Chapter 74 Victor/Viktor
RORY POV
When I got to the rooftop I let out a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding in.
Everything felt suffocating. The hospital room. My mother’s tears. The weight of everything I had finally said out loud that I had been carrying alone for months.
I held onto the wall and stared at nothing in particular. Thinking about where everything went wrong. How Anastasia’s death had been the cause of all of it. How one woman who had never met me had managed to shape every single thing about my life.
“God I hate you Ana,” I breathed out, shaking my head.
“I hate you so much for everything you’ve caused. I hate you for rooting yourself so deep in Alexander’s heart that he chose not to see me. I hate you for having the same face as me. I hate you for dying. I hate you because my entire existence now revolves around you. I hate you for resting in your grave while you ruin everything for me here.”
“I hate you so much Anastasia!”
My voice broke on her name. I screamed it anyway.
“I hate you so much. I hate you for having my face! Why? Why does it have to be the same? Just why?!”
Tears were running down my face and I didn’t try to stop them. There was nobody here, I could fall apart on a hospital rooftop if I wanted to.
Someone clapped.
I whipped my head around, my heart hammering against my ribs. I wasn't alone.
A man was leaning against the doorway, watching me with an unreadable expression.
He wore a dark leather jacket over suit pants, his black hair styled with military precision. A tattoo snaked up his neck, disappearning under his jaw. He was handsome-dangerously so-and tall, though not quite as imposing as Alexander.
He looked awfully familiar.
"I never knew someone could hate my Anastasia this much," he smirked, pushing off the wall and stalking toward me.
I staggered back, my legs feeling like lead. His Anastasia? "Who are you?"
I felt my heel catch on a loose tile, and I started to slip. Before I could fall, his hands shot out, catching me by the waist and pulling me back to my feet. The moment I was steady, I flinched away. He let go instantly, raising his hands in a mock gesture of peace.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he said. He reached out, his thumb almost brushing a tear from my cheek, but I jerked my head back. He halted mid-motion, his hand hovering in the air before he pulled it back.
"Old habits. Forgive me."
“Do I know you?” I asked, studying his face.
I should go back inside. I had no business being on a rooftop with a dangerous looking stranger. Luke would be looking for me soon.
"I'm not sure if you remember me, but we ran into each other at Euphoria weeks ago."
The memory clicked. He was the man who had called me Anastasia right before I was drugged.
"I remember," I said, trying to steady my voice.
"But I'm not her. I'm not Ana. We are completely different people."
"And yet, you're married to her husband."
The shock hit me before I could cover it.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I know a lot,” he said. Something in his smile was patient. Like he had known this conversation was coming for a while. "And I'm sorry for what you're going through. It must be a special kind of hell to be seen as someone else. Trust me, I understand. I thought you were tricking me that night at the club. The resemblance is... haunting."
I was well aware of how compelling the resemblance was. What I couldn’t figure out was his connection to her and why he kept appearing wherever I was.
"Are you... her brother? Family?" | asked.
"No," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I was her fiancé. Before Alexander Miller decided he wanted her for himself."
Did Alexander took Ana from him? Was he still in love with her? Was this some kind of—
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone I told you that,” he said, reading my face.
I nodded slowly, too stunned to do anything else. "When she passed, it destroyed me. Seeing you at Euphoria... I thought she'd come back to life. Until you spoke."
It was the same story everywhere I went.
“I know you don’t know me,” he continued.
“But if you ever need help. With whatever you’re going through. Or if you’re trying to get away from Alexander, I’m the one who can help you.”
“Why do you think I need help?” I asked.
"I saw you cussing her out just now," he continued, his tone softening. "The poor girl didn't deserve your hate, Rory. This is all Alexander's fault. He breaks everything he touches."
I bit my lip. He was right. I should have channeled all of that at my husband. It was genuinely hard to do when you were in love with the man you were supposed to hate.
"What's your name?" | asked.
"Viktor," he said.
"Victor.." I repeated, the name rolling off my tongue.
He let out a low, deep chuckle that made me tilt my head in confusion. "Sorry," he murmured. "It's the pronunciation. She used to say my name exactly like that. For a second, it felt like... nostalgia."
Of course. Even my voice was a trigger for someone else's memories.
"Thank you for your concern, Viktor, but I don't think I'll be needing your help. I have to go." I turned to leave, but he caught my arm-gently, but firmly.
The last thing I needed was Luke coming up here and finding me with Anastasia’s ex boyfriend on a hospital rooftop. I could not handle that level of drama today.
"Trust me, Aurora. You will need my help." He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I gulped, the intimacy feeling wrong and dangerous. He was being far too informal far too quickly.
“Please let me go,” I said. “My husband’s assistant is waiting downstairs and my husband is not a kind man when it comes to me.”
He chuckled and released my arm.
"I'm well aware of what Alexander is capable of," Viktor said, releasing me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, embossed card. "My number. If you ever feel like running away from him or if you need someone....call me."
I snatched the card and practically ran for the door. My heart was thudding against my ribs so hard it hurt.
How did he find me? How did he know I was here? Something about him made me so uneasy.
I reached the stairwell and looked at the card one last time. It felt like a trap. I squeezed it into a ball, tore it into tiny pieces, and let them flutter into a nearby trash can before heading back down to Luke.
I couldn’t afford any more complications.