Chapter 9 Alina
ALINA
The commotion starts as a distant rumble that pulls me from the edge of sleep. Raised voices. Heavy footsteps. The sound of multiple vehicles arriving at once.
I sit up in bed, my heart already racing. Something is wrong.
I throw off the covers and rush to the window, pressing my palms against the cool glass.
The view of the front drive steals my breath.
Black SUVs line the circular driveway like a funeral procession, at least six of them, maybe more.
Armed men pour out, taking positions around the estate with military precision. I recognize the vehicles immediately.
My father is here.
The realization hits me like a physical blow. Part of me wants to run downstairs, to throw myself into his arms and beg him to take me away from this nightmare. To rescue me from Dimitri Morozov and this gilded cage. But another part, a part that's grown stronger in the past few days, hesitates.
I think about the security footage Dimitri showed me.
The coordinated attack at the church. The documents I haven't seen yet but that Dimitri claims exist, linking my father to the Kozlov family.
The way my father's face looked on that news broadcast, tearful and desperate, but somehow wrong. Rehearsed.
I press my forehead against the glass, watching as more of my father's men spread out across the grounds. Dimitri's guards are there too, weapons visible, creating a tense standoff. This could turn violent in seconds.
A knock at my door makes me jump.
"Come in," I call, my voice steadier than I feel.
Dimitri enters, already dressed despite the early hour. He's wearing dark jeans and a black shirt, and I can see the outline of a weapon at his hip. His green eyes find mine immediately, assessing, calculating.
"Your father is here," he says, his tone neutral. "He's demanding to see you. To verify that you're unharmed."
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware that I'm wearing only a thin nightgown. "I heard the vehicles."
Dimitri moves closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne mixed with coffee. He's been awake for a while, probably monitoring the situation. "Do you want to see him?"
The question surprises me. It's the first time since he brought me here that he's given me a real choice about anything. I study his face, looking for the trap, the manipulation. But all I see is genuine inquiry.
"Yes," I say. "But I want you there. I want you present."
Something flickers in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or approval. "Get dressed. Something appropriate. We'll go down together."
He turns to leave, giving me privacy, but I stop him with a question. "Dimitri? What if he tries to take me by force?"
He looks back at me, and the expression on his face is absolutely cold. "He won't. Not if he wants to leave here alive."
After he's gone, I move to the closet and select clothes carefully.
Not the borrowed designer pieces but the simple jeans and sweater I wore yesterday.
I want to look like myself, not like someone Dimitri has dressed up.
I pull my red hair back into a ponytail and skip makeup entirely.
My father needs to see that I'm really me, really unharmed.
But as I'm getting dressed, my hands shake. Because I don't know what I want anymore. Do I want my father to rescue me? Do I want to go back to the Popov house, back to my old life? The life where I was being sold off to Sergei Morozov like a piece of property?
Or do I want to stay here with a man who kidnapped me but also saved my life? A man who's given me more honest answers in three days than my father gave me in twenty-two years?
I don't have time to figure it out. Dimitri returns, knocking once before entering. His eyes sweep over me, and he nods approval at my clothing choice.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No. But let's go anyway."
We walk downstairs together, and I'm acutely aware of his presence beside me. He doesn't touch me, doesn't guide me with a hand on my back like he did before. He's giving me space, letting me approach this on my own terms. It's a small thing, but it matters.
The grand foyer is crowded with men. Dimitri's guards line the walls, weapons visible but not raised. And in the center, surrounded by his own soldiers, stands my father.
Viktor Popov looks exactly as he did on the news broadcast. Expensive suit, perfectly styled hair, an expression of paternal concern etched on his face. But when his eyes meet mine, I see something underneath the mask. Something cold and calculating that makes my stomach turn.
"Alina!" He moves toward me, arms outstretched, and I find myself walking forward to meet him. It's instinct, muscle memory from a lifetime of being his daughter.
He embraces me, and I breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne. For a moment, I'm a little girl again, safe in my father's arms. But then his hands grip my upper arms, squeezing too tightly, and the illusion shatters.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Has he harmed you in any way?"
"I'm fine, Papa." The endearment feels strange on my tongue now. "I'm not hurt."
He pulls back, his hands still gripping my arms, and studies my face with an intensity that feels invasive. "You're certain? You can tell me the truth, Alina. You're safe now. I'm here."
But I don't feel safe. I feel like I'm being examined, evaluated. His questions sound rehearsed, like lines from a script he's memorized. And his eyes keep darting to Dimitri, who stands a few feet away, watching silently.
"I'm certain," I say, gently trying to extract myself from his grip. "Really, Papa. I'm fine."
His hands tighten for a moment before he releases me. "Thank God. When I couldn't find you at the church..." His voice breaks convincingly. "I thought I'd lost you."
The memory of Sergei sends a chill through me. I remember watching him fall, the blood spreading across his white shirt. Three perfect circles over his heart.
"It was terrible," I whisper. "So many people died."
"Yes." My father's expression hardens. "So many innocent people, murdered in a house of God." His gaze shifts to Dimitri, and the accusation is clear even though he doesn't voice it.
I feel Dimitri tense beside me, but he doesn't respond to the implied challenge. He's letting me handle this, I realize, giving me the space to make my own choices.
"Dimitri saved my life," I hear myself say. The words surprise me, but they're true. "He pulled me out of the church when I was frozen. If he hadn't, I'd be dead."
My father's jaw tightens, and for just a moment, his mask slips. I see anger flash across his face. Not relief that I'm alive. Not gratitude toward Dimitri. Just pure, cold anger.
Then the mask is back in place, and he's smiling at me with paternal warmth. "Of course. I'm grateful to Dimitri for protecting you in that moment of chaos." He turns to Dimitri, inclining his head. "Thank you for keeping my daughter safe."
Dimitri's response is cool and measured. "She's under my protection now. No harm will come to her while she's in my care."
Something passes between the two men, some unspoken challenge or threat that I don't fully understand. The air in the foyer feels thick with tension, and I'm aware of all the armed men surrounding us, fingers near triggers, waiting for an excuse.
"Well." My father turns back to me, his smile still in place. "Now that I've seen you're safe, we should go. Your mother is beside herself with worry. And Katya has been asking for you constantly."
Katya. My little sister. The thought of her makes my chest ache. Is she really okay? Did she make it out of the church safely?
"Is Katya alright?" I ask urgently. "And Mama? They weren't hurt?"
"They're fine. Shaken, but fine. They'll be so relieved to see you." He extends his hand toward me. "Come, Alina. Let's go home."
I look at his outstretched hand, and something inside me rebels. Home. The word should bring comfort, but instead, it fills me with dread. Because going home means going back to being a pawn in my father's games. Going back to being property to be traded for alliances and power.
"I'm staying here," I say quietly.
The words hang in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
My father's expression doesn't change, but his eyes go flat and cold. "What did you say?"
"I'm staying here. Willingly." I force myself to meet his gaze. "Dimitri has offered me his protection, and I've accepted."
"Protection." My father spits the word like a curse. "Is that what he's calling it? Alina, this man kidnapped you from your own wedding. He's holding you prisoner."
"No." I shake my head. "He's not. I'm choosing to stay."
I don't mention the marriage proposal. Don't tell my father that Dimitri wants to marry me, that he's offered me a position of power and safety in exchange for becoming his wife. Some instinct tells me to keep that information close, that revealing it now would be dangerous.
But I'm torn. Because this is my chance. My father is here with armed men. If I wanted to leave, if I wanted to escape this forced marriage to Dimitri, this is my opportunity. All I have to do is say the word, and my father will take me away from here.
So why can't I say it?
My father studies me for a long moment, and I see him recalculating, adjusting his strategy. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, more reasonable.
"Alina, sweetheart, I understand you're confused. You've been through a terrible trauma. But you don't have to stay here out of some misplaced sense of gratitude. Come home. We'll figure everything out together, as a family."
"She's made her choice," Dimitri says, his voice cutting through my father's persuasion. "Alina is staying here of her own free will."
My father's mask slips again, and this time the anger stays visible. He turns to Dimitri, and the two men face each other like circling predators.
"If that's true," my father says slowly, "if Alina is truly staying of her own free will, then she should be allowed to come home to collect her belongings. To say goodbye to her family properly." He pauses, and I see the trap being set. "Alone. Without your guards watching her every move."
The request sounds reasonable on the surface. But I hear the threat underneath. My father wants to get me alone, away from Dimitri's protection, where he can control the narrative. Where he can convince me, or force me, to stay.
I look at Dimitri, trying to read his expression. His jaw is tight, his green eyes hard as he stares at my father. I can see him calculating the angles, weighing the risks.
"That's not necessary—" I start to say, but my father cuts me off.
"Unless, of course, you're not really here of your own free will." He looks at me, his expression all paternal concern again. "Unless Dimitri is controlling what you say, what you do. In which case, I'll take you home right now, by force if necessary."
The threat is clear. If I don't agree to come home alone, my father will assume I'm being held against my will. And then this tense standoff will explode into violence.
I think about Katya. About seeing my mother. About having a few hours away from this estate, away from Dimitri's intense presence, to clear my head and figure out what I really want.
But I also think about the cold calculation in my father's eyes. The way his questions felt rehearsed. The anger I saw when I said I was staying willingly.
Dimitri moves closer to me, and I feel the heat of his body at my back. "Alina doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do," he says quietly.
My father's smile is sharp as a knife. "Then let her decide. Alina, do you want to come home to see your family? To collect your things and say a proper goodbye? Or are you too afraid of what Dimitri might do if you leave?"
All eyes in the foyer are on me now. Dimitri's men. My father's soldiers. The two most powerful men in my life, waiting for my answer.
And I realize that whatever I choose in this moment will set the course for everything that comes next.