Chapter 23 Sima
SIMA
The door shut behind him hours ago, but the echo stays stuck in my head.
Petyr and his meetings. Always some shadowy deal, some problem only he can fix that conveniently seems to appear whenever he wants to avoid me.
Meanwhile, I’m trapped here. Again.
I’ve rearranged the pillows three times, folded and unfolded the same blanket, and stared at the ceiling long enough to memorize the cracks in the plaster. None of it makes me less furious.
I’m not even sure who I’m mad at. Him, mostly.
But also myself.
Because even after everything, I still feel something for him. I still want him. That fact alone should be grounds for my own psychiatric evaluation.
If the feminism didn’t leave my body last night, then I’m not sure it was ever there at all.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. What a mess. I can’t believe I let myself be duped again. A few sweet gestures in that doctor’s studio, and I was already cooked.
“I’m so stupid.” I plunge my face into my hands and breathe. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot.”
He says he wants me to stay here, but I can’t go on like this. If we can’t figure out how to move past what’s already happened, then what? We’ll wind up killing each other. Or worse—living long enough to hate each other in silence.
Truly a love story for the ages.
I think about the way he looks at me sometimes, like he wants to rip me apart and hold me together all at once.
Maybe once I’m finally out of here, I’ll write a book: How to Fall for the Guy Who Locked You in a Mansion. Guaranteed bestseller. Because clearly, I’ve got issues, and their size is directly proportional to the toxicity of the man I fell for.
The truth is simpler, though. Nothing as fancy as the DSM-5.
I love him.
I never stopped loving him. It’s infuriating. Because love doesn’t erase the threats, the control, the way he talks about me like I’m both his most valuable property and his greatest weakness. Love doesn’t solve the fact that I don’t trust him, and he doesn’t trust me.
Love doesn’t conquer all.
But I still feel it.
The clock ticks on. The walls stay the same. And I keep fuming, pacing between anger and longing like it’s my full-time job.
It’s later in the evening when the door opens. Kira walks in with a tray balanced in her hands. Steam rises from the plate. The smell of food fills the room, heavy and warm.
She doesn’t smile. She never does when it comes to me. There’s probably something in the fine print of her prenup that forbids her from showing any signs of affection to her sister-in-law.
She sets the tray down hard enough that the silverware rattles. Then she glares at me. “I see you’re back in the fancy cell. Worked your way back into his bed fast.”
There it is. No attempt at subtlety, or God forbid, manners.
I keep my face calm. I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me break. “I’m his wife,” I say evenly. “And I’m pregnant with his child. Where else would I be?”
Her mouth twists. She doesn’t like the reminder that right now, despite everything, I hold more power than she does in her own house.
Her gaze drifts over me, down to my stomach, then back up to my face.
I see the judgment in her eyes, the calculation.
She steps closer, folding her arms. “Don’t mistake circumstance for power.
Without an heir, Petyr may not hold onto his place.
Not with Dimitri awake. What use will you be to him then? ”
I never thought about Dimitri’s awakening that way. But Kira’s right—he’s the firstborn. Not Petyr. Once her husband is back in power, mine will have to step aside for him.
What will that mean for us?
My stomach knots, but I don’t show it. I lift my chin instead. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I know how this world works,” she brags. “Men like him need leverage. Women like us provide it. But only as long as we serve a purpose.”
“So that’s what you think I am to him? A purpose?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “What else? He doesn’t forgive. He sure as fuck doesn’t forget. You think he’ll treat you differently because you let him back between your legs?”
That’s what finally makes me snap.
She can torture me emotionally. She can try to shake me all she likes.
But I won’t let her turn our love into something ugly. Not when it gave me the baby I’m carrying.
“I’m not just someone he fucked once and discarded, Kira.” I stand up. The kiddie gloves are off, and I’m fucking pissed. “I’m his wife. I carry his daughter. That doesn’t vanish because you want it to.”
She stiffens. “You think being his wife protects you? It didn’t protect you before. It won’t protect you when Dimitri is strong enough to walk back into his place. Don’t fool yourself.”
“If you think you can scare me into shrinking back, it won’t work.” For once, my voice is calmer than hers. “I’ve lived under worse threats than your petty, mean girl jabs.”
“You have no clue—”
“No, you don’t.” I come inches from her face. “I lived on the streets, Barbie. You have no fucking clue what it’s like in the real world. And unless you get out of my sight real fast, you’re about to find out the ugly way.”
For a long moment, Kira doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. But the tension between us is thick. I can see how white her face has gone, how thin the press of her lips is now.
I’m not a sheltered little girl. I’ll cut a bitch if I need to, and right now, she’s first in the fucking line.
Finally, she takes a step back. “Eat while it’s hot. You never know when the meals will stop coming.”
Threat of starvation. How classy.
I don’t thank her for bringing the tray. She doesn’t wait for me to. Just turns on her heel and walks out.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My hands shake under the blanket, but I don’t let myself fall apart. Not now. I won’t let someone like Kira break me.
“Fucking viper,” I mutter under my breath.
I drag the tray closer and eat. The food is good, better than I expected after the way she slammed it down, but my appetite is half-gone from the tension. Still, I finish most of it. No sense letting her win by starving myself.
Besides, my baby needs to eat. No matter how sick I feel, I won’t take from her. Not when she’s so healthy and perfect and close to her birth.
Later, I curl up on the bed with my e-reader. The blanket is pulled around me, the light dim, the house quiet. I almost manage to lose myself in the story.
Then the cramps start.
I drop the e-reader and press both hands to my stomach.
It hurts.
God, it fucking hurts.
Another wave hits. I scramble off the bed and run for the bathroom.
I make it just in time. The sickness is violent. I throw up everything I’ve eaten and then some, until I’m shaking on the floor, sweat on my skin and bile in my throat.
I curl up against the cool tile and breathe hard.
It doesn’t make sense. I was fine minutes ago. This isn’t the flu—that creeps up slowly. I always feel it when I’m about to get sick. This slammed into me like a punch.
The food, I realize. It has to be the food.
My mind races. Could it be food poisoning? Or something worse?
Kira’s always bitchy with me, but today, she was extra cruel. Could she have tampered with my tray? Could she want me gone that badly?
My gut twists, and not just from the cramps. I want to believe I’m being paranoid, but I can’t stop retching long enough to convince myself.
But no. It couldn’t have been Kira. She was the last one to handle my food. That would be too obvious. Wouldn’t it?
Anya. Her face blinks back into my memories, the cruel sneer she gave me when she said I’d be better off as fertilizer. Could she have slipped something in?
Or maybe it’s one of Petyr’s men. The guys who set up my electronics. Luka, even. None of them look at me with kindness. They wouldn’t care if I was gone. In fact, they’re probably thinking Petyr would be safer as pakhan without me.
I lie there shivering on the bathroom floor, every muscle tight. My thoughts keep running in circles.
Kira. Anya. Luka. Every single one of them could have done it. They had everything: motive, means, opportunity. All they needed to put me in the ground.
If I’d eaten all of the food, would I be dead right now?
Would my baby be?
I curl up on the floor. I don’t get up, not even when the worst of it passes. I’m shivering for an entirely different reason now, and I don’t want to look at it. The truth I didn’t want to face from day one.
That if I stay here, I’m going to die.