Katerina Pov
I stare at the two men before me, my heart racing and my mind whirling with confusion. The room suddenly feels smaller, suffocating even, as the tension between us builds. What on earth could have brought my father and my ex-husband, Mike, together for a discussion about me?
“What is going on?” I finally manage to speak, my eyes darting between them. I can see the gravity of the situation etched on their faces.
“Can you sit first,” my father says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I pull the chair beside Mike, feeling an involuntary shiver run down my spine as I sit. The memories of our turbulent past together flood back, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s here now.
As I sit and wait for an explanation, I steal a side glance at Mike. He looks good, very good. I find myself running my hand over my hair, checking if I still look presentable. If I had known I was meeting him today, I would have put in more effort.
“Like I told you, Katerina is in trouble, and she may need your help,” my father addresses Mike, his voice grave.
Help? My eyes widen in disbelief. What kind of help would I need from a man who once threw me out of our home at three in the morning?
“I don’t need his help. This is a chance for him to bury me even deeper,” I state, my voice laced with bitterness and resentment.
“You asked for my help, Katerina, and this is what you get,” my father says firmly, and Mike stands, turning to face me.
“Lets find a place to talk,” he says, his voice calm and composed.
I stare at him, my anger and mistrust still simmering beneath the surface. “Are you crazy? I am not going anywhere with you,” I say, my voice dripping with defiance.
“Do as you are told,” my father reprimands, and I reluctantly decide to go along with Mike. My father’s insistence makes me wary; there must be something more to this situation than meets the eye.
As we leave the room, Mike starts a conversation, but I choose not to engage. The memories of our failed marriage and the pain it brought resurface like a tidal wave. I can’t forget how he threw me out into the cold night, heartbroken and alone.
“I could be home with my wife and kids instead of dealing with you,” he says, and it feels like he’s rubbing his family in my face.
“I am not holding you back,” I snap, my bitterness pouring out.
He shakes his head and sighs, “I will just say why I am here.” He stops by his car. “Your father needs me to testify for you, to prove that you are not capable of doing everything you have been accused of,” he says, his expression serious.
“Hold on,” I raise my hand, a feeling of dread creeping over me, “Testify? Is it not a little early to be thinking about courts and trials?” I say, my voice trembling.
“Katerina, those are serious allegations facing you, and you better come to terms with it. Otherwise, you may end up in prison,” Mike says, his words sinking in slowly, and the shock from last night’s events comes rushing back, threatening to overwhelm me once more.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Prison? It’s as if my whole world is crashing down around me. I never imagined that my life would come to this point. Accused of things I didn’t do, sitting in a car with my ex-husband, and relying on him for help.
Mike’s expression softens as he sees the panic in my eyes. “Look, Katerina, I know we haven’t been on the best terms, but I don’t want to see you behind bars.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil inside me. “Okay, let’s say I agree to this plan of testifying. What do you need from me?”
Mike leans back against the car, clearly relieved that I’m at least considering it. “Your father believes that if I can vouch for your character and your past behavior, it might help your case. We need to gather evidence and witnesses who can support the idea that you’re not capable of the crimes you’re accused of.”
Well that will be tough one.
The café is dimly lit, with a cozy ambiance that contrasts sharply with the anxiety gnawing at my insides. I take a seat at a corner table, glancing at the email on my phone one more time to make sure I’m in the right place. The message was cryptic, but the sender claimed to know something about Cassandra, something I needed to hear. I wait, my heart pounding as I scan the faces of everyone entering the café.
The messages left me both intrigued and anxious. I can’t help but wonder who this person might be and what they know.
And then, he walks in.
A tall figure in a long overcoat, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. My breath catches in my throat, and my palms grow clammy as recognition washes over me. It’s him, the person I least expected to see.
I recognize him, he was at the club with Cassandra and Mr. Thorne identified his as Luna’s father.
“Katerina?” He asks.
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