The silence in the car isn’t quiet. It’s vibrating.

You can feel it in your bones, in your breath, in the way Nikolai won’t look at you—not even once. His hand is clenched so hard around the steering wheel that the leather creaks. Streetlights flash across his face, slicing through the cold expression he wears like armor.

You should say something. But your throat is tight. Your stomach’s still twisted from the party. From the kiss.

You didn’t think he saw.

He saw everything.

“Niko—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, voice low and dangerous.

You freeze.

“I should’ve known,” he mutters. “I should’ve fucking known from the start.”

You frown. “Known what?”

He laughs—a bitter, hollow sound with no humor in it. “That this was a game. That you were just waiting to gut me with a smile.”

“What are you talking about?” you snap, nerves unraveling.

He finally looks at you, and his eyes are pure fury. Not loud. Not explosive. Just cold and devastated.

“You think I’m stupid?” he says. “You think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me? The way you touched me? The way you made me feel like I was yours?”

“I never—”

“Bullshit!” he explodes, slamming the steering wheel. “You knew. You fucking knew. And you let me fall anyway.”

His voice breaks then, just a crack, but it’s enough to make you flinch.

“And then you kissed him. In front of me. Like I meant nothing. Like I was a fucking joke.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

He shakes his head, breathing hard, trying to hold himself together. “Was that the plan all along? Get close to the enemy? Make the Sokolov boy fall in love with you so you could rip his spine out for your family to laugh at?”

“Niko, no. That’s not—”

“You don’t get to say my name right now.”

Silence.

“I let you in,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “You were the only person I trusted. And you ruined it.”

He pulls up to your house and doesn’t even look at you.

“Get out.”