All Chapters of Her Neglected Scars: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The hallway’s silent when I pass through it. Not that it’s unusual—this place is built like a fucking mausoleum, all polished floors and pristine chandeliers, so quiet you can hear your own regrets echo off the goddamn marble.I don’t bother going back to the office tonight. Carlos didn’t say anything, but I know he’s starting to notice how often I work overtime. It's not as though I enjoy swimming in spreadsheets for fun, but . . . it’s easier than going back to a cold room where a certain red-eyed psychopath sometimes sleeps.I head straight to our bedroom. I use that word lightly. It's more his territory than mine, like a cage I’m allowed to dress pretty in. He’s not there. Of course he’s not.I stare at the empty side of the bed—the one I don’t touch, don’t breathe near, don’t even let the blankets wrinkle toward. Still perfectly made, as no one even exists on that side. He’s probably still with her. Irene.My throat tightens. It shouldn’t sting. Not after everything. Not after th

The lounge smells like chlorine and sugar. Leonid’s curled up on the far end of the long cream couch, his stupid tablet on his lap, and for once, he’s not scowling at me like I just kicked his puppy. I sit on the opposite end, legs tucked under me, a little awkward.The sun from the giant glass doors spills across the marble floor and catches in his dark hair. We’ve been here the entire afternoon. God, the things I do for this kid already. He keeps pretending he’s not looking at me. But he is. Every few seconds, his eyes flick up from his screen and shoot me a weird little glare that isn’t really a glare.“What?” I mutter, quirking a brow. His lips purse.“You don’t sit like a normal adult.”Okay. That’s . . . new.“Sorry,” I say with a snort, stretching one leg out and resting my arm over the back of the couch. “Is there a formal seating posture you’re expecting from your soon-to-be pool buddy?”Leonid’s head jerks up. “I didn’t say you could swim with me.”“You didn’t not say it,” I

The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the window latch just to breathe, because the tension in here is thick enough to bottle and sell as an aphrodisiac to desperate housewives. As I lean slightly, my arm brushes his. Hard. Muscle and heat and everything I shouldn’t be thinking about.His voice comes low. Mocking. Dangerous. “You that desperate to breathe near me, zayka?”I freeze. Of fucking course. Before I can bite out a retort, a lollipop hits his shoulder. Leonid doesn’t even blink. “Stop flirting with her, old man.” I snort so hard I choke on my own spit.Konstantin turns slowly, red eyes narrowing on his brat of a cousin like he’s one sarcastic comment away from putting him up for adoption. “Say that again,” he says.Leonid gr

The fireworks are still cracking open the sky.But the warmth from earlier— that stupid, fragile, almost-thing— is already bleeding out.Irene stumbles toward us like a wounded dove who somehow managed to touch up her mascara on the way over. Her phone clutched to her chest. Eyes wide and glassy and aimed directly at Konstantin like he’s the only lighthouse left in a storm she personally orchestrated.“I was feeling so much better,” she breathes, voice catching in all the right places. “And I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it soft. Helpless. The kind of helpless that takes practice.My chest tightens. Not from jealousy— I refuse to call it that— but from the sheer mechanical precision of it. The timing. The wobble in her lip. The way her hand finds Konstantin’s arm like it belongs there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and she’s just so relieved.Konstantin says nothing.He doesn’t pull away either.I feel the shift immediately. The temperature of the whole ev

I say sorry.That’s the first thing I do. The words come out before my brain even catches up. “Sorry, excuse me, I’m so sorry,” and I’m already moving, already pulling my dress back into place with fingers that are completely, totally steady, because they have to be. Because the alternative is letting this room see what it’s already seen and I absolutely refuse to give it anything more.I smile at Galina. I thank her. I tell her I’ll send the measurements through Carlos.My voice sounds remarkably normal. I’m almost impressed by myself.I don’t look at the aunts. I don’t look at Irina, whose hands have fallen away from my back and who is making a sound somewhere between a gasp and an apology that I cannot afford to hear right now. I pull my cardigan back up over my shoulders, smooth it down, and I walk toward the door.Past the settees.Past Galina with her pins and her tape measure and her professional face that has gone completely, eerily blank.Past the aunts, frozen with their te