Page 112 of Hate You Most

She swallowed, forced the words off her tongue in Russian. “I know about Red Meridian.”

“Okay,” her father said after a moment, his tone even, almost conversational. “I assumed you would eventually.”

Her grip tightened around the phone. “You assumed I would?”

“You have always been very clever,” he replied. “It was only ever a question of when you would figure it out, not if.”

The lack of resistance or denial upset her more than anything else.

Viktoriya’s chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. “You had Red Meridian scrub the rumors about me. There are none in Russia.”

“Of course.”

The answer came so easily that it made her feel briefly, horribly nauseous. There was no shame in his voice, no attempt to deny or soften or disguise what he had done. He had no remorse, and Viktoriya should have known better than to expect any.

“You erased it all. The articles about Dakota and me, the stories, everything that would have pointed to⁠—”

“To what?” he interrupted. “To some temporary confusion? To some immature indulgence that would have passed if left alone? I did what was necessary for your reputation.”

She couldn't breathe properly. Every gap in her memory and every moment she had been scared to be her true self, had been caused by her father.

“What did you do?” she asked.

Her father sighed. He was clearly disappointed that she'd forced him into this conversation. “You are making this very emotional,” he said. “And emotion has never been your strength, especially when you start to unravel.”

He was right. She had lost control, and she was too far gone to hold anything back.

Viktoriya’s jaw tightened. “What did you do to me?”

Another pause. This one longer.

She had lost control.

“Fucking answer me!” she yelled. She couldn't be bothered to keep her tone neutral anymore. “What did you do to me, I can't remember my life!”

“Does it matter?” her father asked, his voice still composed and cold.

Viktoriya inhaled sharply, her chest tightening. “Yes,” she said. “It matters.”

“To you,” he corrected.

“To anyone. But yes, to me. You don’t just⁠—”

“You are alive and you are skating again. You are exactly where you are meant to be.”

“No, I'm not. I—what have you done to me? You've ruined my life!”

“You should remember, Zvezdochka,” her father said. “It was your idea.”

The room shifted, and the air around her body became physically colder.

“What?”

Nothing made sense anymore.

“You should remember,” her father repeated. “It was your idea.” He drew out each syllable of the words, as if that would help her understand. She wished Dakota could understand, but she just couldn't, and she didn't know how to tell her any of this.

Her father was a powerful man, but he was also a liar. She had no reason to believe anything that came out of his mouth.