Chapter 5 Sima
SIMA
The mansion looms in front of me.
I hadn’t missed Petyr’s haunted Pottery Barn. Every light glows, but the air still feels oppressive, like the house itself wants to crush me into obedience.
The wrought iron gates slam shut behind the SUV. So much for running away. I wasn’t able to scale that monstrosity when I was sprightly and unpregnant. Making it like this? I’d need a miracle and a half and a ladder built for someone with a passenger on board.
But no miracles are coming to get me out of it. If I want to be free again, I’ll have to work my own magic.
We roll to a stop in front of the mansion. As he escorts me inside, Petyr never loosens his grip on my arm. His hand is firm, like he thinks if he lets go even for a second I’ll make a break for it.
To be fair, he’s right.
The hallways stretch out around us. Dark wood, blood-red rugs, dim lights that make the whole place look like a crypt.
I can’t shake the shiver crawling over my skin. This house has always felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. And now, here I am, ready to lie down in the grave I dug for myself.
As we climb up the creaky stairs, I brace myself for the turn toward Petyr’s bedroom. The room we once shared, the place where I was supposed to belong.
But he doesn’t lead me there. Instead, he steers me down a different hall, one I’ve never walked before, and pushes open the door to a guest room.
It’s typical of the rest of the house: heavy antiques that look like they belong in a museum, not a bedroom. Dark walls, dark drapes, dark carpets. Every corner seems to swallow light.
Nice tomb, I want to ask. Does it come in pink?
I keep my smart mouth shut and peer inside.
The bed is massive, carved wood with a stiff-looking comforter. A huge armoire stands in the corner, and the curtains are so thick they block out the moon. The air is stale, as if no one has set foot in here in years. “Oppressive” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I freeze in the doorway, unsure what to feel.
Relief comes first. At least he’s not dragging me back into his bed yet.
The thought of having to lie down in the sheets for him is enough to make my skin crawl. It would have overwritten every good memory, and I’m not ready for that.
But the relief is short-lived, replaced by a hollow weight in my chest. Because if not his bed, then what does this mean? That I’m too tainted for him now?
Shit. Should I be getting ready for a turkey baster conception next?
Petyr nudges me, none too gently. I figure I don’t want more bruises, so I take a breath and step inside.
If it wasn’t clear before this place has never seen an occupant, the plastic on the comforter tells me all I need to know.
I scan the space and let the words slip out before I can stop myself. “Cozy. Do the bats sleep on the ceiling or do they have their own private coffin?”
Petyr’s eyes cut to me, sharp. “Watch your mouth.”
“Just saying. I’d probably be grateful for the company.” I shrug. “Unless you think I could train them to help me escape. You know, like Cinderella’s rats.”
Petyr’s nostrils flare. I can see the effort it takes him not to snap.
But I can’t help it. When I’m nervous, I joke. And when I’m pissed, my jokes reflect that. I may have lived a lie for twelve years, but holding my tongue has never been my strong suit.
“It’s a room,” Petyr grinds out. “Four walls, a bed. You’ll manage. It’s where you’ll stay until the baby is born.”
I must have misheard. Stay here? Not just in the house, but locked into this room?
But no. I heard him right.
“You can’t be serious,” I snap. “I’m supposed to rot in this ten-by-ten-foot cave until I give birth? That’s insane. It’s no way for a person to live, let alone a baby.”
Petyr’s mouth twitches into a hard smirk. “Considering I just spent six months chasing you down, I’d say this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. You clearly can’t be trusted.”
I’d braced myself for something like this, but hearing him say it out loud knocks the air from my chest.
My fingers curl tight at my sides. My nails dig into my palms until they sting. It’s the only thing I can do to keep myself from shaking.
My mind flashes back to the old Petyr. The one who teased me, who didn’t smirk with cruelty but with warmth. Who brushed my hair out of my face and kissed me softly in the dark. The Petyr who made me feel seen.
I don’t know if that Petyr was ever real. But this version of him—this cold, emotionless tyrant—isn’t someone I recognize.
Petyr steps into my space, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His body radiates threat. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set.
“To be clear, I don’t give a shit if you don’t like it,” he snarls. “This is what you get. You had privileges, and you tossed them away. Now, you’ll do what I say, or you’ll be sorry you didn’t.”
My throat works as I swallow hard. I don’t argue further. What would be the point? This is the new Petyr. Or maybe this was always him, and I was too smitten, too stupid to see it.
I tear my gaze away and take in the space again.
My skin crawls. It feels like the walls are leaning in closer with every breath I take. I swear if I stay here long enough, they’ll close in completely and press me flat. Squish me and the baby into 2D cutouts of ourselves.
I hate it already. I can’t stand the idea of being trapped here for an hour, never mind the weeks left until I give birth.
“Petyr.” My voice turns pleading. “Come on. Is this really necessary?”
“You took out your bodyguard with a belt. I’d say it is.”
“Do you seriously think I’d risk running away now?” I search his gaze for a hint of humanity, of warmth. Anything I can latch onto. “That I’d risk putting the baby in danger?”
The worst part is, I’m not even sure I’m lying right now. If he showed me a sign of emotion, I might fall for it. Maybe we can mend what’s been broken after all, right? Right?
But Petyr doesn’t do that. He just looks at me with that cruel sneer again and says, “There’s no telling what you’re capable of.”
Is this what he really thinks of me?
Apparently, yes, because Petyr starts to turn toward the door. The conversation is finished. He’s said all he needed to say.
“Wait!”
Slowly, he turns.
“Will you take her away?” I croak. “My baby?”
It’s the question that’s been haunting me since we met again. I wasn’t sure I’d have the courage to ask it. But what else do I have to lose?
Every line of his face freezes into stone, erasing even the trace of that cruel smirk. “That depends on how cooperative you are about giving me a male heir.”
My arms wrap around my stomach without me thinking. I can’t shield my future kids from him just by hugging myself, but instinct takes over. Whoever this new Petyr is, he’s a cruel man who treats people like things. He’d treat his children like objects, too.
I wonder if he ever thought of this baby as his. As his daughter.
But that’s a stupid question. To men like him, sons are clay to be molded, and women are property to be bartered. Wives, daughters, even infants—we are all pawns.
And God help the baby boy he’ll pick to be the next king.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I force them down. I won’t cry in front of him. My throat aches with the effort of holding it together, but I resist.
Right now, none of those other babies are real yet. And if I have my way, they’ll never be. Only my daughter exists, and for her, I’ll tear the world apart.
Even if it means running away from her father.
Petyr turns to leave. I watch his retreating back with the taste of despair in my mouth. Once upon a time, he made me feel safe. I thought he could be my escape from the life I ran from.
Now, I see it clearly: he’s just another prison warden, just like my father.
And the future I thought I could taste was only ever another cage.