Chapter 9 - Anka
Consciousness came slowly to Anka, like surfacing from deep water. She was warm and comfortable in a way she hadn’t been in weeks, surrounded by a scent that was both familiar and intoxicating. Something woodsy and masculine that made her want to burrow deeper into whatever she was lying against.
That was when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Her eyes snapped open to find Viktor’s face inches from hers, his features relaxed in sleep in a way she had never seen before.
His dark hair was mussed from the pillow, and there were faint lines around his eyes that spoke of exhaustion and stress.
He looked younger like this, more like the man she had fallen in love with four years ago and less like the cold stranger who had married her for revenge.
Her head was pillowed on his chest, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
Sometime during the night, they had gravitated toward each other, his arm curling around her waist while hers draped across his torso.
They fit together perfectly, just like they always had, and for a moment, she let herself pretend this was real.
That they were just a normal married couple waking up in each other’s arms, that the past four years of pain and anger had never happened.
Then reality crashed back down like a bucket of ice water.
Jesus Christ, what was she doing? This was Viktor, the man who had orchestrated a fake kidnapping to terrorize her, who had made it clear he viewed their marriage as nothing more than an elaborate revenge plot. The fact that he had been kind to her last night didn’t change any of that.
She needed to get out of there before he woke up and saw her staring at him like some lovesick teenager.
Moving as carefully as possible, she extracted herself from his embrace and slipped out of bed.
Her ankle twinged with every step, but the pain was manageable, just a dull ache that reminded her of yesterday’s terror.
She made it to the bathroom without waking him and quietly closed the door behind her.
One look in the mirror made her groan with mortification.
She looked like she had been hit by a truck, then backed over for good measure.
Her hair was a wild tangle of golden waves that stuck out in every direction, and she had dark circles under her eyes that made her look like a raccoon.
Her lips were chapped, her skin was pale and blotchy, and there was a pillow crease running down one side of her face.
This was what Viktor would have seen if he had woken up first. This disaster of a woman who looked nothing like the polished Bratva princess everyone expected her to be.
She splashed cold water on her face and tried to tame her hair with her fingers, but it was hopeless. She needed a shower, makeup, and about three more hours of sleep before she would be fit for human company.
The sound of movement from the bedroom told her Viktor was waking up. Perfect. Now she had to face him looking like something the cat dragged in, after spending the night curled up against him like they were still lovers instead of reluctant spouses.
She took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door, only to find Viktor standing right outside, fully dressed and looking like he had stepped out of a magazine spread. His hair was perfectly styled, his clothes were pressed and immaculate, and he smelled like expensive cologne and danger.
How was that fair?
“Good morning,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
“Morning.” She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly aware that she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, wrinkled and probably smelling like rain and fear.
They stared at each other for a moment, the memory of last night hanging between them like a live wire.
His kindness, her vulnerability, the way she had begged him to stay with her like a frightened child.
The way they had ended up tangled together in sleep, seeking comfort from each other despite everything that had happened between them.
“How’s your ankle?” he asked.
“Better. Still sore, but I can walk on it.”
“Good.” He seemed to be studying her face, looking for something she couldn’t identify. “About last night—”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said quickly. “I was shaken up; you were being decent. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone too fast for her to read. “Right. Of course.”
The awkwardness was suffocating. This was the man she had once been completely comfortable with, the only person who had ever seen her without any masks or pretenses. Now they could barely have a conversation without tripping over the wreckage of their past.
“Viktor,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I think we need to call a truce.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A truce?”
“This thing between us, this constant war... It’s exhausting.
And after yesterday, I think we both realize that there are bigger threats out there than whatever anger we’re carrying around.
” She took a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to forgive me for what happened four years ago.
I’m not asking you to pretend this marriage is something it’s not.
I’m just asking for us to coexist without trying to destroy each other. ”
He was quiet for a long moment, considering. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“Civility. Basic human decency. Maybe even friendship, if we’re lucky.” She held out her hand. “Partners instead of enemies. What do you say?”
Viktor looked down at her outstretched hand, then back up at her face. For a second, she thought he was going to reject the offer, tell her that some wounds were too deep to heal with handshakes and good intentions.
Then he reached out and took her hand in his.
The moment their skin made contact, electricity shot up her arm like she had been struck by lightning.
His palm was warm and calloused, familiar in a way that made her chest ache with longing.
She could feel his pulse beneath her fingertips, could see the way his pupils dilated slightly at the contact.
“Partners,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment before.
“Partners,” she agreed, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing.
They held the handshake longer than necessary, both of them seemingly reluctant to break the connection. When they finally let go, her hand felt cold and empty without his warmth.
“I should let you get ready,” he said, taking a step back. “We have a family dinner tonight.”
“A what?”
“Nikolai family dinner. My brother’s birthday. It’s... mandatory attendance.” He looked almost apologetic. “I know it’s short notice, but I figured it was time to officially introduce you to everyone.”
Her stomach dropped. Meeting his family, being scrutinized and judged by people who probably already had opinions about the Volkov daughter who had married their golden boy. “Viktor, I don’t know if—”
“It’ll be fine,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “I’ll send someone up to help you get ready. The dinner starts at seven.”
Before she could protest further, he was gone, leaving her alone with her panic and the lingering scent of his cologne.
Three hours later, she was standing in front of her full-length mirror, trying not to have a complete breakdown while a team of stylists fussed around her like she was a doll they were dressing for display.
The woman Viktor had sent, Isabella, was a miracle worker who specialized in making insecure wives look presentable for high-society events. She had brought an arsenal of makeup, hair tools, and accessories that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
But even miracle workers had their limitations.
“The blue one is lovely,” Isabella said diplomatically, holding up a dress that would have been stunning on someone with a different body type. “But perhaps we should try the black one instead?”
Anka stared at her reflection, fighting back the familiar wave of self-loathing that came with shopping for formal wear. Her curves, which Viktor had once worshipped with his hands and mouth, now felt like obstacles to overcome instead of assets to celebrate.
The black dress was better, as it was designed to minimize her waist and emphasize her best features, but she still felt exposed and vulnerable. These weren’t the kind of clothes she was comfortable in, the kind that announced her presence and demanded attention.
“You look beautiful,” Isabella said, stepping back to admire her work.
She looked like a Nikolai wife. Polished, expensive, perfect on the surface. But underneath the designer dress and professional makeup, she was still the same insecure woman who had been abandoned by her first love and married off like a political pawn.
A knock on the door interrupted her spiral of self-doubt.
“Come in,” Isabella called out.
Viktor stepped into the room, and Anka watched his reflection in the mirror as he took in her appearance. His gaze moved slowly from her carefully styled hair down to her heels and back up again, lingering on the curves the dress couldn’t completely disguise.
“Leave us alone,” he told Isabella, his eyes never leaving Anka’s.
She gathered her things and disappeared, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
“You look beautiful,” Viktor said, echoing Isabella’s words but with a heat in his voice that made her knees weak.
“Thank you,” she managed, turning away from the mirror to face him properly.
He was wearing a charcoal gray suit that fit him like it had been carved specifically for his body, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the lean lines of his torso. His ice-blue eyes were darker than usual, and there was something predatory in the way he was looking at her.
“Ready?” he asked, offering her his arm.
The drive to the Nikolai estate was torture.
Viktor sat beside her in the back of his sleek black sedan, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, far enough that any contact would be obviously intentional.
Every bump in the road sent small waves of awareness through her, every turn pressed her slightly closer to his solid warmth.
The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. She kept catching him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of her shoulders, the way the seatbelt emphasized her breasts, the length of her leg revealed by the dress’s slit.
“Nervous?” he asked as they pulled through the gates of his family’s compound.
“Should I be?”
“They’re going to love you.” But there was something in his voice that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure about that.
The Nikolai estate made Viktor’s mansion look modest by comparison. It was a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa that screamed old money and older power, surrounded by perfectly manicured gardens and enough security to protect a small country.
Inside, the house was buzzing with activity. She recognized some of the faces from their wedding, but many were new to her. Viktor’s extended family was massive, a network of cousins, in-laws, and business associates that formed the backbone of their organization.
“Anka!” Irina’s voice cut through the crowd, and Anka felt some of her tension ease as Viktor’s sister approached with a genuine smile. “You look absolutely stunning.”
Behind her was Matvei, her brother-turned-ally, looking more relaxed than she had seen him since their childhood. Marriage to Irina had been good for him, she realized. She had softened some of his harder edges without diminishing his strength.
“Thank you for coming,” Matvei said, kissing her cheek in greeting. “I know this can’t be easy.”
“It’s fine,” she lied, grateful for their familiar faces in the sea of strangers.
“Come, let me introduce you to everyone,” Irina said, linking her arm through hers. “They’re all dying to meet Viktor’s mysterious wife.”
The next hour passed in a blur of names and faces, polite conversation and careful assessments. Viktor’s family was welcoming enough, but she could feel them watching her, looking for signs of weakness or deception. They were protecting their own, just as her family would have done.
Viktor stayed close, his hand warm on her lower back as they moved through the crowd.
He introduced her with pride, called her beautiful, and played the role of devoted husband to perfection.
But she could feel the undercurrent of tension in his touch, see the way his jaw tightened when certain family members asked pointed questions about their whirlwind courtship.
She was just starting to relax, to think that maybe she could survive this evening intact, when she spotted a familiar figure across the room.
Adrian.
Her brother was standing near the bar, impeccably dressed as always, his dark eyes scanning the crowd with predatory interest. When his gaze found hers, he smiled, and her blood turned to ice.
“Excuse me,” she said to the elderly woman who had been regaling her with stories about Viktor’s childhood. “I need some air.”
But before she could escape, Adrian was already walking toward them, his smile sharp enough to cut glass.
“Sister,” he said, his voice warm and affectionate for the benefit of anyone listening. “You look radiant.”
“Adrian.” She kept her voice level, professional. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Family dinner,” he said with a shrug. “Matvei thought it would be good for alliance relations if I attended.”
Viktor’s hand tightened on her back, and she could feel the tension radiating from his body. He knew about Adrian, knew what her brother had done to them four years ago, but this was the first time they had been in the same room since their wedding.
“Viktor,” Adrian said, extending his hand with false friendliness. “Congratulations on your marriage. My sister seems... content.”
The word was loaded with meaning that only she would understand. A reminder that she was there by his design, that her happiness was contingent on his approval.
Viktor shook his hand, but she could see the barely controlled violence in his eyes. “Thank you. Anka has been... everything I hoped for.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on Adrian, whose smile faltered slightly.
“I should go find Fedya,” Viktor said, his voice deadly quiet. “She’ll want to meet my wife properly.”
As he guided her away from Adrian, Anka felt the fragile peace they had built that morning cracking under the weight of old wounds and older grudges.
This was going to be a very long night.