Chapter 7 #2
Semyon shakes his head, cuts a large bite of chicken, and chews it methodically before answering me. “Not at all. I plan on taking my time and enjoying it thoroughly.”
Gah.
“Enjoying punishing someone?” I shake my head.
Semyon shrugs. I’m fixated on his large, inked hands tearing the bread in half. “If it’s done right,” he says with a note of something dark and wicked in his voice. “You might enjoy it too.”
I stare at him, my mouth agape, but I can’t help the way my body responds. I don’t like it. I hate him.
I look away.
“Even if you devise whatever punishment you think I deserve,” I begin. My voice wavers no matter how hard I try to keep a lid on my temper. I look away from him. It feels like he’s made a move on the board and put mine in jeopardy. “You won’t win, Semyon. You’ll only make me hate you more.”
He sips his drink before he replies. “Hate me all you want. But your family is alive because of this.”
Despite my anger, I can’t help but recognize the truth in his words. I can’t help but be confused by his motives.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand. I have nothing to offer you.”
His cold, hard eyes drag down the length of my simple dress before he meets my eyes again. “I need a wife.”
I shake my head. “You could’ve had your pick of anyone in Zalivka. You’re wealthy and attractive. Why me?”
For the first time, he looks almost perplexed. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I blink in surprise and shove a crust of bread in my mouth. I shake my head.
“I didn’t want anyone. I didn’t want a wife who would use my family or my wealth for her own gain.
I didn’t want some pretty little thing taking selfies by my pool with her manicured nails and flaunting them or someone who’d go behind my back and seek the affection of someone who’d give it to her when I knew full well I couldn’t. ”
I feel as if he’s doused me in ice water. I stare. He goes on.
“I wanted a wife dependent on me. I wanted a wife who had no choice but to be faithful because the price of infidelity cost her too much.” He took another sip of wine.
“I wanted a wife who wasn’t seeking love or affection or anything else I couldn’t give but was desperate enough to take what I could give her, so there was no backing out. ”
Leaning forward, his gaze is so chilling, I actually shiver.
“I wanted a wife who knew that marriage to me was forever. And just like always, Anya… I got exactly what I wanted.”
I open my mouth to tell him off, to snatch back some scrap of dignity, but I don’t know where to begin.
“Here. Look.”
With a scowl, he takes his phone out of his pocket and shows me the screen. With deft movements, the blunt tips of his rough fingers slide over it. I stare, not sure what I’m seeing. “Come closer, Anya.”
I rise out of my chair, curiosity getting the better of me. I stand close enough to see the phone but not close enough for him to touch me. Numbers swim in neat rows on the screen.
“This is your family’s debt to me.” I stare at the numbers, a sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.
With a few swipes, the screen of red goes white. My shoulders feel a bit lighter. I let out a breath.
“And this,” he continues, tapping a few more things with cold precision, scowling at the screen, “is what I’ve deposited in your business bank account. I’ve settled your outstanding debts, and on Monday, I’ll introduce you to Claude, your new business manager. Do you know what this means, Anya?”
I shake my head slowly.
“A few things,” he says, his voice low and his eyes blazing into mine. He doesn’t look cold right now but as fiery as a stoked furnace. “Your family is no longer in debt. Not to me, nor to anyone. That would be a liability I won’t take on.”
“Thank you,” I say in a tentative whisper as I stare at him because it feels like the right thing to say, even though I know this isn’t the end.
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do this to save you. I did this because I’m a businessman, and I know ensuring your reliance on me will mean you stay. You have no choice. It also means I’m now the cosigner on your bakery. The next move is to bring your business back in the black.”
Cold fear trickles down my spine.
That was my mother’s bakery. It feels like the worst form of betrayal to know he’s co-owner.
Hate me all you want, but your family is alive because of this.
He puts his phone away and turns back to his dinner. “Are you done with your meal?”
“I told you, I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’ll excuse you from the table,” he says. “I haven’t forgotten your punishment from earlier. Your room is at the top of the stairs on the left. Go.”
He looks away, excusing me.
“You’re punishing me by sending me to my room?” I shake my head.
Your room?
So we aren’t sharing a bed?
His fork raised to his mouth, he looks up at me. Why does he have the face of a vengeful angel? “Would you rather have a spanking?”
My cheeks flush as I stare at him. I consider flouncing away and storming out, but that feels petulant and childlike.
“I’m your wife,” I say inanely as if that somehow dulls the roaring in my ears and the swoop of arousal between my legs. I’m so angry at myself because it seems like every time I make any headway with him at all, he takes back control with hardly any effort.
“Your point? Yes, you’re my wife. It seems we have different ideas of what that means.”
“Oh, do we? What does that mean to you? I’m just a figurehead to you, Semyon.”
I note the flare of his nostrils and the flash of his eyes before he’s calm and in control again. What was that all about?
“No, Anya. You’re wrong about that.”
My cheeks feel hot, my pulse ragged. I swallow and stand straighter, as I remind myself to hold my own. He might be older and more powerful, but he doesn’t own me.
He continues. “In my world, that means I expect respect and obedience. It’s a husband’s job to protect and care for his wife. And it’s your job to allow me,” he says as if it’s obvious.
It isn’t in my world. When I don’t respond, he continues, a note of finality in his voice. “Top of the stairs on the left, Anya. Go.”
I scoff, even though it sounds weaker than I want it to. “Obedience?” I echo. “What am I—a dog?”
“No,” he says simply. I wonder if he gets sarcasm. He’s so literal and matter-of-fact it’s maddening. “I would have had a dog trained better than this by now.”
My cheeks burn, and I want to lash out at him, do something, anything that would take him by surprise and break through that absolutely maddening, unshakable calm. But instead, my throat tightens. “You’re unbelievable,” I whisper.
“And you’re still here,” he counters, shaking his head. “Do you really think it’s wise to push me right now?”
I open my mouth, then close it again because I don’t have an answer. Why am I still standing here when I can go collect myself and get some time alone?
“Your room, Anya,” he says, softer this time. “I’m not going to ask you again. I’m a patient man, but I have my limits.”
His words hang in the air, a promise and a threat rolled into one.
I want to see him snap. I want to see him lose control. I want to dismantle him as thoroughly as he does me. I hate how he twists my resolve into something that feels dangerously close to… submission.
I hate him for it. I hate myself for the glimmer of something like hope that still flickers in my chest.
Top of the stairs. On the left.
His words ring in my head. I make it to the top of the stairs and slam the door behind me when I hear a ping.
I look up in surprise to see my phone on a fancy charging station next to the bed. I walk to it and check the notifications.
Ophelia
I’m sorry to bother you, Anya. I hate to do this. I can’t find Stefan.