Chapter 25 #2
My lips feel swollen and my mouth dry as if stuffed with cotton. He stirs immediately, suddenly alert, his glasses slightly askew.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
I’m surprised to find myself in bed.
"I'm fine," I say. I think? “What happened to me?"
Semyon’s on his feet, rushing to me. Immediately, his hand grips mine. It grounds me, calms me, even as my fears are rising.
“We don’t know. We thought you might have been poisoned, but the doctor says there’s no evidence of that. You have a fever, but the doctor said it’s most likely a virus.”
A fever… right away, they thought poison. I stare at him.
"You were out cold.”
I shake my head. “Your clothes are a rumpled mess.”
He snorts. “Yes?”
“It’s just… unusual for you.”
Semyon’s voice is rough as he leans in closer to me. “I’ve been preoccupied.” He sighs. I can still see his bandaged shoulder. It was only a surface wound after all, but it bled like crazy and can’t feel good.
“He definitely has.”
I look up to see Zoya standing in the doorway.
"He’s been by your side nonstop. You’ve been in and out.”
“Zoya.” Semyon shoots her a look, but she just shakes her head.
"He’s been absolutely glued to you, Anya. We’ve all been worried.”
"I think I’m okay," I say, shaking my head, though I’m not entirely sure. I still feel disoriented. My stomach growls.
"Are you hungry?" Zoya asks, tilting her head.
I nod. “Definitely. Any new developments I need to know about?" I ask.
"None that pertain to Eli," Semyon says, though his eyes shift away as if processing something else.
It all comes rushing at me at once. The gala. Gunfire. Semyon was shot, and he had a man he was going to interrogate. We had dinner, and I fainted. I stare. “Did you get answers?”
He doesn’t respond right away but steeples his fingers and gets that distant look he has when he’s planning his next move on the chessboard. His eyes darken, and his voice drops. Sometimes, I love how intense he is. Sometimes, it terrifies me.
“Some, yes. Either Eli is involved with them and went underground to make us question things," Semyon says, "or they're planning something else."
Semyon stares into the distance, as calculating as always, but I can’t shake the weight pressing on my chest. What if Eli isn’t just a pawn in their game? What if he’s a player too? What does that mean for us? I promised my mother I’d hold my family together, but right now, I’m the one unraveling…
"What would they be planning?" My voice sounds strange to my own ears.
"The best way to get to us,” he replies. "First, the cameras at the bakery—"
My stomach twists, and I look away. I know exactly what those cameras caught on film. The thought of anyone else seeing it—
"Then the gunshots at the gala. The video of Eli. The Irish are on the move—we know that much. We also know the girl who betrayed us years ago is in league with them. But we don’t know how Eli fits into this puzzle."
I sit back, thinking, as Zoya leaves to get some food, and I process all of this.
I need to be independent, to take care of Stefan, but that need clashes with the growing attraction I feel for Semyon. And even as I fight it, I’m terrified of depending on anyone.
From where I’m lying in the bedroom, the estate seems eerily quiet. The walls seem to hold their breath in anticipation. Outside the door, guards stand like statues. It’s like living inside a war plan.
I want answers. I want to know where we stand. I want to know Eli is okay—and that my family is safe.
"There’s one thing that troubles me in all this," Semyon admits, leaning forward until his forearms rest on his knees. “Remember, when we find your brother, he’s going to know that I married you."
“Yeah, so that’s not going to go over very well.” I grimace. “He’ll never forgive you.”
I can still see him going straight for Semyon years ago in the small shed. So much has happened between then and now, but will that change how he feels? And where will that leave us?
“I know.”
Eli was his only friend. I steel myself for the next question. I look Semyon straight in the eyes. "Did my father have anything to do with this?" I ask.
Semyon purses his lips and shakes his head. “He didn’t when he agreed for you to marry me."
I blink, wondering if I heard him correctly. "What was that?"
"He didn’t seem involved when he agreed for you to marry me," Semyon repeats, meeting my gaze. “If he were, I would’ve thought we’d know then.”
I stare. My father… agreed to let him marry me?
What?
All this time, I thought it was my choice, that I’d made the decision to sacrifice myself for my family, and now he tells me… it was preordained?
"You said I had the option of marrying you," I say, shaking my head. Why is he acting so casual when I feel like he’s just delivered a bombshell? “And now you're telling me my father was playing this game all along?"
"Yes, Anya. I wanted you to know the truth.” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up. It’s unsettling, his hair standing on edge, paired with his rumpled clothes. “I’m sorry for any way I manipulated you."
He says it as plainly as he might apologize for bumping into me in a crowded supermarket.
This was all a ploy to get me to marry him. A plan to gain access to my family’s bakery, fortify it, and strengthen his own family.
His family always comes first, doesn’t it?
An emotion I can’t describe rises in my chest, but I push it down. I have to deal with the present. Now.
It was all a lie. A carefully orchestrated plan. I was convenient but nothing more.
I fell for it.
Zoya knocks gently at the door. Semyon’s back on his phone with a scowl while my world is caving in on me.
The walls feel too close, as if they're closing in. I tell myself that I'm not in my right mind—that there's more to the story than meets the eye. I tell myself that I need to stop reacting and that I need to think this through before I make a decision.
I tell myself that I matter.
But the words feel hollow.
Something is off. Too much has happened too fast, and the answers only seem to raise more questions. But one thing is clear—Semyon all but admitted it. My father was involved to a degree, enough that he gave me away before I even knew there was a choice to make.
And now everything I thought was mine feels like an illusion.
Who else has been lying to me? What else am I going to find out next?
Zoya hands me a tray with my favorite soup: creamy chicken and rice, a recipe she learned from Polina.
Next to the bowl is crusty bread and a simple salad, along with a large glass of water.
A few minutes ago, I was starving. Now I can't think of eating anything, but if I don't, I'll draw alarm from them.
So I thank her and take a sip of water and a tentative bite of bread.
"I was worried for you," Semyon says with a little smile, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I squeeze his hand back even as a lump forms in my throat. I won't look at him now, my handsome, heartless Superman.
“Hey. Anya, are you alright?”
From the doorway, Rafail stands, his hands in his pockets. He looks tired, wearing nothing but his dress slacks and a white T-shirt, his ever-present suit jacket discarded.
No, I'm not all right. But I only nod quietly. "I wish I knew why that happened, but yeah, I think I'm okay.”
“I know. Rest and tell us if you need anything.” My nose tingles. It’s nice to have someone taking care of me for once.
Rafail looks to Semyon. “We’re ready for you.”
The person he has to interrogate is waiting downstairs—the person who has answers, presumably. But he hesitates, his eyes on me.
"Go," I say, and to my relief, my voice doesn't waver this time. It feels like I'm telling him to go in more ways than one.
Go… leave me.
Everything's been manipulated, shaped to fit into the grand design of their empire. And for what? Control. My family's safety was used as a bargaining chip in their game.
The walls feel too close, the blankets too hot. I try to steady my breathing, but all I can do is focus on Semyon’s rumpled clothes and mussed hair. The man who has become my tether is now the one unraveling me.
He thought he could control me, another piece on his chessboard.
He rises to his feet. “Anya, rest. I’ll be back.”
My eyes stay fixed on the bandage wrapped around his arm—a reminder of everything he’s endured. A reminder that he’s human. I know he’s been through hell too.
Fear gnaws at me. What else has he kept from me?
I can’t afford to break now.
"Anya?" Zoya's voice cuts through the haze. I blink, realizing she's standing in front of me, concerned.
"I'm fine." I shake my head, forcing a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "I need some air."
“Of course.” She opens a window. Yeah, I need more than that.
"Let me know if you need anything else," she says brightly. "Stefan's done his homework, and he's gone to bed for the night."
"Thank you."
I wait until she’s gone, stand, and begin pacing.
My mind feels like a tangle of memories, promises, and betrayal.
My instincts tell me to follow Semyon, to ask for answers, but I stay rooted to the spot.
And if I go to him, what will I find? Do I really need to see him brutally beat someone so he can interrogate them and get answers?
Do I really need to see another bloody scene?
I can't just leave. Stefan is here. But I have to find a way out.
My phone buzzes with a text. Ophelia.
Ophelia
We need to talk, Anya. It’s urgent.
I respond to her, my heart racing.
What’s the matter?
Ophelia
It's about Eli. I have information I have to tell you, but it has to be secret. Can you come outside? I'll meet you outside.
I look out the window to where armed guards stand at every exit.
Yes, of course.