Chapter Thirty Anya
I grab my bag from the chair at my desk, the familiar weight of it settling against my shoulder.
Shoes, makeup, a spare leotard—everything I’ll need for the theater later.
The routine steadies me. It always has. I take one last look around my room, then head downstairs.
The quiet of the house presses in around me.
At the front door, I set my bag neatly against the wall, out of the way but easy to grab when it’s time to leave. My gaze drifts toward the kitchen. Nadia should be there. She’s always there at this hour, humming softly or clattering pans like she’s waging war against silence.
“Nadia?” I call out as I walk in.
Nothing.
The kitchen is spotless, counters wiped down, no sign of life except the faint hum of the refrigerator. A small knot tightens in my chest. Too quiet is the theme of my life lately. I shake it off and move on autopilot, opening cabinets, pulling out what I need.
I make something simple—black bread, a little butter, slices of cheese, and cucumbers sprinkled with salt. It’s what I ate growing up, what Nadia made when I didn’t want anything heavy before rehearsals. I pour myself a small glass of kefir and sit at the table alone.
I eat slowly, listening to the sound of my own breathing, the scrape of the knife against the plate. My thoughts try to wander—to Vladimir, to Alexi, to everything I’m still pretending hasn’t cracked my world open—but I push them aside—one thing at a time.
When I finish, I rinse my plate and glass, then leave them on the drying rack, as Nadia taught me. Then I wipe my hands on a towel and walk down the hall toward my father’s office.
I knock once before opening the door to my father’s office, though I don’t wait for an answer. I never have. The room smells faintly of leather and old paper, a scent so familiar it feels woven into my childhood. Alexandr looks up from behind his desk, his sharp eyes softening when they land on me.
“Anya,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
I do, folding my hands in my lap, my posture straight out of habit. He studies me for a moment, the way he always does, like he’s cataloging every breath, every flicker of emotion.
“Are you ready for tonight’s performance?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “I’m excited.”
He nods approvingly. “Many of the staff will be attending this evening. They insist on seeing you dance after hearing of your previous performance.”
Warmth spreads through my chest despite myself. “That’s kind of them.” I imagine that is why I couldn’t find Nadia. She was likely getting ready to leave for the theater.
“You were wonderful,” he continues. “Truly exceptional. The control, the emotion—everything was perfect.” His voice lowers, becomes more personal. “I am very proud of you, Anya.”
Praise from my father is rare, and it lands heavily. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
His expression shifts then, the warmth giving way to something sharper. “I heard about the attack,” he says. “And that Vladimir insisted on driving you to the theater and back.”
My shoulders tense. “He offered. It seemed sensible.”
“Hm.” He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “How are you doing? Not just physically. After what happened. After the murders.”
The question surprises me. Not because he asked, but because part of him seems genuinely interested in the answer. I take a breath, choosing my words carefully.
“I’m worried,” I admit. “Those men—if Vladimir hadn’t been there…” My throat tightens, and I force myself to continue. “They were almost proud of what they were going to do. It made me realize how little control I might have over my future.”
Alexandr watches me closely, silent.
“I’m scared that whoever you choose to replace Alexi might treat me the same way,” I say. “That I’ll just be… something to be owned. Used.”
The air in the room grows heavy. My father’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking near his temple.
“That will not happen,” he says firmly. “I would never allow my daughter to be mistreated.”
“You chose those men once,” I say before I can stop myself.
His eyes harden, but he doesn’t raise his voice. “I made decisions based on strength and loyalty. I did not know they would behave like animals.”
“They didn’t become animals overnight,” I reply softly.
For a moment, I think he might explode. Instead, he exhales slowly.
“I have someone in mind,” he says. “Someone who understands respect. Someone who will treat you like the jewel you are.”
My heart stutters. “Who?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Papa—”
“You will be happy,” he interrupts. “That is all you need to know.”
I search his face for reassurance and find only certainty. It terrifies me more than anger ever could.
“I need to get ready,” I say finally, pushing to my feet.
I leave the office with reluctance, clinging to every step. In the hallway, Igor stands waiting, my bag already in his hands. The late afternoon light slants through the tall windows, catching on the polished floor and the sharp lines of his suit.
“For you, miss,” he says, extending the strap.
“Thank you,” I reply, taking it. “Papa said Vladimir would be driving me tonight.”
Igor’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. “Vladimir will meet us at the theater. He was called away to attend to business.”
The word business feels deliberately vague, but I nod anyway. “Okay.”
He opens the door for me, and moments later, we’re in the car, the heavy door closing with a final, echoing thud that makes my chest tighten. Igor pulls away smoothly, the gates opening as if by instinct, and soon the house disappears behind us.
For several minutes, we drive in silence. The city hums beyond the tinted windows, distant and unreal. I watch familiar streets slide past, my thoughts circling restlessly.
“You danced beautifully last night,” Igor says suddenly.
The sound of his voice startles me. I turn to look at him, really look at him, sitting behind the wheel with his attention fixed on the road. “Thank you,” I say. “That’s very kind.”
“It was powerful. You command the stage.”
Warmth flickers through me, quickly followed by surprise. Igor rarely speaks unless spoken to—and even then, his words are clipped, purely functional. I realize, with a strange sense of awareness, that he’s said more to me in the past minute than he has in all the years I’ve known him.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I add.
“I did,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Everyone is proud of you.”
I swallow. “That means a lot.”
The silence returns, but it feels different now—charged, expectant.
After another few blocks, Igor speaks again. “Oleg. Artem. Pavel.”
My fingers curl around the strap of my bag. “What about them?”
“They are dead,” he says calmly. “Were you relieved when you learned this?”
The bluntness of the question steals my breath. I stare out the window, watching a blur of storefronts pass by. “I… yes,” I admit. “I was relieved. After what they tried to do.” My voice falters. “But I’m also frightened. They were murdered. That doesn’t just… happen.”
Igor slows the car.
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he pulls to the side of the road and shifts into park. The sudden stillness presses in on me, heavy and unnatural. He turns in his seat, fully facing me now.
“They needed to die,” he says.
My heart stutters. “Igor—”
“They were a threat to you,” he continues, his voice low, intense. “Men like that do not stop. They escalate.”
“That doesn’t mean killing them is the answer,” I say, though the words feel thin even to my own ears.
“It does when the alternative is losing you.” His gaze locks onto mine, unwavering. “Everything I do is to protect you, Anya.”
A chill crawls up my spine. “Protect me from what?”
“From this world,” he says. “From men like them. From men like your father chooses.”
I shake my head, confusion swirling. “My father—”
“He does not see you as I do,” Igor interrupts. “He sees a jewel, yes. But jewels are traded. Bargained with.” His jaw tightens. “I see you as mine.”
The word lands like a blow.
“Igor, you’re crossing a line,” I say, reaching for the door handle. “I need to go.”
“I love you,” he says.
I freeze.
“I have loved you for years,” he continues, his voice almost reverent. “If you marry me, your father will have no choice. He will give me Alexi’s position. I will have the power to keep you safe. To ensure no one ever touches you without your consent.”
My pulse roars in my ears. “You’re insane.”
“I am devoted,” he corrects. “There is a difference.”
I tug at the handle, but the doors are locked. “Let me out.”
He doesn’t move. “You would be happy with me, Anya. In time, you would see that.”
“I will never marry you,” I snap. “Open the door.”
I manage to shove it once more, panic rising sharply now, when I feel it—a sharp, burning prick at the back of my neck.
I gasp, my hand flying up instinctively. “What—”
The world tilts.
My limbs go heavy, the strength draining from them too fast, too completely. I try to scream, to hit him, to do something, anything—but my body no longer listens.
“I’m sorry,” Igor says softly, his face the last thing I see as darkness rushes in. “This is the only way.”
The city fades. The light disappears. And then there is nothing at all.