Chapter 4 - Anya
The longer he stood there staring at me, the smaller I felt, sinking into myself, disappearing in the quicksand of my heart.
He called me a liar; he said I played cruel games. He told me I have a dark, festering, cold heart.
He said I am beautiful.
It’s been three days since he brought me here.
I’ve spent all day, almost every day, in my bedroom. Essentially, I’m hiding from him and the surge of confusion and heartache that floods me every time I look into his eyes.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I’m not a liar. I’m not cruel.
It broke me just as much as it broke him when I had to walk away.
I didn’t have a choice, and I couldn’t even tell him that.
I loved Emmanuil from the moment I saw him. Everything about him was like a magnet to me. A bright light, and I was a moth drawn to the flame. I knew it was wrong. I knew our families had a history, long-standing rivalries. I knew it was dangerous.
But how could I resist him?
Never in my life had I felt something so intense before. He was older than me, dark and divine and tempting. He made it clear he wanted me, and I had no intention of turning him down. I never even tried.
And I fell for him faster than my reason allowed.
It was beautiful, our secret love, those moments we spent together lost in each other. When we were together, nothing else existed. The rest of the world wasn’t even real. It was him and it was me. We had each other, and I knew in my heart it was all I would ever need.
I knew, even then, that the kind of love we’d found in each other was the rarest in the universe, and I should never let it go.
But life had other plans.
And I had no choice.
I swear, if I had, if there had been any other way, I would have taken it.
It broke me down to nothing when I had to leave him. It broke me so deeply that I couldn’t even face him to say the words myself. For weeks, I didn’t get out of bed. I cried, in secret, hiding my pain from the world, hiding myself from him, and asked my brother to deliver the message.
Over and over again, I questioned myself, searched for another option, but I knew it wasn’t worth the risk.
And over and over again, I asked my brother to ensure that Emmanuil gave up on me.
I let my brother deliver the news without considering how that would impact Emmanuil’s view of him, and his hatred of my brother grew uncontrollably.
Their already tense rivalry became more dangerous, and clearly, Emmanuil is still harboring that anger towards Kristopher, to the point where my choices in the past have put Georgie in danger now.
I hope he honors our deal, despite calling me a liar straight afterwards. I hope he leaves her alone. I just have to do my part to honor it, too.
I’ve never forgiven myself for how I handled things in the past. Despite knowing I made the right choice, I carry the weight of it, the guilt, the pain I caused him—I carry it every day.
Even if I tried to tell Emmanuil the truth now, it’s too late. He’s changed. He’s harder and colder, and he would never believe me. Emmanuil is in full-blown war mode against my brother. He’s had too many years of believing something wrong—and that was my fault.
Hence my guilt.
Over the years, I managed to push it down, but it’s never left.
And seeing him now is resurfacing everything.
It’s becoming raw and painful again, an open wound on my heart, festering, never truly healed.
So he was right, perhaps, in that one thing. My heart is festering. But not in the way he thinks.
I carry the guilt of leaving, but I also carry the same pain he carries—the pain of losing the love of my life. A man I’ve never been able to forget and a love I’ve never been able to get over.
Sighing loudly, I roll off the bed. I can’t lie here all day staring at the ceiling, thinking about the past. It’s done. It’s over. I can’t change it now. Three days I’ve let these thoughts plague me and make me miserable.
Emmanuil hasn’t come to talk to me. He’s pretty much left me alone, which is a relief. I can’t stand the hatred I see in his eyes. The way he despises me. It hurts way too much.
But this morning, I heard the driver call out to Emmanuil to tell him the car would be ready at nine. He’s going out somewhere, and I want to stretch my legs and walk around while he’s gone and there’s no chance of awkwardly bumping into him.
It’s eight thirty now.
I’ll shower, get dressed, and take my time. And by the time I’m finished, the house will be empty.
On the first day here, I explored the bedroom he’d set up for Georgie.
It was the bare minimum, and the clothes weren’t my size, as Georgie is fuller and shorter than I am, so all that would fit me were the sweatpants and T-shirts.
But by the second day, while I was out in the garden enjoying some quiet sunshine under the watchful eye of the security guards, the housekeeper rearranged the entire closet with new clothes, all in my size.
The items were far more luxurious than what he’d stocked for Georgie. And the bathroom had been stocked, too—luxury creams and conditioners and lotions and perfume.
The thing that hurt more than anything else was seeing the perfume.
He remembered.
The sweet orange blossom-flowered scent of Dolce I want to hold it close. I want to let it go.
Dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a light cotton long-sleeve top, alone in the mansion, I leave my room to walk around.
It’s quiet.
But worse than the quiet is the loneliness I’ve felt since I got here.
Everywhere I look, I have a memory of us.
The living room fireplace, where we spent many nights in the orange glow of a warm fire.
The kitchen, where I sat on the counter watching him make my favorite blueberry pancakes.
The dining room table. After dinner one night, he bent me over it, and we made love so intensely we broke several dishes as they crashed to the floor.
I shake my head. Even when he’s not here, his ghost is, and the guilt is following me.
I think it will be better if I sneak out and properly clear my head. The mall isn’t far away from here.
With my mind made up, I make my way through the mansion towards the garage, but on my way past the massive front windows, I spot a car pulling up in the driveway.
Peering through the window, I see two girls climbing out, laughing and joking with each other. Who is that?
My heart somersaults. Excited, nervous, curious.
They walk up to the front door as though they’ve been here many times before. When I realize they have their own key, I can’t believe it.
The first girl walks in with a spring in her step. The other one calls out from behind her, “Kira, he just messaged me. He’s not going to be home till way later.”
“Well, that’s useless. I guess we can raid his fridge and then find something else to do.”
“Let’s go to the mall. He never has nice food here.”
The first girl looks up and sees me standing in the foyer, staring at her in silence with my mouth open. I wanted to greet them, but I got overwhelmed by the idea of explaining what I am actually doing here.
“Hello?” she says, cocking her head to the side.
“Hello,” I say back.
“Who are you?” Kira, the second girl, asks, a wide smile on her face.
“I’m Anya.”
“I’m Kira, this is my annoying sister, Katya.” She walks over to me and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around her awkwardly.
“Oh my word, you smell divine!” she says excitedly.
Her sister, Katya, comes to hug me too.
“How do you know Emmanuil?” I finally find my words.
“He’s our cousin. We’re from Los Angeles, and whenever we’re in San Diego for a vacation, we come and say hi.”
“Are you staying at the mansion?” I ask, almost hoping they say yes, because the company would be amazing.
“On no, please, we can’t put up with Emmanuil for that long. We have a hotel booked. Are you staying at the mansion?” Katya raises her brows, and a cheeky smile plays over her face.
“Yes, for a bit.” I shrug, trying to sound casual and not like I’ve basically been kidnapped and held prisoner.
“In what capacity?” Kira grins. “We’ve never actually met one of Emmanuil’s girlfriends. In fact, has he ever had a girlfriend?” she glances at her sister with her brows knitted.
Katya looks at me. “Are you two together, or is it just like a fling thing?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. I’m just a guest here,” I say too quickly, my cheeks flushing pink.
“Mm. Sure. Yes. A guest,” Kira teases.
“I promise you. I’m just, uh, an old friend.”
“Well, Emmanuil’s old friend, Anya—we were heading out to the mall. Do you want to join us?” Katya asks.
“I’d love to,” I say excitedly.
And that’s how I ended up in the Uber with Katya and Kira, humming along to the radio with two girls I hardly know, but instantly like.
Kira leans forward between the two seats and reaches for the radio. The driver ignores her; she’s already been flicking through stations and changing songs without him protesting. But this time, she turns down the volume.
“Are you going to tell us when you guys met? Was it on Tinder or at a bar or through a mutual person? We want the details,” she pushes.
Katya immediately turns towards me, her eyes locking with mine before I look away. Clearly, she’s eager to know as well.
“We met six years ago. We’ve been friends for ages,” I answer.
“Friends?”
“Yes, well, I haven’t seen him in a really long time, and we were just catching up while I was visiting San Diego.”
“So, you’re also here on vacation?” Katya asks.
I bite my lip. “Yes,” I say, wishing we could talk about something else.
“What about you two? How often do you come down?” I try to redirect the conversation.
“Whenever we get bored of hanging out with our brother and listening to him being bossy,” Kira laughs loudly.
“I have a brother, too,” I giggle. “I know all about them being bossy.”
At the mall, we share stories about Los Angeles and Phoenix. We help each other choose clothes, we browse jewelry, and we laugh. It is so good to get out of the emotional hole I’ve been in over the past few days. I’m sure this is going to help me feel lighter, to think clearer.
They’re fantastic. Both of them. So down to earth, playful, and full of energy. They are the exact type of people I adore making friends with.
Katya insists on taking us all to lunch at her favorite cocktail bar, where we sit on the top floor of the mall, overlooking the city while sipping bright orange cocktails.
Katya flicks through her phone, replying to some messages while Kira and I talk about what she likes to do when they visit the city.
“You have to come with us, though. Are you busy while you’re here? How long are you staying?” she asks, and the questions immediately make me tense again.
“I’m not sure how long I’m staying, but I would love to see you guys again. I’ve had so much fun.”
“Well, where’s your phone? I’ll give you my number.” She holds out her hand.
I pretend to pat my pocket in search of the phone I know I don’t have because Emmanuil took it away from me.
“I left it at the mansion. But I can ask Emmanuil for your number when I see him tonight. Then I’ll message you and you can have mine, too.”
“Perfect. Don’t forget, though,” she says sternly. “It’s not often you meet someone who you instantly know is going to be a lifelong friend.”
My heart warms at her words, and a thread of guilt streaks through me. I wish I could have them as lifelong friends—although even when this is all over, there’s no reason why I can’t stay in touch with them.
One thing at a time, Anya. You’re a prisoner at the moment, held hostage by threats against your family. Perhaps you should be more focused on that?
After cocktails and hardly any real food for lunch, my head is bubbly and relaxed, and I realize this is exactly what I needed after being locked away in that mansion, hiding from Emmanuil for three days.
We head back into the mall in search of a dress Kira saw and decided she did want after all. We’re all giggling, and it feels like I’m on vacation with them.