18. Wendell
My shoes click against the porcelain tile as I cross Oksana’s fortress, the sound sharp and purposeful, echoing down corridors polished to a sterile shine.
The place reeks of excess: marble, glass, imported art meant to intimidate rather than inspire.
Every step stirs memories of damp concrete and rusted bars, of months spent shoved into the forgotten corner of a cell where light barely reaches and voices never did.
Personally, I’d prefer to see Oksana back there. Chained and cold with no hope to cling to. Stripped of her silks and power, left to rot where no one would come looking and no one would care enough to try.
Soon.
Two of her guards stand rigid outside the door at the end of the hall. They straighten when they see me, hands shifting on their weapons. I stop, and after a beat too long—another subtle reminder of where I stand—they open the door and step aside.
I adjust my suit jacket, smoothing it over my stomach before buttoning it. Appearances matter. Even when you don’t yet hold the power.
The room inside is an insult.
Soft lighting. A wide bed with pristine linens. Upholstered furniture that probably costs more than most people’s homes. Oksana ordered that her “guest” be kept comfortable, and the demand sits sour on my tongue. I swallow it down. I don’t hold the cards yet.
But I will.
As the door shuts behind me, she turns.
Hannah stands near the window, arms crossed tight over her chest, spine stiff, eyes already narrowed like she’s bracing for impact. Defiant to the bone. Even after being drugged and dragged to an unknown place, she still stands like she’s daring the world to try her.
“You’ve finally woken up,” I say, my voice dry, unimpressed.
Her hand drifts to the back of her neck, fingers rubbing the spot where the needle went in. I remember how much noise she made, muffled screams, thrashing limbs, her feet connecting with shins until our patience wore thin. Sedatives are far more efficient than restraints.
“So,” she drawls, lips curling, “prison food was all-you-can-eat?”
A growl rumbles in my throat before I can stop it. “And the mongrel still hasn’t learned when to keep her mouth shut.” The words come out low and sharp.
Her mouth flattens, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t dim. If anything, it flares brighter. “If you think kidnapping me will get you Elena,” she challenges, “you’re wrong.”
I snort and shove my hands into my pockets. “Please. That woman practically blackmailed me to make sure you had a room at the palace. That you’d be unharmed.”
That gets her.
Her gaze drops to the floor for the briefest moment, lashes lowering as the realization sinks in. She hadn’t expected that. When she looks back up, resolve hardens her features, forged in an instant. “It’s a trap,” she retorts. “Elena and Alexei know that.”
I grunt. “Doesn’t matter. Your precious half-breed will come anyway. Trade herself for you.” A thin smile cuts across my mouth. “It’s in her DNA.”
Elena.
Her name settles into my thoughts like a bruise I can’t stop pressing.
She’d become the axis everyone else revolved around. Kings, soldiers, friends... they all bent toward her without realizing it. And every ounce of loyalty she inspired made me hate her a little more.
That kind of power can’t be taught.
It’s innate.
And I hate her for it.
She was never meant to survive this long.
Never meant to rise the way she did, untouched by the compromises the rest of us had to make.
While others learned to harden, to sharpen, to bleed quietly, Elena remained…
unchanged. Soft where the world should have broken her.
Principled, where survival should have carved those instincts out.
She walks through chaos and calls it hope.
I’ve watched her from the shadows long enough to know the truth she refuses to see: the world doesn’t reward goodness. It devours it. And every time she defies that rule, every time she stands untouched, it feels like an accusation.
Against me.
Against everything I became.
This isn’t about winning territory or dismantling a crown. Those are conveniences. Symbols. What I want is simpler, and far crueler.
I want to watch her realize that love is a weakness she can’t afford. That every person she pulls close becomes leverage.
Hannah is only the beginning.
She’ll come because she always does. Because she believes herself responsible for everyone she loves. Because she thinks showing up is enough to save people. I’ve studied that flaw in her as carefully as any map or escape route.
And when she walks back into Petrova with nothing but trust and conviction?—
I will take that from her.
Not with a blade. Not with brute force.
But with choice.
I want her standing where Hannah stands now, forced to weigh lives, forced to understand the arithmetic of survival. I want to see the certainty drain from her eyes the way it does from everyone else when they finally learn the cost of caring too much.
She thinks she’s different. I intend to teach her she’s not. Because when Elena breaks, and she will break, it won’t be her fall alone. It’ll be a lesson written into history.
And I will be the one who teaches it.
Her eyes narrow to slits. “So what? You become king?” she scoffs. “The Zurdonian people will never accept you.”
“I don’t need them to,” I reply, the edge in my voice sharpening. “They need a leader who tells them what they want—and what they need. Even if they don’t like it.”
She lets out a humorless breath. “You know,” she scoffs, “when I was in the orphanage, our case workers tried the same thing. Ruled with an iron fist. Thought fear would make us obedient.”
I tilt my head. “Smart people.”
“No,” she snaps. “They were cowards. Like you. They wanted power because they could take it. That doesn’t make you a leader. It proves exactly what you are.”
The word lands exactly where she intends it to.
I step toward her.
“Mr. Popova.”
Oksana’s voice slices clean through the air.
Every muscle in my body locks as if she’s pulled a trigger. My jaw snaps shut, teeth grinding together hard enough to ache. I force myself still, force my breathing into something that doesn’t give me away.
This is temporary. All of it.
Once I give her what she wants, I will dismantle her piece by piece. Brick by brick. Body by body. And remind her why Popovas are not leashed.
Her heels click softly as she comes to my side. Unhurried and calculated. Her hand settles on my shoulder—possessive, performative. A reminder to the room of exactly who believes she’s in control.
It takes everything in me not to shrug her off.
Hannah’s gaze flicks from me to her.
The change is immediate.
Her bravado doesn’t vanish—it fractures. A sharp, visible tension runs through her spine, like a wire pulled too tight. Her shoulders lock. Her breathing stills. One look at Oksana, and her body remembers something her mind is trying desperately to forget.
“You…” Hannah whispers.
The word breaks off unfinished, caught somewhere between recognition and horror.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Oksana purrs, her Russian accent thick and indulgent, like she’s savoring a private joke.
I glance sideways at her. She’s dressed in white—immaculate, meticulous. Cinched at the waist, black heels lifting her nearly to my height. Confidence radiates from her like heat.
“You’re behind this!” Hannah shouts.
The accusation is sharp, but it wobbles at the edges.
“I am,” Oksana replies pleasantly.
Hannah folds her arms tighter, fists clenched beneath her elbows as if bracing herself. “Who are you?”
“I’m the woman who’s going to make your friend and her husband pay,” Oksana answers, her voice cooling, sharpening, “for what they did to Ivan.”
Hannah’s jaw tightens. Her lips thinned. “And you will fail,” she warns. “Like Ivan did.”
Oksana doesn’t react, not outwardly. She strolls deeper into the room, fingers gliding along the back of a chair, nails tracing polished wood. Ownership without permission.
“Behave,” she says lightly, “and you’ll continue to enjoy these accommodations.”
She stops. Meets my eyes. The teasing disappears. “You are going to help us bring them here.”
Hannah’s eyes narrow. “I won’t help you. Elena and Alexei aren’t stupid. They’ll know it’s a trap.”
Oksana laughs—rich, delighted, and glances at me.
I lift a shoulder. “I told you she would say that.”
Her laughter deepens. “That’s why I like you, Mr. Popova.” Then, to Hannah: “You will do it anyway.”
Hannah’s voice is steady when she asks, “And if I don’t?”
Oksana’s finger trails along edge of the table, slow and thoughtful.
Like she’s choosing from a menu. “Then you’ll learn I only need you alive,” she says.
“Comfort is optional.” She pauses, long enough for the silence to stretch thin and tight.
“Trust me,” she adds softly. “There are many ways to change your accommodations.” Her smile sharpens.
“And all of them will be child’s play compared to what Elena endured at Ivan’s compound. ”
Hannah doesn’t speak.
But I watch the color drain from her face, not all at once. In stages. Like blood retreating from a wound she’s trying not to acknowledge.
Her hand curls slowly into a fist at her side. Knuckles whitening. Her gaze cuts between Oksana and me, searching, not for mercy but for leverage.
She finds none.
She shakes her head once. Small. Decisive. “I will never betray someone I love,” Hannah snaps. Her voice doesn’t waver, but it costs her. I can hear it in the breath she has to take afterward. “Do your worst.”
The defiance is admirable.
Almost.
Oksana isn’t surprised. She never is. Her lips curve gradually into a smile that shows too many teeth to be mistaken for warmth. She lets it rest on me first, savoring, then turns it back on Hannah.
“You think you’re brave,” she laughs, circling closer. “Noble. That by standing your ground, you’re protecting your best friend.”
Hannah lifts her chin a fraction higher. Instinctive. A refusal to bow.
“But she isn’t the only one who needs protecting.”
The shift is immediate. Not an explosion… something worse.
The fire in Hannah’s eyes fractures. A raw, feral flash cuts through her composure before she buries it. There it is. The seam.
Love always leaves one.
“That’s what happens,” Oksana continues smoothly, “when you let your heart decide what you will and won’t do.”
I step forward before the moment cools. “If you refuse,” I continue, voice precise and controlled, “the man you love will pay for it.”
Her collapse is almost quiet. No dramatics or shouting. Just the slow drain of certainty. Color drains from her face. Her shoulders sag by millimeters. The light in her eyes dims, like someone turning a dial.
“Leave him out of this,” she pleads. Not loud but razor-sharp nonetheless.
Oksana laughs softly. “We have no intention of involving him.” She tilts her head. “Whether he remains untouched is entirely up to you.”
Hannah’s jaw tightens. I can almost hear her thinking, measuring, calculating, searching for a third path that doesn’t exist. She worries inside of her cheek until she tastes blood.
Finally, she exhales. “What would I have to do?”
Oksana’s interest evaporates instantly. She glances at her nails, bored now that the outcome is certain. When she looks up again, the sweet mask slides neatly into place.
“I imagine it’s exactly what you’ve wanted since you woke up,” she purrs lightly. “You’re going to talk to your best friend.”
Hannah’s expression hardens. “And tell her to surrender?”
Oksana’s laugh is cold and mocking.“No, dove. You’re going to tell her you escaped.” She tilts her head. “And where she can find you.”
Hannah snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re stupider than I thought if you think it’ll be Elena or Alexei. And even if it is, she’ll hear my voice and know something’s wrong.”
Oksana looks at me.
A cue.
“No,” I reply calmly. “She’ll hear relief. Exhaustion. The voice of someone who barely made it out.” I let it sit. “Considering how close she came to losing you, she will believe it.”
Hannah crosses her arms, shrinking inward now, defensive. “And when she asks where I am?”
“Within Petrova,” Oksana answers. “You broke free from Wendell here.” Her eyes gleam at my name. “You ran. No landmarks. No direction. Call it… panic. A couple passing through let you use their phone.”
“King Maxwell will send an army,” Hannah snaps. “Alexei won’t risk her.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” I say. “You’ll make sure he does.”
Her gaze snaps to mine.
“You tell her you don’t trust the lines,” I continue. “That you saw drones. That someone tipped us off last time.” I lower my voice. “You tell her the more people she brings, the more danger she’s in.”
Oksana smiles. “You tell her you want only her.”
Silence stretches.
Hannah’s shoulders sag, not in defeat, but in understanding.
She knows exactly what this costs.
She looks away first. When she looks back, her eyes are steady, but something vital has been stripped away.
“Fine,” she growls through clenched teeth.
One word. Flat. Ruined.
“I’ll do it.”