Page 23 of Tainted Empire
He looks down briefly, as if collecting his thoughts, then meets my gaze again and smiles sadly. “It was time for a change,” he says, and there’s a hint of something like regret in his voice.
We stand in the quiet aftermath of my performance, two people who have loved and hurt each other in ways neither of us could have imagined. The silence between us is heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of a love that’s been tested, perhaps beyond its limits.
I want to reach out to him, to bridge the gap that’s grown between us, but I’m afraid. Afraid of opening old wounds, afraid of what this new Mikhail means for us.
Yet looking into his eyes, I can’t deny the connection that’s still there, binding us in ways I can’t fully understand.
I look at him, this man who forced me to my knees and held a gun in my mouth, and square my shoulders. It’s now or never.
“We need to talk.”
Chapter 14
Mikhail
Sitting in the private booth with my father and Natalya, I can feel the nerves churning in my stomach. It’s been too long since I last saw Gabriette, and the prospect of seeing her again, especially tonight, under these circumstances, is both nerve-wracking and exhilarating.
I’m proud of her, incredibly so, but also anxious about how she’ll perceive my presence here.
“I haven’t been to one of these in years,” my father says, and I can tell there’s a hint of excitement in his voice. Music has always meant a lot to our family, my mother was a singer, after all.
He wanted to be here to support Gabriette as well as me, seeing as he’s the closest one I could confide my fears in since that night.
Lee joins us, and I catch the brief lift of her eyebrow as she notices my new haircut. “Looks good on you,” she comments, a hint of amusement in her voice. I offer a small, appreciative nod in response, but my mind is elsewhere.
As the lights dim, signaling the start of the performance, my heart pounds against my ribcage. I try to steady my breathing, but it’s no use. The moment Gabriette steps onto the stage, every ounce of my attention is fixated on her.
She looks beautiful, as always, but there’s something markedly different about her. The change goes beyond her appearance; it’s in her bearing, the way she carries herself. She’s a fusion of the woman I know and someone shaped by experiences I can only guess at.
When she starts to play, her music is a haunting melody that resonates with pain, loss, and the struggle of rebuilding. It’s raw, it’s powerful, and it’s unmistakably Gabriette.
As she pours her soul into the performance, a realization hits me like a physical blow.
Her belly is flat. There’s no sign of the pregnancy.
I turn to Lee, my eyes wide with shock, and the sympathetic look on her face confirms my worst fears. Gabriette has lost the baby, and I wasn’t there for her. The weight of this truth crushes me, leaving me feeling hollow and broken.
As the performance comes to an end and the audience erupts into applause, I stand up impulsively.
“Mischa,” my father says and I turn to him. He’s wearing an odd look on his face as he shakes his head in wonder. “She plays like Amaranthe.”
I blanch at this, knowing how close my father was to my great grandfather, Dimitri. To hear him say this… It’s clear that Gabriette was always meant to be a Baranova.
I don’t know what else to say, so I nod and walk toward the door. I need to see her, to be there for her, even if it’s too late.
So I make my way to her dressing room, driven by a mix of guilt, love, and a desperate need to connect with her.
Entering her dressing room, the scent of her perfume envelops me, a reminder of what I’ve been missing, of what I’ve lost. This was a mistake, she’s not ready to see me yet and now I’m barging into her dressing room like she owes me an explanation.
But as I’m about to leave, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, she enters the room and calls for me to stop.
I pause and turn around and the sight of her up close takes my breath away. She stands there, looking as stunning as ever, yet there’s an undeniable change in her – a mix of vulnerability and strength that wasn’t there before.
“Mikhail,” she says my name and it’s like a fist tightens around my heart. The way she says my name feels like a prayer.
“I wasn’t going to…” I trail off, feeling the tears well in my eyes, uncertain how to articulate my feelings right now. “But after seeing…”
I can’t help but take in her new look, the way she carries herself with a poise that’s both familiar and new. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s a depth of emotion in them that’s hard to define – pain, resilience, maybe a flicker of hope.