Chapter 22
ANYA
The first thing I notice in the pain in my ribs. I feel the ache under the bruise, deep enough that it makes breathing difficult. I try anyway, slow and shallow, because the second I pull in a deeper breath, my side flashes hot and my vision tightens around the edges.
My stomach follows right after. The nausea hits hard and familiar, completely indifferent to where I am or what just happened to me.
It’s been getting worse for weeks, but I think what I feel now has much more to do with the hate that’s rising in me.
Or, possibly, the fear. I don’t want to dwell on that, though. If I let myself, it will consume me.
My gaze shifts to the nightstand and lands on a porcelain bowl placed neatly within arm’s reach. The placement isn’t accidental. Someone expected me to be sick, and someone made sure I would have what I needed without being able to leave the room.
I sit up carefully, moving in stages so I don’t aggravate my ribs, and the room comes into focus piece by piece.
Thick curtains cover tall windows. There’s a sitting area arranged like a staged photo, with a couch that looks expensive and a tray with food laid out thoughtfully.
Fresh flowers sit in a vase on the table.
Everything is deliberate, down to the soft carpet under my feet when I swing my legs off the bed and stand.
I test the door immediately. The handle doesn’t give. The lock is electronic with a keypad. If I know Mikhail, the code changes at least every thirty minutes. There’s no use trying to pick it or harbor any illusions that I might somehow escape this new prison.
I turn away from it and map the room without wasting energy. There’s a bathroom to the left, and a closet to the right, windows that look sealed, and furniture that’s too heavy to be easily moved.
My stomach clenches again, harder this time, and I go to the bathroom on sheer instinct. There’s no pride here. Mikhail is likely watching my every move. Unlike Viktor, he doesn’t have the decency to give me privacy in my own room.
When it’s over, my throat burns, my ribs ache. I shakily stand up and splash water on my face. My skin feels hot and my breathing takes a moment to return to normal.
Before I can make it back to the bed, the lock clicks behind me. I don’t have to wonder who’s come to check in on me. I know he wouldn’t leave me alone for even one second. He’s finally found me and he’s come to claim his prize.
When I turn to face him, I see that he’s dressed in a full tuxedo, like maybe he’s going to a private dinner or a fundraiser. More likely, he’s celebrating his victory and wants to look good whilst doing so.
I look behind him to see two guards in the doorway. Even if I managed to somehow get the door unlocked, there would be no way out. He wants me to see that. It’s why he doesn’t let the door shut behind him immediately. He wants me to know I’m trapped.
Mikhail’s eyes sweep over me in a slow assessment.
They linger on my face, then dip briefly toward my ribs as if he’s cataloging the injury he caused, then settle back on my eyes.
The look isn’t lustful. It isn’t warm. It’s ownership in its purest form, the same way a man looks at an expensive car right before he drives it off the lot.
“Anya,” he says, calm as a priest. “You look tired.”
“I’ve never felt better,” I shoot back.
The lie is pointless and we both know it. He doesn’t get to break me, though. He’ll never get that satisfaction again. Mikhail’s mouth tilts in something close to amusement.
“You always insist on arguing with me. That stubbornness is part of what makes you valuable.”
I don’t move. I don’t step back into the bathroom. I don’t step forward either. The doorway gives me something to anchor to, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat.
“You found me,” I say flatly. “Congratulations.”
He looks at the tray of food as if he’s noticing it for the first time, then back at me.
“Now, Anya, you act like I’m some monster.” He smiles cruelly. “I’m your fiancé. You should be happy I saved you from your father’s real enemy. I’m the hero here.”
“I’m not one of your men,” I reply. “You don’t own me, and I owe you absolutely nothing. You’re exactly the monster I think you are, and I’m never going to stop fighting you.”
His eyes sharpen just a fraction, then smooth again.
“I do own you,” he says easily. “Your father and I agreed to this, and you will be my wife. Stop pretending you have any say in the matter.”
“You’re doing a great job proving my point,” I say.
He walks farther into the room, stopping near the sitting area without crowding me. It’s a choice. He’s giving me space because he wants me to notice he can afford to give me space. He wants me to feel how controlled this is.
“Marriage is not a punishment, Anya,” he says. “Marriage is a contract. It’s a bond. A vow that I will never hurt your family and your family will never hurt me. Marriage is destiny.”
I let out a quiet breath through my nose because I can’t help it. “You sound like a cult leader.”
Mikhail’s smile deepens, polite and empty.
“Even so, our marriage is inevitable. Your little disappearing act put a lot of lives in jeopardy, but now that you’ve returned, I will still uphold my deal with your father.”
“My father only agreed to this because he’s afraid of you,” I spit at him.
Mikhail’s eyes flicker at the mention of my father, then return to me. “Your father agreed because he understands the reality of power. He understands that love doesn’t keep people alive.”
My ribs ache when I breathe, but I keep my face neutral anyway. The nausea twists again, and I swallow hard. Mikhail notices it immediately. He notices everything that can be used as leverage.
“You’re sick,” he says.
“I got shot by one of your men,” I reply. “You already know that.”
His gaze drops toward my stomach, and I feel the nausea rearing its ugly head.
“I also know that you’re pregnant,” he says slowly.
His words have the subtle impact of an atomic bomb. I feel everything inside of me shatter that the one secret I promised to protect from him is now in the open.
My skin goes cold. My throat tightens. My hands stay relaxed at my sides because I refuse to show him even a fraction of the impact his words have on me.
The last thing I want is for him to see me as vulnerable.
He watches my face for a reaction. He doesn’t get one. He exhales like he’s mildly impressed.
“You hid it well,” he continues. “I wouldn’t have known what a whore you are if it weren’t for that chatty nurse. She’s very forthcoming with a gun to her head.”
I keep my voice steady. “She was lying,” I say as calmly as I can. “She’s just trying to save her own ass.”
Mikhail smiles slowly, as if he’s humoring a child. “You’ve never been a good liar, Anya. No matter. The only thing that matters is what you will do next.”
“I’m not marrying you,” I tell him firmly.
“You will,” he answers calmly, though he physically becomes more imposing.
I stare at him because my body wants to shake and I will not allow it. “You can’t force me into submission.”
Mikhail’s smile never changes, but something behind it does.
“You may have been right before, Anya,” he answers patiently. “That was before you were pregnant. Because now, you have something to lose.”
He takes a step closer, still not crowding me, and speaks like he’s being generous.
“How do you think it would look for me to raise Viktor Kovalev’s baby?” he asks. “It would make me look weak and disrespected. I would never recover from it.”
My jaw tightens. “What does that have to do with me?” I ask.
Mikhail’s gaze holds mine, calm and patient. “My life would be much easier if the baby were to simply disappear,” he says, eyes darkening. “These things happen all the time. Accidents, miscarriage. Who’s to say your pregnancy is going to come to full term?”
My hands instinctively wrap around my stomach, and an ice-cold fear runs down my spine.
Mikhail looks past me, toward the windows and the curtains and the staged luxury, as if he’s admiring his own work.
“Of course, if you don’t want to risk that, here is what will happen next,” he says. “You will come downstairs tonight. You will eat dinner with me. You will speak to me with respect. You will stop pretending you have any say in this.”
I don’t answer.
He turns his attention back to me. “And if you don’t comply, I’ll make sure Viktor gets a bullet to his head.”
My stomach roils again, and I keep my face composed.
“You’re going to kill him either way,” I say calmly. “No need to delay it on my account.”
Mikhail’s expression remains polite. “I already told you, Anya,” he answers quietly.
“You’re a terrible liar. You care about him.
I know you do. And you care about his demon spawn growing inside of you.
So, either you do as I say, or my men will be digging a grave for Viktor and a grave for your child. ”
My pulse is loud in my ears. I force it down. I force my breathing shallow enough that my ribs don’t spike again, because pain makes my eyes water and I refuse to let him see that either.
The words are delivered like a business decision, like he’s discussing inventory. The calmness in it is the cruelty. He is telling me he can murder a baby with the same detachment he uses to order a shipment reroute.
My throat tightens. My voice stays level anyway. “You don’t get to decide whether my child lives.”
Mikhail’s eyes sharpen slightly. “I decide everything in this house.”
He lifts his hand, not toward me, but toward the door. One of the guards steps out immediately. He returns seconds later with someone else.
It’s my nurse. She stumbles, then catches herself. Her hands are bound behind her back with plastic ties, tight enough that her fingers are already turning purple. She looks so scared and so vulnerable. A complete 180 from the stern, nonchalant woman I’ve come to know.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I don’t give her false hope. Mikhail watches me watch her, then turns his attention to the bound woman like he’s bored.
“This woman,” Mikhail says, “was paid to leave her position at a clinic to come take care of you full time. It seems her services will no longer be needed.”
She starts shaking. “Please,” she begs. “I’m not part of any of this. I was hired to help her, but I have no loyalty to her. I’ll walk away right now. You don’t have to do this.”
Mikhail raises his hand slightly. She goes silent immediately, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Mikhail looks at me again. “I’ve been patient with you, Anya. But I don’t tolerate disrespect, and I really don’t tolerate disloyalty.”
The ache in my ribs has nothing on the ache in my heart as I watch this woman, who’s taken care of me for weeks, beg for her life. I never even bothered to learn her name.
She looks up at me, voice breaking. “Please. Please, Ms. Malenkova.”
I keep my face still. My voice stays cold.
“She means nothing to me,” I say to Mikhail. “Hurting her won’t frighten me.”
Her sob turns louder.
Mikhail’s gaze lingers on my face like he’s measuring whether I have a heart he can press on. He doesn’t find what he wants. He shifts tactics without changing his tone.
“You think I am trying to frighten you,” he answers with a sadistic chuckle.
He steps slightly to the side so I have a clear line of sight.
“I am not trying to frighten you,” he continues. “I’m showing you the scale of my reach.”
One of the guards behind him pulls out a gun. The sound is small. A click. A safety disengaging. The nurse begs again, her words tumbling out, incoherent. Mikhail doesn’t even look at her. He keeps his eyes on me.
“Tell me you understand,” he says.
I hold his gaze. “I understand that you think you can intimidate me.”
Mikhail’s smile widens, polite and wrong. “Her blood is on your hands.”
The guard raises the gun. My nurse squeezes her eyes shut. The shot is so loud in the enclosed room. Her body jerks, then collapses to the floor in a heap like a puppet whose string has been cut. Blood pools under her in a fast gush.
My stomach roils violently. I keep my face still anyway. I keep breathing shallow. I keep my eyes open. Looking away would be giving Mikhail something. Looking away would be him winning a small victory.
Mikhail watches me for a long moment, waiting for me to break.
I don’t. I feel the crack in my control, sharp and deep, but I hold it in place because I’ve had years of practice holding myself together when the world tries to split me open.
Tears sting behind my eyes. I refuse them.
My hands stay steady. Mikhail nods once, like he’s satisfied with the demonstration.
“There will be more,” he says conversationally. “There’s no shortage of people you pretend not to care about. Viktor’s death will definitely be the sweetest.”
He steps closer, finally close enough that I can smell his intentionally expensive cologne.
“You are going to marry me,” he says. “You are going to carry that child under my name. You are going to do it happily and without complaint, because otherwise, I will kill everyone you’ve ever loved.”
I meet his eyes. “And it’ll still never make me yours,” I tell him coldly.