Chapter 5 Secrets

••••*••••

Daphne

The silence stretches like a rubber band about to snap.

My father clears his throat, straightening in his chair, a man trying to take control of a situation that's already spinning out of reach. "So, Nikolai. How was your trip? You came in last night, yes?"

Nikolai takes his time answering. He finishes chewing, swallows, sets his fork down with deliberate precision. "It was fine."

Just fine. Three words after two years of silence.

But my father just nods like that's acceptable, because we're all used to Nikolai's one-word replies by now. Years of practice reading between the lines of his minimal speech, years of pretending his coldness doesn't bother us.

"I'm glad you made it safely," my mother says, her smile genuine even if a bit strained. "We've all missed you."

Nikolai doesn't respond. He just takes another bite.

He's sitting across from me, eating like this is just another breakfast, like he hasn't upended my entire world by simply existing in this room. Paying more attention to his food than to anyone else. Than to me.

Look at him. Having a conversation with my parents. Acting like everything is normal. Like sitting across from me and not even looking my way is okay. Like he didn't completely destroy me.

The food tastes like nothing. I push it around my plate, making patterns in the eggs, pretending I'm participating in this farce.

Esme notices. Of course she does. Her hand finds mine under the table, warm and steady, giving me a soft squeeze. I really want to appreciate her care but I’m too pissed to.

The small movement catches Nikolai's eyes.

He looks up from his meal, and for the first time since we sat down, his gaze locks with mine.

My heart stops dead in my chest.

The world narrows to just him. Just those beautiful unique eyes. Just the weight of his attention after two years. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't remember why I'm supposed to hate him.

He holds my gaze for what feels like an eternity, and I'm frozen, trapped, unable to look away.

Then my mother asks him something, pulling him back into conversation, and I'm thankful—hate that I'm thankful—because I couldn't look away on my own. I couldn't break free from that spell.

"Nikolai," my mother says, her tone shifting. Softer. More serious. "Why did you disappear on us like that? For two years. Not a call. Not a message. We were worried sick."

The question hangs in the air like smoke.

Nikolai has just taken a bite. He chews slowly, deliberately, and we all wait. Every single person at this table waits for his answer.

I hate myself for it, but I wait too.

I sit there silently, heart racing, watching him chew, watching him swallow, watching him reach for his napkin like he has all the time in the world. Like he doesn't know he's holding my entire existence in the palm of his hand.

Waiting for the reason he disappeared on us. On me.

Waiting for the explanation I've been begging for in letters he never answered.

Waiting to understand why I wasn't enough.

He sets the napkin down and says, very calmly, very quietly:

"That's what people usually do when someone is trying to kill them."

The words land like a bomb.

My breath catches in my throat. What?

The silence that follows is deafening.

My mother's face goes pale. My father's fork clatters against his plate. Esme's hand, still gripping mine under the table, has gone ice cold.

Then my father barks a laugh. The most nervous, most awkward, most unconvincing laugh I've ever heard.

"You're a joker, Nikolai," he says, shaking his head, reaching for his coffee. "Always have been."

My mother tries to smile, but her lips curve wrong, the expression not reaching her eyes. Her gaze flickers between Nikolai and my father, searching for some sign that everything is fine, that this is just Nikolai being Nikolai.

But Nikolai's face is blank. Unreadable. You can't tell if he's joking or not.

Esme is avoiding my eyes. Staring at her plate like it contains the secrets to the universe.

And I can't process what's going on. I don't even know what the fuck is happening. Someone trying to kill him? What does that mean? Who? Why?

"What do you…..” Mom starts to ask.

Nikolai opens his mouth to respond.

But before he can, the door swings open, and a voice rings out, cheerful and completely oblivious to the bomb that's just been dropped in the middle of breakfast.

"Hope we're not too late for breakfast!"

Ethan.

I turn in my chair. There he is, standing in the doorway with his parents behind him, all three of them smiling, glowing with the happiness of a family about to celebrate their son's engagement.

Shit.