Page 38 of The Glass Empire
"Large animals," Nathan interrupted. "That's what you want to treat, Monika? Cows? Horses? Things that can't thank you?"
"They don't need to thank me."
"But you want them to. You want to be needed. That's why you're here, isn't it?" He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes fixed on mine. "My father needs a medic. My brother needs someone to save. And you—you need to be needed. It's a perfect arrangement."
"Nathan," Gabriel said, his voice sharp. "Stop."
"I'm just making conversation."
"You're being an asshole."
"Boys." Aleksander's voice was soft, but it cut through the tension like a blade. "Monika is our guest. She will be treated with respect."
"Of course," Nathan said, and his smile was back—beautiful and empty. "Respect. Absolutely."
The rest of the meal passed in strained silence. Gabriel tried to restart the conversation twice, but the words fell flat, swallowed by the weight of Nathan's gaze. I ate without tasting. I drank wine without feeling it. I kept my eyes on my plate and my hands in my lap and tried to remember why I'd agreed to any of this.
Because of the money. Because of the money. Because of the money.
The mantra repeated itself in my head like a prayer, but it wasn't working anymore. The money was starting to feel like an excuse.
After dinner, Aleksander excused himself to take a call—business, always business—and Gabriel offered to walk me to the garden.
"I'd like to show you the greenhouse," he said, his voice soft, hopeful. "There are orchids. My mother planted them before she died."
I wanted to go with him. I wanted to feel his hand in mine, his lips on my forehead, the safety of his presence. But Nathan was standing by the fireplace, watching us with those whiskey-colored eyes, and I knew—I knew—that if I left with Gabriel, Nathan would follow. Or worse, he'd wait. And I'd spend the whole time wondering what he was doing, what he was planning, what he'd say to me when I came back.
"Another time," I said. "I should... I need some air."
Gabriel's face fell, but he nodded. "Of course. I'll wait here. Take your time."
I walked out of the dining room and through the foyer, my heels clicking on the marble, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I needed to move, to breathe, to put distance between myself and the weight of Nathan's attention.
The mansion was a labyrinth—hallways that led to other hallways, rooms that opened into other rooms. I turned left, then right, then left again, and found myself in a library.
It was beautiful. Walls of books, floor to ceiling, with a rolling ladder that slid along a brass rail. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting warm light over leather armchairs and a desk that looked like it belonged in a museum. The windows faced the garden, and through the glass I could see Gabriel standing by the hedge, waiting for me.
I pressed my forehead against the cold window and closed my eyes.
"You have a habit of wandering into places you don't belong."
I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. I could feel him behind me—the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence, the familiar scent of cologne and something darker.
"My father doesn't bring women here," Nathan said, his voice low, almost gentle. "My brother doesn't kiss strangers. You've got them both wrapped around your finger in a month. What's your game?"
I opened my eyes. Gabriel was still standing in the garden, alone, his breath fogging the air. I watched him for a moment—the way he shoved his hands into his pockets, the way he looked up at the sky like he was searching for something.
"I'm not playing a game," I said. "Just trying to survive."
"Survive." Nathan laughed—a soft, incredulous sound. He moved closer, and I could feel the heat of him at my back, close enough that if I leaned back, I'd touch his chest. "You don't belong here, Monika. You're soft. You're good. This place eats good girls for breakfast."
I turned around.
He was closer than I expected—inches away, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar above his left eyebrow, the way his lips curved in that beautiful, terrible smile. I should have stepped back. I should have put the window between us, the desk, the armchair, anything.
But I didn't.
"Maybe I'm not that good."
