Page 72 of Cruel Obsession

Thanks to me.

Blyad.

“Send her in.” There’s no point in avoiding this.

The door swings open, and she walks in. A designer dress—something blue and expensive—clings to her frame, the slight curve of her pregnancy now visible. Her face is drawn, eyes raw from crying. Mascara smudged beneath her lashes.

Without invitation, she crosses the room and sinks into the chair across from me, the mahogany desk between us like a demilitarized zone.

“What can I do for you, Rosanna?” I ask, feeling like a dick as I say it.

Rosanna stares at me, something fragile and feral in her gaze. “My father was murdered.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

“I heard. I’m sorry for your loss.” The words stick in my throat. My condolences—such a clean phrase for such dirty hands. Mine.

Rosanna’s fingers twist together in her lap. “I’m alone now. Completely alone.” Her voice rises, breaks. I fight back another surge of guilt. Rosanna’s mother died when she was an infant. She was raised as an only child by her father. And I took him from her.

He asked for it, dammit.

Sergei was anything but innocent.

Still, it doesn’t diminish the facts. He may have been a monster, but to her, he was her only family.

“I’m sure you have other relatives, friends…” I trail off, feeling even more like a dick.

“I have you,” she says.

“What?” I snap.

“You, Arkady. You owe me,” she says. “I’m pregnant with your baby, remember?”

“I never asked for that. And, I still don’t know if it’s mine.”

“How could you say that?” Her eyes swim with tears again. “Why don’t you trust me?”

I study her face, searching for the manipulation beneath the tears. I know it’s there, hidden deep down. Even in mourning, I know she’s capable of it. My chest stays cold, unmoved.

“Trust you?” A harsh sound escapes me. “You swore you were on the pill, Rosanna. And I wore a condom every time we fucked. Every. Time.”

The truth is, we stopped having sex weeks into our engagement. She’d flinch, tell me I hurt her, that I was too much, too rough. Or she’d have a headache, a stomachache, a thousand excuses. Fine by me. I found release elsewhere—women who understood the transaction. No strings. No complaints. No complications.

“And I’m still pregnant.” Her hand slides to her stomach, protective. Something flickers across her face—determination, desperation. “This baby wants to be with us, Arkady. It chose us as parents. Can’t you see that?”

Christ. More of her mystical bullshit. As if Fate gives a damn about any of us. As if the universe has a plan beyond chaos and blood.

I know that better than anyone. By now, she should, too.

Her eyes narrow, something harder emerging through the tears. “I didn’t come to ask why you left me standing at the altar. That ship sailed when you walked away. But I’m not as stupid as you think. I saw how you looked at that woman that day.”

Mirabel. Standing there in that treacherous dress, chocolate eyes locked with mine. That moment when everything shifted. When I chose a different path.

That moment when I didn’t choose Rosanna.

I offer nothing. My silence a wall she can’t scale.

“I’m on antidepressants,” she continues, her voice dropping. “Clinically depressed. Have been for years.” Fresh tears spill over. “I have no idea how I’m going to manage alone. As a single mother. Without even my father—” Her voice cracks. She looks up, naked desperation in her eyes. “Please, Arkady. We need you. The baby needs you. Everything is falling apart.”

Mishka’s face flashes behind my eyes. His smile. The light in his eyes vanishing in an instant. The deafening crack of the gun. The terrible silence after. The weight of his body in my arms growing heavier with each second.