Chapter 8
Hazel
I stood in front of those two massive black gates of Gromov Manor.
The black armored SUV's tires crunched over the white gravel driveway. I pushed open the door and stepped out, my feet landing on the smooth stone path.
I looked up at the gates. Last time I was here, Anya had run down those steps in her pretty dress and thrown her arms around me.
But today, she was probably the last person in this manor who wanted to see me.
At the top of the steps stood only the manor's housekeeper. She wore a sharply tailored charcoal suit, her hair pulled back so tight not a single strand dared escape.
She looked me over with an appraising eye.
Probably categorizing me in her head—"Mr. Gromov's new plaything, to be properly accommodated, one year lease."
I dropped my gaze, unsure where to put my hands or what expression to wear. I just remembered how everyone had looked at me when I left—nothing but contempt and disgust.
I must've looked pathetic.
"Follow me, Miss Brooks." The housekeeper finally spoke.
I gripped my bag's handle, took a deep breath, and fell in behind her.
We entered the sprawling foyer. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing blinding light everywhere. The marble floor gleamed so bright it could've been a mirror.
Everything here screamed one thing—I didn't belong.
Didn't matter what expensive clothes I wore or what luxury bed I slept in, my nature wouldn't change. I was still that poor girl from the trailer park, the one whose mother couldn't stand her, whose boyfriend cheated on her.
Only difference now was I didn't even own my own body anymore.
"Mr. Gromov has instructed that you'll stay in the east wing guest room during your time at the manor."
The housekeeper walked ahead, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor in a steady rhythm.
"My name is Evelyn Harrison. You may call me Evelyn. I'll be handling all arrangements for your food, clothing, and daily needs while you're here. If you require anything, you can find me."
I stared at Evelyn's straight back, clutching my bag to my chest.
"Understood," I said quietly.
Evelyn led me down a long corridor, then raised her right hand, pointing to a heavy mahogany door at the end.
"That's Mr. Gromov's private study. The entire third floor is his personal quarters. You are not to set foot in those areas without permission." She paused, glancing back at me. "The west wing is Miss Anya's private space—"
She didn't finish, but I got the message.
With Anya hating me like she did now, I'd better not show my face around her.
"I understand." Of course I understood.
I knew exactly what I was now. I wasn't Anya's friend anymore.
I was Viktor Gromov's private property.
We kept walking. At the corner of the corridor, we ran into Anya.
My heart seized, almost stopped beating.
Anya wore a pale blue cashmere sweater and white fitted pants. Her blonde hair fell loose over her shoulders, catching the light with a soft glow. She held a thick file, head down, flipping through it as she walked quickly.
The moment I saw her, my eyes burned.
I stopped walking, my body moving forward half a step on pure instinct.
"Anya." I forced the name out of my throat.
Anya heard me. She looked up.
Those ice-blue eyes held nothing—no anger, no sadness, no feeling at all.
Her gaze swept over me like I was invisible air.
Then Anya turned her head, looking at Evelyn beside me.
"The three o'clock charity foundation meeting got moved up to two-thirty." Anya gave Evelyn her orders. "Tell the driver to bring the car to the side entrance. And tell the gardener to replace all those white roses in the back garden. I don't like that variety."
"Yes, Miss Anya." Evelyn bowed her head respectfully. "I'll handle it immediately."
Anya closed her file, took a step, and walked right past me.
She never looked at me again. Never acknowledged my voice at all.
I stood there frozen, feeling invisible hands choking my throat.
Tears finally spilled over. I bit down hard on my lip, trying not to break down right there, but the tears kept falling, soaking my collar.
Evelyn stood nearby, silent. She just waited, giving me time to pull myself together.
A few minutes later, I sucked in a breath and roughly wiped my face with the back of my hand.
"Sorry," I said, voice hoarse.
"It's fine." Evelyn's tone softened slightly. "Let me take you to your room."
I followed her like a walking corpse.
We passed a spacious sitting room. The French doors stood open, three maids in black and white uniforms polishing antique furniture. A gardener in green work clothes trimmed a potted shrub outside the window.
They heard footsteps in the hallway. All of them stopped working and looked up at me.
They exchanged quick glances full of malice.
"See that?" one maid whispered, but loud enough for me to hear. "That's her. The one who disappeared during Miss Anya's graduation party."
"Can't believe she had the nerve to come back." Another maid let out a contemptuous snort. "Shows up to her friend's party and seduces her friend's father. Disgusting."
Disgusting.
I wanted to run over and scream at them.
But I did nothing.
Because I didn't even have the strength to defend myself anymore.
I could only walk faster, running like a frightened mouse from those suffocating whispers.
Evelyn brought me to a room deep in the east wing corridor. She pushed open the door.
"This is your room." Evelyn stood outside, not stepping in. "Food is available anytime at the manor. If you have any special requests, let me know. But remember—don't wander around the manor."
Evelyn finished speaking and pulled the door shut.
I stood alone in the center of the room.
The room was huge, dominated by a massive bed with pure white sheets and covers that looked soft and expensive.
Thick carpet covered the floor. Against the wall sat a vanity and an enormous wardrobe. Through the French doors I could see the perfectly manicured garden.
This room was more luxurious than anywhere I'd ever lived.
But I felt no warmth at all.
Evening came. Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Someone knocked softly on the door. I stood up and opened it.
A white-haired old woman stood outside. She carried a wicker basket filled with bottles and jars and fresh towels.
"Good evening, Miss Brooks." The old woman's tone held actual kindness.
It caught me off guard.
"Good evening." I stepped aside to let her in.
The old woman walked to the bathroom door and set her basket on the counter. She turned around, looking at me calmly.
"My name is Margaret. I brought bathing supplies and toiletries." Margaret gestured to the basket. "Starting tonight, I'll be responsible for your complete bathing and grooming each evening."
"Why?" I asked warily, an ominous feeling creeping over me.
Margaret met my eyes and gave me the most direct answer.
"Because starting tonight, Mr. Gromov will be coming to you after dark."
I choked on my words. I knew what I'd signed up for, but I hadn't expected Viktor tonight.
Images flashed through my mind—him coldly ordering Tyler's leg destroyed in the apartment, the crack of Tyler's kneecap, his screams.
And Viktor hadn't even blinked.
He was a mafia Pakhan who controlled countless lives, a tyrant who could crush anyone without a second thought, a devil who ruled this city's underworld.
And tonight, I'd face that tyrant alone.
Margaret noticed my trembling. But she just gently took my hand and led me to the bathroom.
She turned on the shower. Hot water poured down, but I felt no warmth.
I mechanically followed Margaret's instructions, washing with expensive shampoos and body wash, rubbing in heavily scented body lotion—like gift-wrapping merchandise.
After the bath, Margaret picked up a wide-tooth comb and began working through my damp hair. Her movements were gentle, almost soothing.
"You don't need to be so nervous, Hazel." Margaret looked at me in the mirror.
I stared at my pale face and terrified eyes in the reflection, hands clenched tight.
"I can't help it." I closed my eyes. "He's a dangerous man."
Margaret stopped combing and rested her hand on my shoulder.
"But you're special, Hazel." Margaret's tone was certain.
Special? What was special about me?
I shook my head, not believing her.
"There's nothing special about me. I just happen to be carrying his child."
That's all.
If it weren't for this baby, Viktor probably wouldn't even look at me.
"No, child." Margaret picked up the comb again, slowly working through my hair. "I've known Viktor a long time. I've never seen him spend the night with a woman. He always leaves them alone, or sends them away."
"He sounds awful..." I couldn't help saying.
Sadness flickered in Margaret's eyes.
"There's a reason for that. He's a poor boy. He went through something terrible before. He lost his beloved wife. After that, he could barely sleep anymore. Oh, forgive me. I've said too much."
I sat there, processing this information.
In my eyes, Viktor had always been this cold, hard figure who seemed incapable of feeling anything, never shaken by anything.
This gave me a small sense that Viktor was human. That Viktor had once loved someone, and still hurt from it.
After finishing up, Margaret pulled a prepared silk robe from the closet.
It was an extremely sheer black silk robe, cut low at the neckline, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh. Nearly transparent.
Okay. Calm down, Hazel. This is the job. Nothing surprising about it.
Margaret helped me into the robe. The silk touched my skin with a cool sensation, so thin it felt like wearing nothing.
"I'll leave you now." Margaret gathered her basket and walked to the door. "Good night, Hazel."
She closed the door. I was alone.
I walked to the bed and sat on the edge.
Only a dim bedside lamp glowed in the room, casting murky light on the walls, stretching long shadows. Those shadows looked like monsters, like demons ready to devour me.
I clasped my hands on my knees. My palms were slick with cold sweat.
The hallway was silent. I strained my ears, catching every sound.
All I heard was my own violent heartbeat—thump, thump, thump. So loud it nearly burst my eardrums.
Time crawled.
The wall clock ticked, each second stretching into a year.
I stared at that clock, watching the second hand circle, watching the minute hand creep, watching time slip away, dragging me toward that inevitable moment.
Suddenly, I heard something.
Footsteps echoed from far down the corridor. Unhurried, controlled, moving steadily toward my room.
I gripped the silk robe on my legs, not sure what I was so nervous about.
Then the brass doorknob turned.
Click.
The door opened.