Her. And my sister.
Mid–argument. Faces flushed, hands tense. Whatever this is, it’s a delight to watch.
I tilt my head, enjoy theatre.
“Huh,” I say softly, smiling to myself. “That was quick.”
Given how reclusive Taisiya’s been since the hospital results came in, I honestly doubted she’d even bother to read my message let alone
care.
–
And really, it wasn’t even that difficult. A few minor adjustments to her medical records at a hospital Vanderbilt Holdings conveniently owns partial shares in, and voilà – her perfectly mundane malnutrition and stress–induced amenorrhea became a full–blown pregnancy.
—
―
Isn’t it fascinating? The things a single word — pregnant can make a baby–phobic woman unravel over.
But judging by the argument unfolding on screen, she got it just fine.
I tap my nails against the door panel, watching Emilia flinch and Tessa pace like a caged animal.
–
Surveillance has always been entertaining – people are so much more honest when they think no one’s watching. But as I flick to the live feed of my fiancé’s apartment–specifically, the room he thinks is his private surveillance hub – I realise time is ticking,
There’s a limit to how long I can sit here and spectate.
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Some things need action.
And the first to go is the pitiful little spy he planted as my assistant.
I consider the options.
Firing would be too obvious.
An explosion, too theatrical.
Poison, though…
Clean. Quiet. Poetic, even.
But before that, I have more urgent matters.
“Amanda,” I say, stretching out my legs as I stare at the chaos unfolding on my phone. “Book the first flight to New York tomorrow.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine in the mirror, faintly alarmed. “Do we have business there?”
Business. That’s such a polite little word for what I have planned.
No, this is personal. Delicate. Final.
And the last move before I, predictably, die.
“Better,” I murmur, smiling faintly. “I’ll be playing with my sister dearest for a while.”
EMILIA
“No.”
It slips out before I can stop it. Loud. Sure. Final.
Even Tessa startles a little, shoulders tensing.
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She’s been facing the wall this whole time, like the sight of me is too much, but now she turns. Her face is flat, unreadable.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no.”
She blinks slowly. “You’re going to what, veto my life now?”
“I’m not letting you run. You’re not quitting the job you’ve wanted since we were nineteen. You’re not going back to Russia to be your parents‘ obedient little puppet.”
“Oh, now you care about my dreams?” she snaps. “That’s funny, Emilia.”
“I do care,” I push. “I just… I should’ve said something sooner. I lied about Diana. I know that. And I’m guessing she told you everything – about the fan in the bathroom-”
“She did.” Her voice is cold. “She filled in the blanks you never
bothered to.”
I flinch. I deserve it.
“I should’ve told you all of it,” I say, quieter now.
Tessa tilts her head. “But?”
“No but. I fucked up. I own that.”
–
I inhale, trying to hold/myself steady. “But you’re not going anywhere.
–
I don’t care how grown or independent you think you are — I’m not letting you burn everything down and disappear.”
She scoffs. “And what, you get to tell me what to do now?”
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“You quit your job and then what? Sit here and fall apart in silence? You go to Russia and let your family crush you all over again? Marry Dimitri and lose yourself completely? You think that’s a plan?”
She looks away, jaw clenched. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know enough. I know this isn’t you. And I know Lyle never deserved even a sliver of you.”
“God, Emilia-”
–
—
“No, I’m serious,” I snap. “You didn’t tell me about him, and I’m not blaming you for that even though I really fucking want to but if you had, I would’ve gone full Greek tragedy on him. I would’ve set his car on fire.”
That almost gets a smile out of her. Almost.
I step closer. “And I know someone better is out there. Someone who already sees you, loves you, would do anything to be with you.”
Her brows twitch. The room suddenly feels too quiet.
Her eyes narrow like she’s testing me, waiting for the recoil. When it doesn’t come, she lets out a bitter little laugh and nods toward the crumpled kit on her desk.
“I couldn’t even use the test,” she says. “I just… couldn’t. So I went to the hospital instead. But you already know that, don’t you? Since you were digging through my things.”
I ignore the jab. “I never saw the results.”
Her expression flickers – surprise, maybe even guilt – but I hold steady.
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