Page 63 of Wicked Villain

“I… sorry. I was looking for paper. For my art designs,” I manage, though my voice is strained and brimming with guilt. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make notes.”

She tears her gaze away from me and crouches to pick up the documents.

I stifle a groan, feeling worse.

“The paper is in the cupboard next to the printer.” Zoya points over to the cupboard.

I look there and instantly feel foolish. Why in the hell didn’t I check there in the first place? I would have saved myself a lot of trouble. And stress.

She gathers everything and places it all back in the file folder, but she keeps hold of the picture of the woman and the little girl and stares at it.

I notice the way she looks at them, with awe and… sadness.

“Is that Lev’s mother?” I dare to ask.

Zoya glances back at me, and a faint smile tips the corners of her lips. “It is. And the little girl is Celia, his sister.”

I can tell from the sadness in her eyes that something happened to them. “What happened?”

“A terrible accident. They were both killed sixteen years ago.”

Despite what I just learned about my husband’s intentions for me, my heart grips. His sister couldn’t have been older than nine or ten.

How awful to die so young.

I’ve always thought that about Gabrielle, but Lev’s sister was even younger.

“I’m sorry.”

Zoya dips her head, and I’m surprised when her eyes turn glassy, as though she might cry. “They were the nicest people. Treated me like family. It was a great honor.”

This is the most human she’s been with me. “I can see they meant a lot to you.”

“Lev’s mother was a lovely woman. You would have liked her. All the artwork and sculptures in the house belonged to her. She was a collector.”

I’ve wondered where they came from. “They’re beautiful.”

Again, she nods, then she places the file and the picture back in the drawer, exactly as they were.

She looks at the file for a moment, her eyes fixed on my father’s name. And just like that, the tension from moments ago returns, and we’re back to when she caught me sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. She knows what I saw. No point trying to pretend otherwise.

“Zoya, I⁠—”

“You should go to bed, Gabrielle,” she cuts me off. Her gaze flicks to mine, and a chill races down my spine when I notice the warning in her eyes. “Your husband is home now.”

Oh. My. God.

Lev’s home.

I stare at Zoya, not quite knowing if she’s throwing me a lifeline or just… well, I don’t know.

I suppose, though, at this moment, she seems to be guiding me back to whatever keeps the peace. So, I nod.

“Okay.”

“I’ll sort out some notepads for you in the morning. You need your sleep.”

“Thank you.” I give her a curt nod. “Good night.”