Empire of Sin(Empire #2)(66)

So I don’t ignore it.

Ever.

I think about calling Dan to make sure he’s all right, but fuck that wanker. I’m still contemplating the best way to get back at him for what he insinuated today.

My blood boils just thinking about him near Anastasia. If he so much as touches a hair on her head, I might as well quit being a lawyer and become a criminal.

So, no, I won’t complain if he meets his maker sooner rather than later.

Besides, he’s definitely not the reason behind the clenching and unclenching of my chest or the fucking twist in my heart.

I refuse to think about why I’m here, in front of Anastasia’s flat, when I’m supposed to be in a meeting, but I am.

Here.

And the feelings are escalating to dangerous heights.

There’s no way in fuck I could concentrate in that meeting when my ribcage was about to burst open. Aside from my family, there’s only one other person who could be the cause of this reaction.

I use the spare key she gave me a while back and open the door slowly. For some reason, it feels as if I shouldn’t make any sudden movements.

The lock is a bit crooked and I pause at that, but only for a second, before I step inside.

The flat is dark, silent, which is different from usual, or at least, ever since I started coming here on a regular basis. On normal nights, Anastasia would either be singing along to her favorite old songs in a low voice, or she’d be silently listening to them while typing away on her laptop. Either way, the music would be blasting.

None of those scenarios are present. There’s no music or typing sounds that I’m starting to only associate with her.

The defective silence slowly gives way to something more frantic and ominous. As if someone is rummaging through things.

Sure enough, when I stride to the closet, I find her shoving clothes into a bag, her face flushed and her movements sporadic.

I hit the light switch. “What are you doing?”

Anastasia jumps, her wild eyes meeting mine. She’s not wearing the glasses tonight and she appears so young and fragile, like a rose that can be broken with a single touch.

Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths that she doesn’t seem to be able to control.

“Knox.”

My name is a haunted whisper on her lips, a sound that she doesn’t seem to be able to control.

She clears her throat. “Shouldn’t you be in a meeting?”

“It’s over.” Lie. I left early, feigning an emergency, and from what I’m seeing, I’m glad I did. “Where are you going?”

She swallows a few consecutive times, her blunt nails digging into the strap of the bag. “Away.”

“Away where?”

“Just away. I’m leaving.”

The dooming feeling from earlier crashes against my ribcage and a blind sense of anger spreads throughout my bloodstream. “Like fuck you are.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Well, I am. And you’re not going anywhere, Anastasia.”

“This whole thing was only meant to be temporary.”

“This whole thing?”

She throws her hands in the air. “The sex, the arrangement, me being here. All of it. I was never meant to stay.”

“Well, I’m telling you that you will stay, whether you like it or not.”

Moisture gathers in her lower lids. “You…don’t understand.”

“I do, perfectly. You’re running away again, just like you ran from your previous life, because that’s what you do best, right? Leaving. Running. All the fucking time.”

She releases the bag, letting it fall to the ground, and barges in front of me. “You don’t have the right to stand there and judge me when you have no clue about my life.”

“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who’s hiding on top of running.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business, my little liar. Did you really think I’d stand by and let you run as if I never happened?”

“You should.”

“Think again, beautiful. Do you know me to be the type who gives up? Ever?”

Her shoulders hunch as she comes to the same conclusion herself. We might have been together for only a few weeks, but she knows me better than anyone else.

She knows I wouldn’t let it go.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on instead of choosing the running route?”

“I can’t.” She sounds so pained, so defeated, as if the weight of the world has settled on her slender shoulders.

So I soften my voice, “Does it have something to do with your family?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“So it does.” I pause. “Is that why the lock was messed up. Was someone here?”

She stiffens. “N-no.”

“You’re such a bad fucking liar. Who was here?”

“No one.”

My hand shoots out and wraps around her throat. It’s so I can attach myself to her, to keep myself from letting my anger loose, because that motherfucker is on the verge of burning everything in its path as we speak.

Her eyes snap to mine and even though they’re brown and fake, the emotions behind them aren’t. There’s a multitude of them, rising and falling in the favor of others. I don’t recognize them all, but I recognize the most prominent one—fear.