help but regret it.

"Then what…?"

"I know about the induction."

I stare up at him. "Since when?"

"Since Dr. Allan called you," he replies. "You can't keep secrets from me, April. It won't work."

"But you can keep them from me?"

Something flashes across Matvey's face. Something like pain. "I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," I retort. "Always, Matvey."

"Not for me. Not about this."

It feels like we're on two different railways in this conversation. Like we're following two different threads, both leading nowhere. "I didn't think you cared anymore," I whisper. "About our baby."

"Whether I care or not is no longer your concern," he spits at me, venomous. "This is my child, too. And I'll do with it as I see fit."

Once, I would have taken this as a claim. Aggressive, misguided—but born out of love nonetheless. Now, all I can do is shiver.

"After the wedding, I'll take you to the hospital myself," he adds, dark and final.

I swallow hard. "What if I don't want you to?"

"Then that's no concern of mine."

His words leave me reeling. Since when has Matvey gone back to being this iceman? Since when has he gone back to threatening me?

When Matvey turns to leave, someone else takes his place in my eyes. Someone just as tall, imposing, and scary.

My father.

It's uncanny, the resemblance. Their taut backs, their disdain. Suddenly, I'm seven years old again, watching Dominic walk out on me. Rejecting me for a better family.

I can't even muster the strength to close the door. I just collapse with my back against it, heart in my throat, the beats too frantic to keep track.

And then, in the worst cosmic joke of all?—

"My water," I stammer into the empty room.

I watch the liquid pool under my legs, staining my dress.

The baby's ready.

My baby's ready—and it's coming.