Part of Your World

Exile

6 weeks later

How's the recovery?

My eyes flicked over the text from Nick, thumbs paused above the keyboard as I hesitated. I sighed through my nose, leaning back in my office chair, clicking my phone off and tossing it to my desk. My fingers played at my lips, my eyes wandering to the windows as a massive snowstorm swirled around the penthouse.

Her surgery had gone well, according to the doctors. She wasn't allowed to begin her exercises for a few more days, but an oppressive cloud still seemed to linger over us—the thought that maybe this wouldn't work. Everyone was on edge as we waited.

Couple that with the pressure from my father about Natalia, the still unknown threats, and the way work was going, and it was easy to see why everything felt so damn bleak. I leaned forward, tapping into my file on Aria, re-reading the information for the millionth time, trying to piece it together on my own.

Niko stomped by my open door, in his own sour mood that had worsened ever since Halloween—ever since his princess was nowhere to be found. For someone like Niko, I knew it was grating on him. He could solve anything except this, it seemed.

"Aria done?" I called. He paused, backtracking and peering into my office. He'd been attempting to distract her by teaching her some self-defense, but it only worked half the time in terms of cheering her up. Even our getaway at Christmas—sleigh rides and coco and making love by the fireplace—none of it seemed to be enough to pull her from the depths of her own mind.

He patted the doorframe, frowning. I knew that look.

"She's...depressed, Maks."

I grit my teeth, my annoyance at her damn stubbornness flaring. If she would get help like I'd begged a thousand times, she wouldn't be in this situation currently.

"She needs—"

"Don't," he hissed, eyes clouding over. "You can't demand that of someone and not help yourself."

I glared, my palms tingling. I felt I'd had this argument every day with him lately. I stood, ripping my coat from the back of my chair.

"Where the fuck are you going?" he growled as I shoved past him.

"Out," I answered simply.

"Quit running from your problems, Maks!" he yelled, stopping me in my tracks. I trembled with pent up rage, whirling on him.

"That's rich, coming from you," I spat. He flinched, stung, but he shook it off.

"You need to face what happened with Vi, and then you need to face what's happening with Aria, with father and Nat—"

I took a threatening step forward, pointing at his chest, a sneer curling my lips.

"Do not preach to me about facing my problems while she sits and pouts in there about how unfair her fucking life is! She's been given every fucking chance to come clean, to help us figure out who killed her mother, and she hides, rolls over and lets them fucking win!" I roared. Niko's eyes widened, his face paling. I knew, then, what my words had cost me. I sagged, eyes slipping closed, before I turned.

There she stood, mouth agape, still in her workout clothes, dumbfounded, utterly wounded. I brought my hand up, tugging at my hair.

"Ar—"

Her mouth clamped closed, tears threatening as her chin wobbled. In that instant, I swear my heart shattered. I felt sick to my stomach, seeing that broken look on her face, knowing I'd been the one to put it there.