Chapter 18 – Freya
Two Weeks After the Family Dinner
My mom once told me that ten percent of life was what happened, and ninety percent was how I chose to respond. Judging by my current response to the life I’d found myself in, fate was probably laughing at me. It knew the worst was yet to come.
I stood in front of the mirror, my reflection staring back at me in a wedding gown, which was certainly the most beautiful I had ever seen. However, it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered, whether it was expensive or delicately designed. It felt like a coffin—like I was being buried alive and forced to watch.
The sheer lace and satin suffocated me, weighing me down with every passing moment. As I continued to stare, I felt like the walls were closing in on me, and I was drowning at the same time. I knew that once I walked down that aisle, my freedom would be gone, extinguished like a flame in a hurricane. The truth of my reality set in; I would be nothing more than his prisoner, his trophy, his property.
I confirmed from Anna that the news of my engagement to the Pahkan , the ruthless leader of the Russian mob, had spread like wildfire across the country and beyond. Everyone knew, and they whispered. Back in my department, my colleagues who had deemed me a valuable asset now considered me a traitor. I didn’t even want to imagine how disappointed Sergeant Keith must have been.
Desperation crept in.
The gown’s corseted bodice seemed to tighten around me, constricting my breath. I thought of the one time I tried to escape and got caught. I wondered how John was and if Egor had set him free. I experienced my life flash before my eyes and how badly I wanted to cry at the charade it had turned out to be.
In less than an hour, I was walking down the aisle with a withering lilac bouquet in my grip— withering because I refused to water it after Anna surprised me with the gift bouquet. I wanted to feel bad; she’d done nothing but pick beautiful flowers to try and cheer me up, but it had the opposite effect.
It reminded me of the impending doom that awaited me.
Don’t cry, Freya. Don’t cry.
I lifted my head and sniffled, ignoring the strangers on either side of the pews, all from the groom’s side. I had no one here. I’d never in my wildest dreams imagined that I would walk down the aisle alone. No family, no friends...nothing, and I wanted to laugh at the irony of the wedding setting, the very place that should have advocated for my husband-to-be’s soul to rot in the damnation of hell—the church.
Nadia, Egor’s forty-five-year-old aunt, thought it would look great in the photos, so I heard from a birdie called Anna that she persuaded the priest and insisted on it and also had her father endorse it, leaving the mighty Pahkan rather impatient for the wedding ceremony to be concluded soon.
As I moved through the crowd, I heard whispers, some complimentary, while others were mere gossip about how Egor and I met and why the marriage was soon.
One whisperer got it right.
“When it happens this fast, believe me, the bride’s pregnant.”
And I was pregnant, so there were no arguments there.
It was the only reason I was still alive. The only reason this wedding was happening at all, and because of it, my life was going to be sealed in this loveless union for eternity—or until one of us died.
Hesitantly, I climbed the podium, standing in front of him. I wasn’t sure why, but seeing him reminded me of the movie The Devil Wears Prada. Only, in this case, the devil wore Armani and expensive perfume and looked annoyingly handsome with his hair combed back and an unreadable smug expression plastered on his chiseled face while he ruined my life.
I thought my hate for him couldn’t grow any bigger until now.
Someone reached for my withering flowers, and, deducing from the tattooed fingers, it was Anatoly. He would probably trash the poor flowers anyway or stomp them under his big feet.
The priest began the ceremony, and the hall fell quiet. I struggled to block out his words, not eager to hear the process leading to my demise, but then the exchange of vows part came, and Egor went first.
Don’t cry, Freya.
I sniffled.
His eyes were cold when he took my hand and grew even colder when he lifted my finger.
I swear I fought to block him out, but bits of his utterances forced their way inside my ears.
I vow to stand by your side...forever and always.
The aged priest turned to me, signaling my turn, and I didn’t bother with being original. I reiterated the parts of his vows I’d heard and blinked out the teardrop that hung in my eye.
Egor closed in, lifted the lacy veil, and his eyes made the slightest twitch when he saw my tears.
He didn’t wipe it off, just leaned in, and his lips brushed mine in an unexpected, gentle caress.
I stood frozen. It was as if my mind and body were two separate entities, warring with each other. My mind seethed with hatred, but my body...my body craved him like a drug. It was like his touch awakened a hunger in me, a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied no matter how much I tried to resist.
A part of me wanted to push him away in the presence of all these people, scream, and struggle; instead, I felt myself melting into his touch.