Chapter 9 – Eleanor
The blindfold came off as we pulled through wrought iron gates that looked like they could stop a tank. I blinked in the afternoon sunlight, my eyes adjusting to reveal something that made my breath catch in my throat.
The mansion sprawled before us like something out of a gothic fairy tale. Dark stone and soaring windows, ivy climbing the walls in carefully controlled patterns. It wasn’t just expensive. It was imposing, intimate, and somehow alive. Like it had been watching and waiting for decades.
“Jesus,” I breathed.
Maxim glanced at me as the car rolled to a stop in the circular drive. “Not what you expected?”
“I expected a fortress. This is….” I searched for words that wouldn’t sound stupid. “This is a home.”
Something flickered across his face, too quick to identify. “It’s been in my family for three generations.”
The front door was massive, carved oak that probably weighed more than my car. It opened before we reached it, revealing a woman in her fifties with steel-gray hair and eyes that missed nothing.
“Mrs. Kowalski,” Maxim said by way of introduction. “She runs the house.”
“Congratulations on your marriage, Mrs. Voronov.” Her accent was thick, Eastern European, and her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely sure congratulations were in order.
Mrs. Voronov. The name hit me like a physical blow, a reminder that I was no longer Eleanor Beaumont. I was someone else now, someone I didn’t understand yet.
“Thank you,” I managed.
The interior was just as stunning as the exterior. Soaring ceilings, original artwork, furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. But there were personal touches too. Family photos on side tables, fresh flowers in crystal vases, books that had actually been read.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Maxim said.
“Our room?”
He paused on the stairs, one hand on the polished banister. “Your room. I’m not expecting you to share my bed just because we signed some papers.”
I should have been relieved. Should have thanked him for maintaining some boundaries in this fucked up situation. Instead, I felt something that might have been disappointment.
My room was on the second floor, down a hallway lined with portraits of stern-faced men and elegant women. The Voronov family tree, I assumed. Generations of people who’d lived and died in this house.
The bedroom was gorgeous. King-sized bed with silk sheets, walk-in closet already filled with clothes in my size, French doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking manicured gardens.
“How long have you been planning this?” I asked, running my fingers over a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than most people’s monthly salary.
“Planning what?”
“All of this. The clothes, the room, knowing exactly what size I wear and what designers I prefer.” I turned to face him. “You’ve been watching me for months, haven’t you?”
He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “It’s called research.”
“It’s called stalking.”
“Potato, potahto.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled. Almost. “So what happens now? Do I get to leave this room, or am I still your prisoner?”
“You’re my wife. This is your home now. You can go wherever you want within the grounds.”
“How generous.”
“Don’t push it, Eleanor.”
After he left, I stood on the balcony and tried to process what my life had become.
Just days ago, I’d been Eleanor Beaumont, struggling fashion designer with daddy issues and a small but growing business.
Now I was Eleanor Voronov, wife to a Bratva facilitator, living in a mansion that looked like it had secrets buried in its foundation.
I remembered my vow from the wedding. If Maxim thought he could just park me in this gilded cage and forget about me, he had another thing coming.
***
The guards were easy to spot. Big men in expensive suits, strategically positioned around the mansion and grounds. They tried to be subtle about it, but I’d grown up around security. I knew how to recognize the signs.
I also knew how to use them.
The first one was stationed near the kitchen. Dark hair, kind eyes, the type who probably had a wife and kids at home.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” I said, offering my best smile as I poured myself a cup of coffee. “I’m Eleanor.”
“Viktor, ma’am.”
“Please, just Eleanor. We’re practically family now, right?”
I let my fingers brush his arm as I reached for the sugar, just a whisper of contact that could have been accidental. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away.
“Is there anything you need, ma…Eleanor?”
“Just getting to know my new home. It’s so big, so easy to get lost.” I smiled again, the kind that suggested I might need someone to show me around. “Maybe you could give me a tour sometime?”
Viktor cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I’m sure Mr. Voronov would be happy to….”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother him. He’s so busy with his important work.”
I walked away before he could respond, but I felt his eyes following me down the hallway.
The second guard was in the library. Younger, cockier, the type who thought he was God’s gift to women. This would be even easier.
“Wow,” I breathed, looking around at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “I’ve never seen so many books in one place.”
“Mr. Voronov is very well-read,” the guard said. His nameplate read ‘Dmitri.’
“I bet he is. Smart men are so attractive, don’t you think?” I pulled a book from the shelf, letting my dress ride up slightly as I stretched. “Do you read much, Dmitri?”
“Some.”
“I love a man who reads. Shows intelligence, depth.” I moved closer, close enough that he could smell my perfume. “What’s your favorite book?”
By the time I left the library, Dmitri was practically stuttering.
I made my way through the mansion, leaving a trail of flustered guards in my wake. A touch here, a smile there, just enough to plant seeds of doubt and desire.
I was heading back to my room when I ran into Anya in the hallway.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she asked without preamble.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“The guards. I saw you with Viktor and Dmitri. Are you trying to get them killed?”
That stopped me cold. “What?”
“My brother doesn’t share. Ever. If he thinks one of his men is getting too friendly with his wife….” She made a slashing motion across her throat. “He’s put bullets in men for less.”
The casual way she said it, like discussing the weather, made my blood run cold. “He wouldn’t.”
“He would. He has. These men have families, Eleanor. Wives, children. Is your little rebellion worth their lives?”
I stared at her, processing what she’d just told me. I’d been thinking of this as a game, a way to get under Maxim’s skin and assert some control. I hadn’t considered that other people might pay the price for my defiance.
“I didn’t know,” I said quietly.
“Now you do. So maybe find another way to piss him off that doesn’t involve innocent people.”
She walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway feeling like the worst kind of fool. I’d been so focused on my own anger, my own need for control, that I’d forgotten these were real people with real lives.
I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
***
The next few days passed in a strange sort of limbo. Maxim disappeared for hours at a time, handling whatever Bratva business required his attention. I explored the mansion, read books from his extensive library, and tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with my life now.
My phone buzzed constantly with calls from reporters, competitors, and industry contacts who’d heard about my marriage. I ignored them all except for Zara, who was working overtime on damage control.
“The story we’re going with is a whirlwind romance,” she told me during one of our calls. “Love at first sight, couldn’t wait to be married. Very romantic, very impulsive.”
“And people are buying that?”
“People love a good love story. Especially when it involves a successful young designer and a mysterious, wealthy man. The fact that no one knows much about your husband just adds to the intrigue.”
If only she knew how mysterious he really was.
By the end of the week, I was going stir-crazy. I’d built my business from nothing, worked eighteen-hour days, lived and breathed fashion. Now I was rattling around this mansion like a ghost, with nothing to do but think about how completely fucked my life had become.
I found Maxim in his office late one evening, surrounded by papers and looking like he’d been there for hours. The room was all dark wood and leather, with a massive desk that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
“I need to work,” I said without preamble.
He looked up from whatever document he’d been reading. “Excuse me?”
“Work. You know, that thing people do to make money and feel useful? I lost two hundred thousand dollars because of your little kidnapping stunt. My fall collection launch was supposed to be next week, and now it’s completely fucked.
I can’t just sit around this house doing nothing while my business dies. ”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“Let me salvage what I can. Zara’s been fielding calls, but I need to be hands-on. I need to contact my suppliers, figure out which orders can still be filled, start planning for spring.”
“And you want to do this from here?”
“Unless you’re planning to let me go back to my old life, yes.”
Something shifted in his expression, too quick to identify. “Fine. Mrs. Kowalski can set up an office for you. Whatever you need.”
I blinked, surprised by how easy that had been. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
I turned to leave, then paused at the door. “About the guards….”
“What about them?”
“I won’t use them as props anymore.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Why, Eleanor. Are you developing a conscience?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t want innocent blood on my hands.”
“No promises, though?”