Chapter 7
366words
New York City.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art gala opening.
I stood before my restoration work, elegant in a black gown.
Raphael's "Madonna and Child."
A year's work, finally unveiled.
"You've outdone yourself, Irina," my mentor beamed.
"You're my greatest achievement."
"Thank you."
The gala swirled with New York's elite.
Artists. Collectors. Critics.
And then…
I spotted him across the room.
A man in a wheelchair.
Gaunt. Pale. Diminished.
But that face—I would know it anywhere.
Alessandro.
His eyes found mine.
Our gazes locked across the crowded room.
A thousand words caught in my throat.
But he simply nodded once.
Then wheeled himself away.
"Who was that?" Ethan appeared at my side.
"Nobody."
"Irina—"
"Really," I turned away.
"Just a ghost from the past."
That evening.
In my hotel suite.
My phone chimed with a message.
Unknown number:
"The painting is beautiful. Just like you. Congratulations. —A"
I stared at those words for a long time.
Then deleted it.
And blocked the number.
Ethan knocked and entered.
"About tomorrow's schedule—"
"Ethan."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"Where's this coming from?"
"For three years, you've stood by me."
"Protected me."
"Supported me."
"Never asked for anything in return."
"It's my duty—"
"No." I cut him off.
"It was your choice."
"You could have walked away."
"Gone back to your own life."
"But you stayed."
He fell silent.
"Because…"
"Because what?"
"Because I love you."
His eyes met mine without flinching.
"Have loved you for years."
"But I know your heart died that night."
"So I've been content just being near you."
"As your friend."
"As your protector."
"As whatever you needed."
"As long as I could be in your life."
Tears welled in my eyes.
"Ethan—"
"Don't say anything." He smiled gently.
"I don't need an answer."
"I just wanted you to know."
"No matter what happens."
"I'll always be here."
He left quietly.
The door clicked softly behind him.
I sat by the window.
New York's skyline glittered before me.
My mind drifted through memories.
Chicago.
The Moretti Estate.
The woman I once was.
But that woman was gone.
I was Irina Petrova.
Not someone's wife.
Not someone's pawn.
Just myself.
And that was enough.
