Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
SOFIYA
“ H ow did you find me?” I ask Mikhail after we return to his car and leave the hospital. Is this the last time I’ll ever see my sisters? I keep the hospital in my sights for as long as I can until Mikhail turns a corner, and it’s lost from view.
“Mmm?” He keeps his eyes on the road, for which I’m glad. I can barely think when he looks at me, and right now, I need to be able to think. I’m leaving and moving to another country with a man I don’t know. I don’t speak Russian. I don’t know anything about Russia. My parents are dead, and I’m separated from my sisters. Mikhail has all the power.
“At the church,” I clarify. “How did you find me there?”
“I was at your show and went backstage after Viktoriya got hurt. When I didn’t see you, I knew something had happened. So, I left and saw Boris take off in his car, you with him. I followed.”
I’m unsure if I consider it a good thing or not that Mikhail found me. I prefer being around him than Boris, but something tells me Mikhail is much more dangerous than Boris.
Boris is an insecure man grasping at straws to stay in control, whereas Mikhail is the man in control. He’s the powerful one. He’s the one who owns everyone else.
Mikhail is the one I cannot escape.
And for that reason, I know he’s more dangerous.
“What will happen after we get to Russia?”
“We’ll be married. You’ll live with me. We’ll be husband and wife.”
I’m afraid to ask, but I have to. “What does … being husband and wife entail? To you?”
He flicks his gaze at me and then back at the road. That one small moment has already left me breathless. “You’ll be on my arm at social gatherings. We’ll spend our days together when I’m not working. You’ll support me.”
“Oh. Ok.” Now, I’m too afraid to ask anything else. I wonder what “spending our days together” means to Mikhail.
“I’ll expect you in my bedroom at night,” he adds, making me freeze.
“Your … bedroom?”
“You look terrified. Do I repulse you?”
I find myself leaning toward the door, away from him. “No. You don’t repulse me.” You terrify me, but you don’t repulse me .
“I haven’t stopped thinking about your lips since I first saw you.”
I blush. “At the funeral?”
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “No. Before then.”
“When?”
“I attended one of your shows. Your parents were still alive. I saw you right then and there and knew I needed to have you.” He looks at me. “Now, you’re mine.”
“Not yet,” I blurt out.
The darkness in his eyes frightens me and yet excites me at the same time. “We’ll be married as soon as we get to Russia. Well, after I buy you an appropriate wedding dress. And then, you’ll be mine.” He turns his eyes back to the road but places his hand on my thigh. It’s so much more erotic than when Boris touched me on the knee.
I hold still, waiting to see what Mikhail will do, but he doesn’t do anything. He just keeps his hand there. My thigh. So close to another part of my body. My legs are clamped shut, both in fear and arousal. I don’t understand the reaction Mikhail stirs within my body. It’s unnatural. I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
Not for a man I don’t know. Not for a man who could hurt me and never face the consequences of it.
“What if I won’t be ready to be in your …” I gulp. “Bedroom?”
He tightens his hand just slightly on my thigh. “I won’t force you, Sofiya. But I expect certain things. And I want to show you the pleasure you can get from a man’s touch. From my touch.” He lets go of my thigh and skims his fingers down to my knee and back up, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. “I won’t be easy on you. I take what I want, and what I want is you.”
I don’t think my lungs are working properly. I can’t get air into my body. Everything feels woozy.
“Be gentle with me?” I whisper.
A smirk crosses Mikhail’s lips. He doesn’t even look at me as he responds. “I’m not a gentle man.”
I want to ask more questions, but I’m too scared. What exactly does Mikhail want to do to me? Obviously, sex. I’m not that naive. But I feel like there’s more he’s not saying.
“What if I can’t give you what you want?” I force myself to say.
“You will. I know you will.”
Mikhail’s confidence is astounding because I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out in his car at any moment.
I don’t say anything more as we drive to the airport. I don’t think I can speak even if I wanted to.
MILA
Vik and I go home after she’s discharged from the hospital. I’m glad to see she’s able to use crutches to get around. A bedridden Vik would not have been a fun thing to deal with.
“I’ll get your pillows all set for you,” I say as I help Vik up the stairs to her room. “If you need anything, just let me know. I’m here to take care of you.”
“I can walk on my own, Mila,” Vik grumbles, pulling away from me. She’s slow going on her crutches but still somehow manages to look graceful—something I’ve seriously lacked. My father always thought it was cute how I would stumble around, but I can still stumble, even though I’ve become sturdier since I began ballet.
“Here you go,” I say, pulling back the covers of her bed so she can get in. “I can bring you some food. Do you want food?”
“Mila, it’s almost midnight. I’m tired. I just want to sleep. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I say sadly before leaving Vik’s room. I take a moment to lean against the wall. Vik doesn’t need my help, and Sofiya is gone. I wonder if she’s in Russia yet with her scary, new husband.
I’ve always dreamed of my wedding. I can picture my prince charming—tan and blond with a sweet smile. My heart melts at the thought.
The doorbell rings.
Strange. Who would be visiting so late at night?
I walk downstairs and peer through the peephole. It’s Boris.
I open the door but make sure to keep it partly closed. “Hello.”
“Mila, hello! I wanted to talk with you about something.”
“Oh. Well, let me just go get my sister.”
“That won’t be necessary.” He leans in closer to me, and I sway back slightly. “What I want to talk about is between you and me.”
“What?”
He grabs a gun from his jacket and points it at my head. “You and me—we’re going to get married.”
I’m frozen. Sofiya told me to stay away from Boris, but I never thought he’d try something like this.
The sad part is, all I can think about is that Boris is nothing like the prince charming of my dreams. The image of my prince charming is already shrinking as I stare down the barrel of Boris’s gun.
SOFIYA
Mikhail takes us to a private airstrip where a private jet is waiting to take me to Russia.
“That’s a large plane,” I say. I feel dumb, but Mikhail seems pleased. He gets out of the car and comes around my side to open my door. He offers me his hand.
Mikhail guides me onto the plane, which is decorated in creams and browns. It’s only us two, a flight attendant, and the pilot. “This is Elizabeth,” he tells me, nodding at the flight attendant. “And the pilot is Thomas.”
Before I can say hello, Mikhail walks me toward the back of the plane and into a seat. “More privacy back here.” He says it as if it’s a good thing, but I’m not sure I want more privacy. I’m a little worried Mikhail will try something with me once we’re alone.
But he doesn’t. In fact, he picks up a book on the seat next to him and starts reading. We’re across from each other. Our knees slightly touch. I keep trying to angle away from him, but every time I do, he finds a way to make our legs touch again. I have nothing to do to pass the time, and Mikhail seems intent on ignoring me.
I look outside as the plane takes off, and then we’re in the air, leaving New York behind. I keep my eyes on the tiny scraps of New York until I can’t see it at all anymore. It’s just the night sky and stars.
“I need to use the restroom,” I whisper to Mikhail. I have no idea why I’m whispering. We’re the only two people on the plane.
He nods without looking up from his book.
The moment I’m alone in the tiny restroom, I feel like I can breathe again. How am I going to get out of this? Everything feels so out of my control. Mikhail wants me, so I’m his now. I never got any say.
And now that I’m heading to Russia, I’ll have even less say.
I step out of the restroom and bump into Elizabeth. “Sorry,” I say.
“It’s all right.” She looks me up and down and sniffs. “You’re pretty.”
“Uh, thank you.”
I notice Elizabeth is young—probably not that much older than me—with light blonde hair and green eyes. She’s pretty, too, and I’m not sure how I feel knowing Mikhail has a pretty flight attendant on his private jet.
“Mikhail likes to take young, pretty women with him on his plane.”
I stand up straighter. “What?” I glance down the aisle toward him. He’s too far away to hear us.
“You’re not the first. And you won’t be the last.”
“I don’t understand.”
Elizabeth smiles sweetly. “You can play innocent all you want. Usually, he brings multiple women for orgies. I’m usually included. But this time, it’s just you. How interesting.”
I can tell her sweetness is completely fake. “He has orgies?” I whisper.
“God, I can’t tell if you’re really that innocent or just playing at it. But yes, a grown man like Mikhail likes to fuck. He’s fucked all over this plane. I wonder why he’s not doing it now.”
I feel hot. Too hot. And not in a good way. “He’s … had sex with you?”
“Plenty of times. He pays well, and he’s good in bed. And I get to travel the world. What could be better?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“This is how I talk with all the women who come on here. Usually, they brag about Mikhail to me. But you’re … different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
Elizabeth shrugs. “Just different.”
I clear my throat. “I should be getting back to my seat.”
“Of course.”
I hurry away from her and sit back down, not looking at Mikhail as I do it. I’m on his sex plane. I don’t know how to feel about that. There’s no reason for me to be jealous. Mikhail isn’t my husband yet, and besides, I don’t even really want to be with him.
At least … I don’t think I want to be with him. My body keeps reacting to him. I’m not sure what that’s about.
And why isn’t Mikhail pressuring me into having sex? I’m grateful he’s not, but if this is his sex plane, then why isn’t he pushing for sex? Why am I different?
“You talked with Elizabeth,” he says, startling me. When I look at him, I see he’s still reading his book. He casually flips a page.
“I did.”
“I take it from your shocked expression she informed you of what I get up to on this plane.”
I sink lower in my seat. “She did.”
Another page flip. “And? How does that make you feel?” He flicks his eyes up to mine. “Horrified? Or aroused?”
“Confused,” I admit.
“How so?”
“Why do you want me to be your wife? Why not choose one of the other women you’ve been with? Why not Elizabeth?”
“Because Elizabeth doesn’t know what I truly do. You do. You were born into it. And I love your innocence. I can meld you into the perfect wife. And when I fuck you, I’ll know my cock will be the first cock that’s ever been inside you. And the last.”
I gulp. The heat spreads from my face down my neck. And lower. “So, you want me because I’m a virgin?”
“Not just that. I want you because I truly think you’ll be perfect for me.”
I shift in my seat. How am I perfect for him? We don’t even know each other.
“Do you plan on using your plane to continue your activities after we’re married?”
“What activities?” He flips another page, his eyes back on his book. It disarms me. Everything he does disarms me.
“Orgies,” I whisper.
Mikhail chuckles darkly. “Only if you’re with me.”
“I don’t want to be in an orgy.”
“How do you know? You’ve never tried.”
“I …”
He finally sets his book down and turns the full force of his gaze onto me. “You won’t participate in any orgies.”
“I don’t …”
“I’m the only one who will ever touch you. Now, that doesn’t mean I won't want you to perform for other people. I want people to watch us as we fuck. But I’ll be the only one to touch you.”
I have a million more questions, but I keep quiet, which I think is for the best. I’m terrified that if I ask more questions, I’ll get answers I don’t like.
Or answers I will like.
We arrive in Russia in the late morning. The sun shines brightly, and the weather is warm. At least we’re here in the summertime. I can’t even imagine what Russian winters will be like.
As we get off the plane, a man greets us. He speaks to Mikhail in Russian. It hits me that I won't know a single word people are saying unless it’s English. As a Russian American, my father never thought it was important for me to know any language other than English. “New York is your home,” he said. “What other language do you need to know?”
But right now, knowing Russian would come in handy.
The man walks us over to a car and gets behind the wheel. He’s the driver. I can understand that, at least.
Mikhail and I get into the backseat. “Can you translate for me? In the future?”
“I can.” No more is said on the matter. At least Mikhail doesn’t object to translating, but that means I’ll be entirely dependent on him for conversation unless I meet other English speakers. We’re in Moscow. It’s a large city. There have to be some people who know English.
The driver takes us to a wedding dress shop in a town square with beautiful gardens. I never knew Russia could look so pretty.
“Come along,” Mikhail says, getting out of the car and giving me his hand. That’s one thing I’ve noticed—he likes to touch me, whether it’s holding my hand or touching my knee. He wants his hands on me, which I can’t help but find flattering.
And nerve wracking.
Mikhail enters the wedding boutique with confidence as I trail beside him. So, this is happening. Once he buys me a dress, we’ll go to a church and get married. Mikhail will become my husband.
A woman with black hair pulled into a tight bun and wearing a stylish black dress approaches us. She’s beautiful. I see how she looks Mikhail over, making me feel the same way I did back on the plane—confused and slightly jealous.
Mikhail speaks Russian to her, and the woman flicks her eyes to me and nods.
“I will find you the perfect dress,” she says in heavily accented English. So, Mikhail must have told her I’m an English speaker. Though I appreciate his help, it makes me feel like an invalid.
“Go with her,” Mikhail tells me, settling into one of the chairs.
I don’t want to be away from Mikhail. He’s the only person I know.
“I’m Sasha,” the woman tells me.
“Sofiya.”
“Oh, are you Russian?”
“Russian American.”
Sasha frowns, then smiles again. “I can work with that. Now, let’s see. Ah!” She grabs a wedding dress off the rack. “You’ll be beautiful in this one.”
I take it and go into the changing room. Sasha follows. “I can change myself.”
“No,” she says. “I will help.”
Within just twenty-four hours, I’m naked in front of another person.
“Your man is lucky,” she tells me, making me flush.
I quickly slip the dress on before she can look at my naked body anymore. The dress is stunning. It’s form-fitting and made of satin. The straps are thin and attached to a straight-across bodice that showcases my clavicle. The material hugs my body until it flares out around my feet into a short train. It’s both sexy and elegant.
It’s made for a woman because Mikhail is a man. He’s no young boy. I haven’t even asked him how old he is, but I know he’s a lot older than me. The thought strangely excites me.
Sasha pulls my hair into a simple updo. “There.”
I leave the dressing room and approach Mikhail, who sits up straighter in his seat. “What do you think?” I run my hands self-consciously down my body.
“I think it’s perfect.”
Mikhail’s driver takes us to the church where we’ll be married. The moment we get into the car, he places his hand on my knee. I can only stare at his hand all the way to the church. Soon, that hand will touch other parts of me, and I feel dizzy.
Once we arrive, Mikhail opens the door, but before we get out, I stop him.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
My face flushes in embarrassment. “I need to know before we get married. How old are you? I think that’s something I should know.”
“Forty-five.”
I gulp harder. He really is a man. Why would he want a girl like me? I know I’m a woman at twenty-two, but I feel like a baby next to him. He could have any beautiful, sophisticated woman. I’m sure he’s been with many women like that. But he’s choosing me.
“Ok,” I whisper.
Mikhail takes my hand as we leave the car and approach the church. Inside, it’s eerie how quiet it is. There are no other people except the priest at the end of the aisle and a man standing beside him.
I can hear my heels clacking on the ground as we approach the two men. “Why is it just us?”
“Because that’s what I wanted.” He nods at the priest. “Begin.”
The priest speaks in Russian, so I can’t follow what he says. The other man, who looks younger than Mikhail, eyes me over. Mikhail has his eyes glued to the priest and doesn’t seem to notice.
The ceremony confuses me. The priest has us each wear a crown—a literal crown—while we drink wine from a cup. I follow along. Mikhail clearly knows what he’s doing, almost like he’s done it before.
Then the priest removes our crowns and says more things in Russian I can’t follow. Then Mikhail takes my hand and places a ring on it. When did he buy me a ring? Did he buy it after seeing me the first time?
Finally, the ceremony is over. My soul has been bought by the devil.
“Do we not say, ‘I do?’” I ask.
Mikhail shakes his head. “No. We’re married now.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I’ll take you to my home now.” He nods at the other man. “This is Andrei, my second in command. You’ll be seeing him a lot.”
Andrei steps forward and takes my hand. “A pleasure.”
“You know English?”
Andrei shares a look with Mikhail and laughs. “Of course, I know English. I’ve traveled a lot with Mikhail. I’ve been to New York. Isn’t that where you’re from?”
“Yes, it is.”
We walk out of the church. At least it’s not as suffocating outside as it was inside.
“I like women from New York,” Andrei says. “You’re all so wild there.”
“Wild?”
Mikhail places his arm around my waist. “Not Sofiya. She’s the picture of elegance.”
Andrei’s eyes darken as he looks me over again. “I’m sure she is.”
I don’t want Andrei looking at me like that. I don’t want any man to look at me like that.
“I’m going to take her home. I’ll see you later, Andrei.”
“Yes, you will.”
It almost sounds like a threat.
Mikhail lives in the penthouse suite of an extravagant apartment building, where the lobby is made of gold, and the footmen and guards are dressed in formal black uniforms.
The penthouse suite is luxurious, from the warm wood floors to the tall windows letting in natural light to the cream-colored furniture.
“Let me give you the tour.” Mikhail shows me around the living room and downstairs bathroom. A hallway leads to his office and another room, but the door is closed.
“Can I go in there?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. That’s not a place for you. Not yet, anyway.”
I frown but don’t ask questions. I only take a beat to look at the closed door before moving on. We enter the kitchen next, which is all cream cabinets and black and white tile.
I stop short when I see a middle-aged woman by the stove. “Oh.”
The woman looks me up and down disapprovingly.
“Sofiya, this is my housekeeper, Mary. She cooks and cleans and does pretty much everything else.”
Mary only gives me a stern look.
“Hi,” I offer up.
Mary turns her nose up at me and turns her back to me.
“She doesn’t like me,” I whisper to Mikhail as we go upstairs.
“She doesn’t like anyone.” Mikhail opens up a pair of double doors. “And this is my bedroom. We’ll share it, of course.”
The room is shrouded in a soft glow from the lamps. The bed is large, and cream and brown sheets cover the top. It looks so comfy, and I want to sink into it, but I don’t want Mikhail to think that means I’m inviting him to bed.
Mikhail steps up behind me and trails his fingers down my arms. “I want to fuck you in here. I want to fuck you all over the house. But I want to start in here.” He presses his lips to my neck, making me shiver.
I step away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready. I only met you a couple of days ago. I’m still getting used to this. Can we … wait?”
Mikhail silently studies me before nodding. “We can wait. But you’re missing out on pleasure because of your fear.”
“I’m just not ready.”
“Then I’ll have to make you ready.” He stares at the bed for a moment. “I’ll leave you be for the day. I have work to attend to. Give you a chance to get situated. When you’re ready, you can come to me.” With that, he leaves the room.
I sink onto the bed. What have I gotten myself into?
The only thing I know is that the bed is super soft, so at least that’s one good thing.
Mikhail really does have work to attend to. I don’t see him at all for the rest of the day, for which I’m grateful. During that time, I check out the closet, which is stocked full of clothes. Women’s clothes.
They’re all in my size, so I know there are no leftovers from other women he’s brought home. These are clothes he bought for me.
I change out of the wedding dress and heels into a pink top and skirt. Now what?
I walk downstairs and find Mary still in the kitchen.
“I made you lunch,” she barks, placing a plate with a sandwich and apple on the counter.
“Oh, thank you.” I didn’t ask for lunch, but I am getting hungry. I sit at the table and start eating. The entire time, Mary stares at me with disapproval.
Once I’m done, I look through Mikhail's books, but they’re all in Russian. Then I turn on the TV, but all the channels are in Russian.
With nothing to do, I lie down for a nap.
And I wake up hours later in darkness. I must have been so tired from the long trip to Russia—I never slept on the plane because I was too nervous—and from the wedding that I just crashed.
Checking the alarm on the nightstand, I see it’s eleven o’clock. Mikhail never woke me. I’m also starving because I never ate dinner.
Walking downstairs, I head into the kitchen, wondering where Mikhail is. He wasn’t in bed with me, for which I’m grateful. I find the kitchen empty and figure Mary probably went home for the night.
There’s food in the fridge with my name on it. I place it onto a plate—chicken and broccoli—and stick it into the microwave. While waiting for my food to heat up, I hear a noise.
It sounds like someone … screaming. I strain to listen, my heart beating faster. No, not screaming. Moaning. Though I can’t tell if it’s in pain or pleasure.
Even though I don’t want to, I walk toward the sound. It’s coming from the room Mikhail refused to show me earlier. The door is cracked open.
Peering through the crack, I see something that shocks me. Mikhail and Andrei are in the room with two women. The room has a bunch of … things in it. A bench on the ground. A wall full of whips and canes.
And Mikhail is standing behind a woman and using his hand to … spank her. The woman is fully naked while he’s clothed. Andrei is doing the same thing to the other woman.
The sight scares and confuses me. What is Mikhail doing? Why is he with a naked woman? And why is he spanking her?
It’s the woman I heard. She’s moaning with her eyes squeezed shut. She looks like she’s enjoying it as she rubs her backside closer to Mikhail’s hand.
I stumble away in fear, and my back slams against the wall. Everything goes quiet.
And then the door is ripped open, and Mikhail is standing there, staring at me with his intense gaze.
“Sofiya,” he says.
I gasp and run away. I need to get away from him. He’s a bad man. He was hurting that woman, even though she seemed to enjoy it. None of this makes sense. I should be back in New York with my sisters. My parents shouldn’t be dead. I should be safe.
But none of that is true anymore. My parents are dead. I’m no longer with my sisters.
And I’m definitely not safe.
“Sofiya,” Mikhail repeats, running after me. Before I can reach the stairs, he grabs my arms. “Sofiya.”
“Please, let me go,” I cry out.
To his credit, he does. But I stumble and fall back onto my butt.
“Sofiya,” Mikhail says gently, reaching out for me.
I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t.
Darkness hedges at my vision, and then I slump to the ground as everything goes black.