ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

39: Finding new Home

RITA

Vengeful.

They want to kill Rita Barrera. But first, they must confront the killer within me. I will show them my rotten side — show them how groundbreaking I can be, enough to shake them to their core.

Madness has gripped me, but I keep it hidden, waiting for the right moment. I wait for the perfect moment to scream, to deafen them, to make them tremble. To become utterly unethical — just like them.

For now, I have to play the victim. It's not difficult. I've always been the one sacrificed for the selfish desires of others. And for the first time, I'm pitied.

I'm sitting across from an officer at the police station, his eyes filled with compassion.

"Ms. Volkov, right?" he asks, and I flinch.

Being called Ms. Volkov makes me uneasy. And yet, I still bear my late husband's last name. It doesn't feel like a curse — no, it gives me strength.

"Yes, Officer," I reply, feigning nervousness.

I bite my lip, shift uncomfortably in my chair, playing the fearful, submissive woman. The coward with her lamp on her lap, clutching it tightly.

I wish I had a plant — a friend.

"You still look shaken. Would you like a bottle of water?" he asks, walking to the mini-fridge behind him. He takes out a bottle and hands it to me.

"Thank you."

I accept it with trembling hands — not from fear, but because I've narrowly escaped death again. Always so close, always barely escaping.

"You're welcome," he says, smiling.

I let go of my lamp, open the bottle, and take a sip. Cold water trickles down my throat, grounding me and calming my nerves.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm still a bit shaken, but I'm ready to talk," I murmur.

I nod slightly and give him a subtle smile. Then I put the water aside and hug my lamp again, as it's my only comfort now.

"How about this — we skip the questions for now, and you just tell me everything, from beginning to end?" he suggests, without judging my lamp in the slightest.

I sigh and nod.

"It all started on my wedding night. Nicolai and I said goodbye to the guests before going to our room. I loved my husband..."

I pause and look into the officer's eyes.

"Nicolai was the love of my life, and Antonio Alessi killed him. It happened so suddenly. One moment I was kissing my husband; the next, he was taken from me and murdered." I sob.

"I understand," he murmurs.

Then he nods sympathetically and slides me a pack of tissues. I take one, murmur a quiet thank you, and dab away my tears — tears of anger.

"They didn't kill me," I continue. "They said they would use me as leverage. So they took me to Chicago and locked me in an apartment for a month—until I escaped and called the police."

Roman's brother was right. I'm a mogul.

That's why I didn't tell him the whole truth. I twisted the story. Because the moment I admit that I had to marry Nikolai because of my father's business, the marriage becomes invalid under the law — and I lose my husband's shares.

But I need them. They are my insurance.

"And who do you mean by them, Ms. Volkov?" the officer asks.