Chapter 6 #2
The path opens up to a massive, circular courtyard, in the center of which sits a magnificent, tiered stone waterfall cascading into a pristine pool. Behind it stands a mansion—a breathtaking, palatial estate of stone and glass that radiates wealth and absolute power.
The moment we step inside the grand, marble-floored foyer, I turn around before Maksim can even open his mouth to give an order.
"I want to call my sisters," I say, my voice ringing clearly through the vast space. "Right now. I am not staying in this house, and I am absolutely not marrying you."
Maksim hands his coat to a waiting house manager, his expression entirely unbothered. "Your father is flying in tomorrow, Camilla. You can speak to him then. But it will change nothing. You belong to me now, and you will marry me."
"Belong?" The word hits me like a physical slap, fueling a fresh wave of fury. "I am a human being, not a piece of property. Do not use that word with me again."
Maksim steps into my space, his l eyes locked onto mine with finality. "I will not take the word back, princess. Because it is the truth. You belong to me."
"Am I interrupting?"
A soft, melodic voice breaks through the suffocating tension, echoing from the grand staircase.
I tear my gaze away from Maksim to see a young woman descending the stairs.
She is delicate but striking, with long, pale-blonde hair cascading past her shoulders and soft features that hide a sharp, observant intelligence in her eyes that are so like Maksim’s.
She is dressed in luxury, wearing a pale cream silk pajamas set.
"Leave us, Maksim. You're terrorizing the poor girl," she says, giving her brother a pointed, disapproving look before turning to me with a warm smile. "I'm Anastasia. Most people call me Nastya. I'm this brute's sister."
Maksim lets out a low grunt but surprisingly steps back, offering a tight nod before striding off toward his study, leaving us alone.
I keep my guard up, remaining wary as Nastya approaches. But there is no malice in her face. "Come," she says gently, gesturing deeper into the house. "It’s a bit late, but let me show you around so you at least know where to hide from him."
I let out a soft giggle, the sudden lightness cutting through my lingering panic, as she leads me through a set of French doors and out into a stunning, sprawling garden. The house is fully lit, pushing away the darkness.
The air is sweet with the scent of blooming jasmine. She glances at me, her expression turning somber. “Dmitri already told me everything that happened,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry.”
I nod, looking down at my hands. “I can’t do this. I can’t marry him. I know he’s your brother, but...”
“You don't have to explain,” she sighs, walking over to a vibrant bed of roses and pointing at the pristine white petals. “This is my absolute favorite place in the entire estate. When the men get to be too much, I come out here.”
We stop to admire the flowers, and the tension slowly begins to drain from my shoulders. She casually names some of them—delicate hydrangeas, rare orchids, and perfectly manicured hedges—explaining how she practically begged the estate landscape team to let her design the layout.
Leaving the garden, she walks me around to the back of the mansion, showcasing a massive, resort-style infinity pool that seems to drop off into the manicured woods beyond.
We chat about the architecture as she points out the glass facade, and we eventually re-enter the house through a grand set of rear doors.
As she guides me back inside, our conversation flows naturally into the interior decor. I comment on a striking, minimalist sculpture in the hallway, and her eyes light up.
"I actually chose all the art and furniture myself," Nastya admits with a proud smile as we pass a sunlit sitting room adorned with plush, cream-colored sofas and brushed gold accents.
"Maksim would have left this place looking like a bleak military bunker if I hadn't stepped in.
He has zero appreciation for silk curtains. "
"Clearly," I agree, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. "His style seems to lean more toward intimidation.”
Nastya laughs, a clear, ringing sound. "Exactly."
She leads me up the grand, sweeping staircase, continuing the tour of the upper levels.
She shows me the state-of-the-art sauna and spa room, a sleek home theater, and finally, she pushes open two massive oak doors to reveal a breathtaking, two-story library lined with thousands of leather-bound books and a rolling ladder.
"If you ever need to completely disappear," Nastya whispers, gesturing to a cozy velvet armchair tucked away in a quiet corner of the bookshelves, "this is the best spot. Do you read?”
I let out a soft sigh, running a hand along the spine of a nearby book. "Not very often, to be honest."
She laughs, waving a hand dismissively as if it doesn't matter at all. "Growing up, I was incredibly overprotected. I was rarely allowed to leave the house, so books became my solace. They were my only way to see the world."
There is a deeper story there—I can tell from the sudden, fleeting flash of sadness in her eyes—but I don’t push. I don’t ask. I know all too well what it’s like to have your boundaries dictated by the men in your family.
As we step back out into the grand hallway, Nastya glances at the antique clock on the wall. "It’s almost midnight. I should let you get some rest. Jet lag is a monster, and you've had a grueling twenty-four hours."
"Thank you, Nastya," I say sincerely.
I am caught entirely off guard when she steps forward and wraps her arms around me in a warm, genuine hug.
A wave of comfort washes over me; growing up with my sisters, we have always been big huggers.
I immediately lean into the embrace, hugging her back tightly, feeling a rare moment of safety in this strange place.
She pulls away with a soft smile. "Come, I’ll take you to your room."
She leads me further down the quiet hallway, stopping in front of a pair of heavy double doors. "Don’t worry, Camilla. Everything will be alright," she says gently, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze before turning and walking away into the shadows of the corridor.
My heart feels just a little bit lighter as I turn the brass handle and push the doors open.
But that fleeting lightness evaporates the exact second I step inside.
The room is spectacular, but my eyes don't linger on the decor. Instead, they lock onto the black leather garment bag hanging from the wardrobe, a heavy silver watch resting on the nightstand, and a dark silk robe draped over the armchair.
Maksim's things are here.
He is absent at the moment, but his presence suffocates the entire space. My breath catches in my throat as a cold realization hits me. Did he truly expect us to share the same room?
Since he’s nowhere to be seen, I decide to take advantage of the quiet moment. I need to wash the flight and the sheer exhaustion off my skin. A hot shower is the only thing that might calm my racing mind and let me clean myself properly.
I step into the attached master bathroom, strip out of the dress, and step into the spacious glass shower. The steaming water hits my sore muscles, and I take a long, ragged breath, letting the heat soothe the dull ache in my ribs.
I am completely naked, rinsing the soap from my hair, when the bathroom door clicks and swings open without a single warning.
Through the fogged glass, the tall, unmistakable silhouette of Maksim steps into the room.
"What are you doing?!" I gasp, shock sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through my veins. I instantly turn away from the glass, crossing my arms tightly over my chest to cover myself, absolutely furious that he has no concept of boundaries. "Get out! Have you ever heard of knocking?"
"I don't knock in my own house," Maksim replies smoothly.
The glass door slides open, and the cool air hits my wet skin.
He stands there, entirely unfazed by my nudity, his gray-blue eyes sweeping over me before locking onto my side.
"The steam is going to loosen the adhesive. I need to check the wound again."
"I am perfectly capable of checking it myself once I am dry and dressed," I snap, blinking water from my eyes as I glare at him. "Get out, Maksim."
Instead of stepping back, he steps closer, reaching in to shut off the water valve.
The sudden silence in the bathroom makes the space feel microscopic.
He grabs a plush white towel from the rack and steps fully into the shower enclosure with me, his expensive leather shoes ruining on the wet tile, though he couldn't care less.
"Turn around, Camilla," he commands, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register.
"No."
With an exasperated sigh, his large hands grip my hips, turning me firmly until my side is facing him. I wince slightly, but the sheer heat radiating from his palms makes my skin tingle. He gently peels away the damp bandage, his fingers surprisingly meticulous as he examines the jagged cut.