Page 78 of The King's Pawn
All the blood drains from my face in one sickening rush. My hands feel numb, useless at my sides. I try to speak, to lie, to sayno oneorit doesn’t matteroryou don’t get to ask me that, but when my mouth opens, nothing comes out.
His gaze drops to the phone when it begins to ring. His thumb moves with practiced ease, answering the call before bringing it up to his ear. I watch his eyes track my expression, watch the exact moment he says,“Hello?”and the voice on the other end comes through and recognition settles in.
Oh, fuck.
16
ALINA
“Who is this?” he asks.
I can hear Nat on the other end of the line even from where I’m standing. Her voice is high and frantic, words tumbling over each other in a rush of panic and fear. She’s saying my name again and again, demanding to know where I am, whoheis, why someone else is answering the phone.
It needles into him, though he doesn’t interrupt her. He simply listens, head slightly tilted, eyes fixed on me the entire time. Not once does his gaze leave my face. It’s as if Nat isn’t the one being assessed.
I am.
Every second she talks feels like a countdown. My chest tightens with each word she spills, each emotional plea she throws into the void, unaware she’s speaking to a man who has done reprehensible things without blinking.
When she finally runs out of breath and the tirade burns itself down into ragged silence, he lifts the phone a fraction higher, bringing it closer to his mouth.
“I see.”
My stomach twists violently.
“Do not call here again.” He lowers the phone slowly, ending the call with a tap of his finger. Nat’s voice cuts off mid-breath.
The silence that follows is absolute. It echoes louder in my ears than my own heartbeat. One second, she was there, tethered to me by memory and loyalty and the fragile proof that my old life had existed at all, and the next, she’s gone.
Erased entirely.
Sasha doesn’t speak. He simply stands there staring at me like time itself has paused at his command. The phone hangs loose in his hand, forgotten, no longer the weapon it was seconds ago.
He lets the silence stretch, long enough that it stops being a pause and turns into a punishment.
My thoughts spiral, tripping over themselves in panic as I scramble for any excuse, justifications, half-truths that might soften whatever judgment he’s about to pass.
I was lonely.I just needed to talk to someone who knew me.She won’t tell anyone.I didn’t say where I was.I didn’t mean to.
None of it sounds convincing even inside my own head.
My mouth opens and closes. My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to sting. I welcome the pain. It’s something tangible, something I can control.
He watches every flicker of it. Every swallow, twitch, every second I fail to speak. The longer he waits, the clearer it becomes that this isn’t really about the phone call anymore. Not about Nat. Not even about what I said.
It’s about what I dared to reach for behind his back.
For connection. The outside world. The part of myself that still believes I’m allowed to touch something without it being taken, monitored, or weaponized against me. That I dared to believe I could take something for myself without asking for permission first.
That’s the crime.
Finally, I force myself to speak. “I just… wanted to talk to someone.”
The silence that follows is heavy. His jaw tightens, the muscle jumping once beneath his skin before it stills again.
“You told her about your father. About your mother. Do you think that was a wise choice?” His tone is controlled, flat, but there’s a sharper edge underneath it now that I recognize
Tears sting the corners of my eyes immediately, burning hot. I shake my head, panic flooding me all over again. “I didn’t say anything about you, I swear. I didn’t say where I was. I didn’t tell her anything that could?—”
