When I entered, both women glanced up. Their gazes felt like cold probes, first lingering for a second on the marks around my neck. Something unreadable flashed in Anastasia's eyes. Then she nodded slightly, indicating I should sit.
I quietly took the seat across from Anastasia, trying to ignore their scrutinizing stares.
A maid served my breakfast. Delicate china, fresh fruit, and what looked like appetizing Eggs Benedict. But I had no appetite.
"Looks like you didn't sleep well last night?" Anya looked up, her expression loaded with meaning.
I returned a distant smile. "New environments take getting used to."
"Getting used to?" She laughed lightly. "Becoming part of the Morozov family is about more than just getting a good night's sleep."
"Anya." Anastasia set down her teacup, her voice calm but warning.
Anya shrugged and returned to her magazine.
"However, Noelle," Anastasia turned to me, the sound of porcelain clinking crisp, "now that you're part of this family, you should follow the rules. For instance, you shouldn't keep your elders waiting."
My grip tightened on my silverware until my knuckles went white. This was clearly another power play.
Anya let out a timely snort, finally lifting her eyes from the magazine to look me up and down like I was some cheap knockoff.
"Mother, don't be too demanding." Anya sneered. "The fact that she can even learn these manners is impressive enough, isn't it?"
The words hit like a barbed whip. They were deliberately reminding me of my "background."
I took a deep breath, suppressing my anger. "You're right, I was thoughtless. I just didn't sleep well last night and got up late. Besides, Kholod didn't tell me the meal times."
I deftly redirected the blame back to the real person in control.
Sure enough, both Anastasia's and Anya's expressions froze momentarily, as if they'd been choked. Anastasia lifted her teacup, taking another sip to cover her reaction, and said nothing more. Anya pursed her lips and returned her attention to the magazine, but her page-turning had taken on a distinctly irritated edge.
Breakfast ended in an almost suffocating silence. I ate small bites, everything tasting like sawdust.
Back in the bedroom, I rubbed my lower back and collapsed onto the sofa, closing my eyes to rest.
"Ma'am, Mr. Morozov instructed that you rest well today. Call us if you need anything," the maid said respectfully before withdrawing.
I was alone in the room.
That afternoon, I curled up on the sofa by the fireplace with my laptop. This was my only remaining connection to my former self.
I began updating my long-neglected travel blog, describing Iceland's glaciers and aurora, pouring my longing for freedom into every word. This was my only remaining mental escape.
I was so absorbed in writing that I completely missed the movement behind me.
Until a strong hand with prominent knuckles reached over my shoulder and slammed my laptop shut with a sharp "snap!"
"Ah!" I screamed, my heart nearly jumping out of my throat. I spun around to find Kholod Morozov's cold face right in front of me. I had no idea when he'd entered, moving like a silent predator.
"Not bad writing." He picked up my laptop, his tone unreadable as his long fingers skillfully navigated the trackpad, scrolling through page after page of my yearning and descriptions of the free world. His gaze examined them like evidence of a crime.
"Give it back!" The humiliation of having my privacy so brutally violated made me explode with rage. I stood to grab the laptop back.
But he easily pressed me back down onto the sofa with one hand, his massive strength pinning me in place. His body heat seeped through the thin fabric, carrying a dangerous sense of oppression.
"Seems you still have energy for useless thoughts." He looked down at me, eyes ice-cold. "Wasn't I thorough enough last night?"
His words made my cheeks burn.
