Chapter 21
INESSA
He's locked me in here.
I press my palms against the cool oak door and listen to Yuri's footsteps fade down the hallway.
The sound carries his rage with it, leaving behind only the memory of his white face when he saw my mother sitting in his living room.
I had hoped to intercept him at the door and let him know what I'd done, but I didn't hear his car approaching.
I move to the window and look out over the yard.
Everything appears normal, but I know things have changed.
Yuri hasn't locked me in a room for weeks, not since the night before our wedding when he kept me held up to ensure his plan would work.
Now I regret what I've done because it changed his mind about me, like I'm a soiled scrap of clothing instead of the woman he holds in high regard.
But my mother's perfume still clings to my clothes, and her words echo in my mind.
I've come to take you home, darling. Away from this monster.
The endearment rolled off her tongue so naturally, as if eleven years hadn't passed since she last called me anything at all.
As if she hadn't walked out of my life when I was just a child and never looked back.
Her voice had been warm and thick with maternal love and concern that made my chest ache with longing I thought I'd buried.
I gave up on the notion that I'd ever have a mother again, and today, she breathed life into that hope again.
I sink onto the bed and pull my knees against my chest.
She called me his prisoner.
She told me I was confused about him and that if I got away from his controlling behavior, I would see just how dangerous he is.
But I know Yuri now, better than ever, and I don't think he's dangerous to me.
I think he wants to help me, and I think she's wrong.
But how do I know what to believe?
My father wanted me to marry into this family, didn't he?
Why would he do that if Yuri was so dangerous?
Would he really have walked me down the aisle to hand me over to any of the Gravitch men if they were so deadly?
Yet when she'd spoken those words, her eyes had been busy cataloguing the wealth surrounding us.
The crystal chandelier hanging above the foyer.
The imported marble beneath our feet.
The oil paintings lining the walls, each one worth more than most people see in a lifetime.
She'd absorbed every detail with the practiced gaze of someone appraising valuable assets.
I close my eyes and force myself to remember every moment of our reunion.
The way she'd held my face in her hands, studying my features as if confirming my identity.
The questions she'd asked about my daily routine, my freedom to move through the compound, the security measures that governed my life here.
At the time, they'd seemed born of motherly concern.
Now I didn't know what to think.
Yuri was so angry, his eyes filled with fury and rage.
Was he just protecting himself, or was he genuinely that concerned about me?
The realization creeps through my thoughts slowly, unwillingly.
I want to push it away, to cling to the fantasy of a mother who spent eleven years searching for her lost daughter.
But the inconsistencies multiply the more I examine them.
Her clothes were expensive.
Not just well-made, but designer pieces that I know are the kind only high-society women wear.
Her jewelry was tasteful but clearly costly—a watch that gleamed with real gold, earrings set with genuine diamonds.
Her hair had been professionally styled, her nails manicured, her skin bearing the telltale signs of expensive skincare and regular spa treatments.
For a woman who'd supposedly spent over a decade in exile, cast out from her family and fortune, she'd appeared remarkably well-maintained.
I rise and pace the length of the room, but the movement doesn’t help me settle.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the idea that Yuri could be right, but it takes root and spreads.
Why would Yuri's men treat my mother as a threat?
She'd been alone, unarmed, presenting herself as nothing more than a concerned parent.
But they resisted my bringing her here.
And Yuri himself had gone pale the moment he saw her.
I've never seen him like that, and I've never been at the explosive end of that anger, either, not like today.
What could make a man like Yuri Gravitch afraid of my mother?
I settle at the small desk and rest my chin on my folded hands.
The questions in my head multiply, each one more troubling than the last.
Where had she been?
Was she ever truly looking for me?
Or was she lying in wait, hoping I would bring her into my life?
And why did she wait until Batya was gone?
Afternoon fades to evening, and I remain motionless, trapped in a web of doubt that grows tighter by the minute.
I press my hands against my temples, fighting against the understanding that threatens to shatter what remains of my childhood illusions.
The mother I'd mourned for eleven years, the woman I'd imagined searching for me with tears in her eyes and regret in her heart—that woman never existed.
When footsteps echo in the hall outside, I don't move.
The lock turns, and Yuri steps inside.
He's changed from his earlier clothes into dark pants and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark tattoos covering his forearms.
His hair is still damp from washing, pushed back from his face, and he carries the scent of soap.
I feel tension coil in my chest as I turn to look at him.
It's his expression that captures my attention—the fury that burns beneath the surface, the way his jaw remains rigid even as he closes the door behind himself.
This isn't the explosive rage from earlier, but he isn't pleased with me at all.
"You've had time to think," he says, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He moves to the chair across from the desk and settles into it.
His dark eyes never leave my face, reading every micro-expression and every shift in my posture.
"And what have you concluded?" he asks finally.
The words stick in my throat.
Admitting the truth means accepting that everything I believed about my childhood, my family, my mother's love was built on lies.
But the evidence is there, and I'm tired of living in denial.
If Yuri is telling me the truth, I have to admit that perhaps my mother doesn't have my best interests at heart and he really is trying to protect me.
"She didn't come here to save me," I say, almost a whisper.
"No. She didn't."
"She came for something else."
His face displays grim satisfaction, though I don't think he enjoys making me squirm as much as he thought he would.
"Very good. What else?"
I close my eyes, feeling the last of my illusions crumble.
"She's been planning this. The timing, the approach—none of it was coincidence."
"Continue."
"And she's probably not working alone."
I open my eyes and meet his gaze as something dawns on me.
"She's working with your enemies?"
Yuri reaches into his shirt pocket and withdraws a manila envelope, placing it on the desk between us.
The paper is thick, and my hands tremble as I pick it up.
"Open it," he says.
The photographs inside are grainy but clear enough to recognize faces.
My mother sits across from a man I don't know in what appears to be an upscale restaurant.
Her posture is relaxed, as if they've met many times before.
In the next image, she's sliding an envelope across the table. In the third, they're shaking hands over what looks like a business agreement.
The timestamp shows they were taken three days ago.
Two days before I broke down calling her and she showed up, claiming desperate maternal love.
"Who is he?" I manage to ask, though I already suspect the answer will destroy whatever remains of my world.
I don't want to believe any of this at all, but the evidence isn't in her favor.
It's ripping my heart out almost as much as it did the day my father died.
"Arkady Volkov," Yuri tells me, and he sounds absolutely certain.
"He works for Kozlov."
The photographs slip from my numb fingers and scatter across the desk.
A Kozlov—and my mother, sitting across from each other as if they're old friends.
She's conducting business with the very people who want my business destroyed.
"What was she giving him?"
Simply asking the question admits that I believe it's true, and I do.
Yuri has no real reason to lie to me about this. He already has everything.
My company is his for the taking, and with my name on a marriage certificate I signed willingly, he can take all of it without argument.
He doesn't need me to believe all of this, but he's here trying to help me.
As much as that pains me, I still have to know.
"She's paying him off. My guess is several million rubles."
Her betrayal feels like a tidal wave sucking me under, and every breath becomes heavier than the last.
Not only had my mother abandoned me eleven years ago—she'd returned to sell me to the highest bidder.
The woman who'd held my face in her hands and promised to protect me was here to coerce me through manipulation.
"She was never coming to take me home," I say, understanding flooding through me with sickening clarity.
"She wants my businesses and she wants to destroy you?" I look up at him, and he has an expression of compassion.
For the first time since I've ever known him, Yuri Gravitch looks like he cares.
"Among other things. Your shares in the company, your inheritance from your father. You represent considerable value to the right buyers. Alive, you're useful as leverage. Dead, she inherits everything as your next of kin."
"And she can devastate your businesses too…" I mumble, leaning back onto the desk for support as my legs begin to feel weak.
The clinical nature of it makes my stomach revolt.
My own mother had calculated the worth of my blood.
She was counting on it, hoping she could swoop in like a vulture after my death to take everything I have.
She'd looked into my eyes and lied with perfect composure while already counting the money she thought she was inheriting.
"How long have you known?"
"I've had surveillance on her since she returned to the city. When she approached the compound the other day, I knew exactly why she'd come. It's why I warned you not to be in contact with her."
I stare at the scattered photographs, evidence of a deception so complete it rewrites everything I thought I knew about my life.
My mother, my childhood, the reasons for our family's destruction—all of it built on lies I'd been too young and too desperate to recognize.
The little girl inside me who's spent years wondering what she'd done wrong, why her mother had left, finally has her answer.
She wasn't abandoned because she wasn't worthy of love.
She was discarded because she wasn't useful.
Until now.
"What happens next?" I ask, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice.
The grief and betrayal I feel start to stitch together into something caustic in my chest.
Anger isn't a strong enough word for it.
Loathing, maybe, or bitter hatred…
Yuri's expression hardens, and since this nightmare began, I've been terrified of him.
But now his coldness doesn't frighten me.
Instead, it fills me with savage anticipation.
"Now," he says, gathering the photographs into his hands, "we make sure Viktoria understands exactly what happens to people who mistake my wife for prey."