Chapter 25

ANYA

His icy-cold voice breaks the moment—instantly constructing an invisible wall between Dimitri and me.

Dimitri yanks himself from me, stepping several steps back from my panting frame as he seems to collect his senses. He turns toward the direction the voice came from, catching the spiteful gaze of his son, who looks pale as ash and every bit pissed.

“Blake?” Dimitri’s words come out sounding hollow.

Behind Blake, Vanessa steps down from the back door of the club, her widened eyes taking in the scene. I look between her and Blake, bewildered as to what just happened, how it happened.

“What? Shouldn’t I be the one surprised?” Blake asks, his words accompanied by a mocking scoff. “I mean, wow! I knew you guys were close, but not this close.” He has his hands fisted, his knuckles white, as he drills a stare into his father.

Dimitri grows pale, his throat rising and falling nervously, while my heart races with fast beats trapped in my ears.

Vanessa comes forward, her expression showing agitation. “Anya, I’m sorry. He appeared out of nowhere and demanded to see Dimitri. Hudson made me show him out, but he heard you guys.”

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat at the suddenness of the situation. “It’s okay, Nessa.”

Blake snaps his cold eyes to me, his anger radiating from him in strong waves. “It’s okay? You think this is okay?” He points between his dad and me. “Oh, wait, why am I even trying to find reason in this? You just proved what a slut you are.”

Dimitri’s jaw tightens at the statement. He places his body between Blake and me, a hand caressing my hip to guide me behind him to shield me from his son’s wrath. The gesture warms me, keeping me grounded in reality in the face of this catastrophe.

“Fuck off, Blake,” Dimitri spits the words at his son. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Blake takes a step back, barking out a laughter that echoes through the night. “Now, that’s a lie.” He follows his words with a snort. “It has everything to do with me. Two years we were together, Anya.” His gaze cuts to me, a flash of pain dancing within it before fading. “This is your way of making me feel just as hurt as I made you feel.”

“She didn’t do anything,” Dimitri interjects, his tone rising as the tension between them becomes thick.

“Oh, she didn’t?” Blake feigns a look of surprise. “Don’t tell me that with the whore persona she has, she wasn’t the one to throw herself at you first.”

“Shut up, motherfucker!” Vanessa yells, shoving Blake with her elbow, but he doesn’t move.

Instead, he smirks at her. “Don’t tell me to shut up, Vanessa. You of all people should remember how she kept throwing herself at me.”

Then he tilts his head and studies my face. “All those subtle glances, the tiny smiles she threw my way, how she asked me for a pen even though she had one. She has always been a fucking seducer. Why would I even look at her otherwise? I always had much better options.”

His every word, spoken so callously, cuts deep into my insecurities, stopping my heart for a second before tears spill from my eyes. My reaction catches me off guard, and I instinctively slap my palm over my mouth as I try to keep that hurt buried.

~How can he say all this about me?~ We both know how it started between us was mutual.

I didn’t seduce him. I had a crush on him, and he had a crush on me. My smiles, blushes, glances, and pen borrowing were all innocent. I didn’t even realize he noticed me looking, but I definitely noticed him noticing me.

~Were my actions what boys nowadays call seduction? All they need is a smile from someone, and they think they were seduced? Are men that naive?~

~Or are we women just plain stupid to even crush over them in the first place?~

“How the fuck could you fall for her sweet talks, Dad? I thought things between us were improving. Fuck!” Blake runs his hands through his hair and tilts his head down. “If I hadn’t gotten that text, I would have never found out,” he says, almost to himself.

Dimitri hisses while I exchange a look with Vanessa, who shakes her head and shrugs to signal her innocence.

~Who the fuck sent the text?~

“Blake, you need to shut up,” Dimitri growls. “We can talk this out at home.”

“Home? You mean where I found out your not-so-little secret?” Blake counters, tsking at his father. “That home, Dad?”

The silence that follows is hard to understand.

Dimitri grows whiter with every second that passes. He stares and stares at Blake as if unable to figure out what to say. Finally, he croaks out, “What did you find?” His voice is strained, and his tone is timid, so unlike the one he used to whisper dirty words in my ear.

I look at Blake from behind Dimitri with unasked questions begging to be released. What secrets is he talking about? Why does Dimitri look so scared of them?

He smirks at the oblivious expression that paints my face. “Oh, c’mon… I know he didn’t tell you. No one wants to reveal such dark parts of themselves. Am I right, Dad?”

Stepping around Dimitri, I turn to face him. His eyes are fixed on his son, and his jaw is quivering. Fear grips me as I grab his forearm, finding his skin cold to the touch, and give it a squeeze.

“What’s he talking about, Dimitri?” I ask.

My words carry with them an anxious plea, but he is not listening, and it suddenly feels like he is slipping away from me without even moving. It feels like I am losing him.

Dimitri ignores me, addressing his son instead. “Blake, let’s go home. We can talk this out there.” He isn’t even able to meet my eyes with the mention of these secrets.

I release his arm and move to the side of the alley, letting the two men face each other directly. My faltering steps as I position myself between them give Blake another reason to smirk.

He has found the spot that would hurt his father the most. That is why he is here.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he snaps at Dimitri. “It’s time for Anya to know what a fucking toxic person you are. Do you know why my mother left, Anya?” He holds his stare on his dad. “Because ~he~ made her feel that she couldn’t be a good mother. He told me so himself.”

As a wickedly sharp, accusatory finger points at Dimitri, his large body seems to shrink in the tight space the four of us are sharing.

Vanessa gasps, taking steps toward me so that she is standing right beside me. Her hand grasps my arm, as if for moral support.

Once again, Blake correctly reads my confused expression, and his lips curl up in a sneer. “I assume that’s not what he told you about her. Funny thing. But that’s not his only dark secret, you see.”

“Blake, shut up,” Dimitri’s words are deadly this time, carrying a silent threat that chills me but has no impact on Blake.

“He’s obsessed with you too,” Blake continues. “And it didn’t just start recently. He has always been obsessed with you—even when you were with me. He’s the fucking Hades to your Persephone, Anya.”

“Dimitri, what’s he saying?” I ask, panicking, before Vanessa moves her hands to my shoulders and squeezes—to soothe me or hold me back, I cannot say.

“You remember that room in our house, Dad? The one behind your bookshelf? The one you told me I was strictly forbidden to go to, as you stored…what was it? Oh yeah, antique books. I didn’t know your idea of antique books would be ~that~.” His lips twist to a look of disgust.

My stomach cramps as my mind flashes back to that first night with Dimitri. I knew I had seen something behind that shelf—that something seemed…off, somehow.

So there is a secret room back there, but what could it contain that would make Dimitri so scared? It can’t be a sex dungeon; he would have shown that to me by now. So what is in there?

“What did you do?” Dimitri asks in a barely audible voice, which causes Blake to sneer again.

“I have proof with me, Anya,” Blake says, finally looking away from his father. “Guess what? I did go to that room today, and here’s what I found.” He pushes his hand into his pants pocket and draws out his phone.

We all stay silent as he types on the screen before his expression turns dark. Then he turns it toward me.

The photo is indeed of a room—with faded beige walls and a wooden floor that match those in Dimitri’s bedroom. The room appears to be an art studio, mostly for painting, by the looks of it.

But the subject of the artwork has me gasping.

It is me—everywhere.

Covering one wall, standing on the floor, and stacked in piles are portraits of me. There must be dozens.

~Oh my god.~