Chapter 9 —Eva
I sat on the plush cream leather seat of my captor’s private jet. Yes, it turned out he owned one—I wasn’t the least bit surprised.
He was seated across from me, resplendent in a black suit and a black tie with his legs crossed like royalty. The man reeked of power, and his silence was more unsettling than the flat expression on his mean-looking face.
The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the aroma of chilled citrus as a flight attendant poured a sparkling drink into his glass.
I shifted my gaze outside the window, wondering where the hell this man was taking me. Earlier this morning, he’d barged into my room, ordered me to get dressed, and said I was coming with him.
Where? He didn’t say.
I’d wanted to argue, but he left no room for that—besides, I wanted to get out of that room. Even though I had no idea where we were going at first, I thought it was somewhere around the city—maybe he wanted to show me something.
Or maybe he wanted to punish me for standing up to him last night.
I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest.
However, when I saw the suitcases being loaded into the trunk of his SUV, I couldn’t help thinking this might be a journey I wasn’t ready for.
He was standing by the vehicle when I stepped out of the building, my pair of flats soundless against the floor. His eyes wandered over my body, as if assessing my outfit: a loose, flowered top and a pair of simple jeans.
“You’re going to need a coat,” he said, his voice as calm as still water. “Perhaps a hat and some gloves too.” He opened the vehicle’s back door. “It’s cold where we’re going.”
My eyes squinted, my head tilting slightly to the side as a crazy thought crept into my mind.
I blinked back to the present, watching the sea of puffy white clouds stretch across the skyline, reminding me of a canvas of cotton candy. From up here, I could see the Chicago River snaking through the city, which unfolded like a miniature model.
Up until now, I still had no idea where we were going, and he hadn’t spoken a word to me since we took off.
As I gazed outside the window, I thought about what he was up to and why he was doing this.
Was he trying to prove something? Was this an attempt to scare me? What game was he playing with me? These questions overlapped in my mind, leaving me confused and worried about my fate.
“Merci, Sophie,” he said to the tall, blonde air hostess.
She nodded, beamed a bright smile at him, straightened, and then dematerialized.
When I turned to look directly at him, he was already staring at me with his glass to his lips.
“So, what, you speak French now—or is ‘merci, Sophie’ the only thing you know?” I asked, my sharp, sassy voice filling the awkward silence.
He sipped his wine and replied in French, his accent fluent and convincing. Every syllable was crisply articulated—crisp—and if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he was a native French speaker.
Show off.
I rolled my eyes and flicked my wrist dismissively. “Where are you taking me?”
His lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Does it matter?” he teased. “You’re out of your ‘gilded cage,’ aren’t you?”
“I am. But now I’m being shipped to God-knows-where.”
He let out a soft scoff.
I stared at him, pushing thoughts of his handsomeness to the back of my mind. The man was attractive despite his ruggedness, but that didn’t change what he was: a monster.
He had all this power and influence, yet when I looked deep into his eyes, I saw something entirely different.
“I think I’ve figured out why you kept me around,” I said, leaning in with my elbows on my knees.
“You didn’t figure it out; I told you.” He lifted his glass to his mouth.
“You only told me what you wanted me to hear,” I insisted, my gaze unwavering. “But I know the truth now.”
He raised his brows. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re alone,” I blurted out, sharp and unapologetic.
His expression didn’t shift, and he didn’t utter a word; he just kept staring at me.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs, a small, knowing smile tugging at my lips. “I mean, you have all these men around you, protecting you and doing your dirty work. But none of them ever keeps you company.”
Silence.
“And that…is why I’m still alive. That’s why you’ve decided to keep me around—so you can have someone to play with.” I let my words settle for a moment. “Honestly, I’m not even mad anymore.” I shrugged my shoulders casually. “At least now I know my purpose. To help soothe your misery.”
His brows drew together, a faint scowl flashing across his face.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I added. “Tell me you don’t hide behind silence and control.”
His reply was short and simple. “You talk too much for someone with no power.”
I adjusted in my chair, fingers drumming against the armrest. “Power doesn’t intimidate me,” I said, holding his gaze. “I study it.”
He didn’t say another word. And although his face remained stoic, I saw the slightest crack in his expression, hinting that my words had gotten under his skin.
A faint, self-satisfied smirk played at the corner of my lips as I broke eye contact and turned my gaze back to the window. My brows knitted together, accentuating the confusion on my face. The sky I was looking at wasn’t the soft, amber glow of the Midwest I had seen some time ago.
This time, endless gray stretched over a landscape coated in ice, and even the clouds themselves seemed different. Cold. I noticed the snow wasn’t fluffy; it was windswept and hard-packed.
The scenery from up here looked rather familiar, and when I faced him again, he had a smug smirk on his lips. I squinted at him, my head slightly tilting to the side.
A flight attendant’s voice—soft and calm—drifted through the jet’s cabin in Russian, announcing our arrival. I had no idea what he was saying until he repeated it in accented English.
“Prepare for landing in Saint Petersburg.”
My brows yanked up in disbelief. You gotta be shitting me.
He raised his glass by a fraction, retaining that pesky smirk of his. “Welcome to my hometown.”
Russia? We were in Russia?
There was a sudden dryness in my throat that made it difficult to swallow.
Fuck!
I was a very, very long way from home.
When the jet landed at the airport, its wheels meeting the runway with a gentle thud, I felt my heart sink into my stomach. I looked out the window, watching this new world, swallowed up by more snow than I’d seen my whole life.
He set his glass on the table. “I told you it was cold where we’re going.”
“Next time, be more specific.”
A flight attendant appeared, holding a long, furry coat draped over her hand. Balanced on it were a woven hat, a thick red scarf, and a pair of knitted gloves.
He rose to his feet. “You might wanna change into those.” His fingers brushed invisible dust particles off his black suit. “Unless, of course, you plan on freezing to death.”
When the jet door opened, my eyes squinted at the harsh wind that bit through the fabric of my clothes. I rubbed my palms together, my shoulders slightly raised as I stepped out behind him.
The Chicago cold was a joke compared to this; my arms were wrapped around me, and my teeth wouldn’t stop gnashing. It hurt my brain to even imagine what would’ve happened to me if I’d stepped out without wearing all this.
The wind wasn’t helping either, and I could barely see with my eyes half-closed. I hurried behind him through the airport, flanked by his men. The voices around me were deep and dangerous, and the language was Russian. I had no idea what they were talking about or where we were going.
As we neared a black SUV, two of the men opened both back doors, and we got inside. They shut the door, and the driver started the engine. The windows were closed, yet I was still shaking from the cold.
My captor, seated at the other end of the backseat, ignored me completely, focusing on the cigarette between his lips.
Despite the gloves, my fingers were numb, and my entire body was trembling. I felt pathetic, like a wet duck caught in a snowstorm. All that fire from a while ago suddenly seemed to have been extinguished, leaving nothing but a chill with teeth.
The city beyond the window looked stern and ancient—beautiful with old buildings and frozen canals. I was too busy fighting for my life to notice the landscape and the breathtaking view.
I rubbed my gloved palms against each other as the vehicle drove steadily along the road snaking through snowbound land. There were towering trees on both sides, the sun’s rays filtering through their leaves and branches.
We drove in silence for about an hour, his convoy dominating the lonely road leading away from the city. I wanted to ask where we were going and whether we hadn’t gotten there yet, but my brain was too frozen to function.
After a long drive, I spotted a looming silhouette up ahead: a massive structure of iron and stone. The gates parted, and we drove in, the serpentine driveway stretching forever.
The convoy pulled up outside the magnificent building, its glass-and-stone facade gleaming in the sunlight. The door was opened from the outside, and we both stepped out of the vehicle. My first instinct was to find the entrance of the building before I froze out here.
I couldn’t understand how or why neither he nor his men seemed as affected by the cold as I was. Maybe because they were used to it and I wasn’t. I rushed toward the front door, a giant wooden frame carved with the head of a roaring lion.
Two of his men pushed the door open, and I stepped inside without hesitation. I crossed my hands and rubbed my arms, the vapor from my breath swirling around my face with each exhale.
He walked in behind me, his voice thick as he spoke to his men in Russian, pointing at different parts of the house.
One of them lit up the fireplace, the flames crackling as the heat began spreading across the room. My shoes clicked against the dusty floor as I strolled over there to receive more heat. The furniture was covered with white sheets, hinting that no one had been here for a while.
I would later feast my eyes on the luxurious interior design and the portraits that adorned the walls. But for now, I was more focused on not freezing to death.
The sound of his approaching footsteps caught my attention, and when I raised my head, he was already standing across from me.
“This is my family estate, and I need you to behave,” he said, staring right at me.
His words triggered something in me, something aggressive.
“First, I’m not your pet,” I growled. “Second, I never asked you to bring me to your family estate or your hometown.”
With menacing steps, he walked closer, his gaze stern and unwavering. He didn’t stop until he was inches from me, and I could feel his breath on my face. I refused to be intimidated by his height or the intensity of his gaze. I refused to look away.
His hand snapped out, and he lifted my chin with his fingers. “If you want to keep that sharp tongue of yours, I suggest you bridle it.”
I felt a different kind of cold run down my spine, but I was determined not to let him see my fear. “Control is your oxygen, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice dripping with disdain, eyes flashing with defiance. “Once someone questions it, you feel suffocated.”
His brows drew together, accentuating the faint scowl on his face.
“Well, news flash.” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, hateful whisper. “I’m not one of those people you can easily manipulate with fear. I think you should know that by now.”
He paused for a while, as if digesting my words. Just when I thought I’d successfully gotten under his skin, a mocking grin appeared on the corners of his lips.
“You will learn silence,” he said, his voice flat, eyes devoid of emotion.
With that, he walked away, leaving me alone by the fireplace, struggling with the weight of his words and the cold seeping into my bones. I thought I’d have the last laugh today, but I guess the joke’s on me.
Maybe I should stop pushing my luck with this man. The fact that he hadn’t killed me yet didn’t mean he couldn’t.