Then the mask slammed back into place, and she was Anka Volkov again. Untouchable. Unreachable.
“Then I guess we both got what we wanted,” she said. “You got your revenge, and I got to save my family from a war that would have destroyed everything my father built.”
The song ended, and she stepped out of Viktor’s arms before he could respond. But as she walked away, her hips swaying in that dress that hugged every curve, Viktor caught her words echoing in his head.
She’d done it to save her family from war. Not because she’d gotten bored with him, not because she’d accomplished whatever mission she’d been on. She’d left to protect the people she loved.
Just like Viktor was marrying her to protect Irina’s happiness.
The realization should have made him feel better, should have validated the choice he’d made four years ago to wait for the perfect revenge. Instead, it made him feel like the bastard he’d become.
But it was too late for regrets now. Too late for second chances or explanations or anything that might have led to forgiveness.
Viktor had wanted Anka Volkov to be his wife, and now she was.
But what the hell was he going to do with her now that he had her?
Chapter 3 - Anka
The Nikolai mansion was a fortress disguised as a home, all black stone and bulletproof glass that screamed money and menace in equal measure. As she stood in the circular driveway watching her pathetic collection of suitcases being unloaded from the SUV, she couldn’t help but compare it to the Volkov estate. Where their family home had been warm and inviting despite its deadly occupants, this place felt cold, unwelcoming.
Perfect for the man who now owned her.
“Mrs. Nikolai.” The voice belonged to an older woman with steel-gray hair and a face that could have been carved from granite. “I’m Elena, the housekeeper. Mr. Nikolai asked me to show you to your room.”
Her room. Not their room. The distinction wasn’t lost on her, and she wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or insulted. Probably both.
She followed Elena through marble hallways lined with expensive art and family portraits, her heels echoing off the walls like gunshots. The house was massive, easily twice the size of what she’d grown up in, with enough rooms to house a small army. Which, knowing Viktor, it probably did.
“This will be your suite,” Elena said, opening double doors to reveal a room that was bigger than her entire apartment had been before this nightmare began.
The space was decorated in shades of cream and gold, feminine without being frilly, expensive without being ostentatious. A king-sized bed dominated one wall, while floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the extensive grounds. It was beautiful, she had to admit. It was also clearly chosen to keep her as far away from Viktor as possible.
“Mr. Nikolai’s suite is in the east wing,” Elena continued, confirming her suspicions. “He asked me to inform you that he’ll be traveling on business for the next week.”
Of course he would be. The bastard had married her and then immediately fucked off, leaving her alone in his fortress like some kind of prisoner. Although that might have been for the best. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face him again after their tense conversation at the reception.
“Thank you,” she managed, proud that her voice came out steady.
Elena nodded and left her alone with her thoughts and her suitcases. She spent the next hour unpacking, hanging her clothes in a walk-in closet that was larger than most people’s bedrooms, and arranging her few personal belongings on surfaces that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
The next few days passed in a blur of exploration and growing frustration. She mapped out every room, every hallway, every possible exit in the mansion. Old habits died hard, and despite being married to Viktor instead of actively working for the family business, her training kicked in automatically.
The house was a maze of interconnected wings, secret passages, and hidden rooms that spoke of generations of Nikolai paranoia. There was a panic room disguised as a wine cellar, a weapons cache hidden behind false walls, and enough surveillance equipment to make the FBI jealous.
But it was the grounds that really impressed her. Twenty acres of manicured lawns, gardens, and woodland, all surrounded by a twelve-foot stone wall topped with razor wire. Guard towers were positioned at strategic intervals, and she counted at least a dozen security cameras in her first sweep of the perimeter.
Viktor wasn’t taking any chances with his new bride’s safety. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure she couldn’t escape.
By the fourth day, she was going stir-crazy. She’d read every book in the extensive library, explored every room she could access, and even helped Elena with meal preparation just to have something to do. The freedom she’d craved for so long was turning into its own kind of prison.
That’s when the familiar itch started. The restlessness that had once driven her to sneak out of the Volkov compound, the need for adventure that had led her to Viktor in the first place. She was twenty-four years old, married to a man who was clearly planning to ignore her into submission, and surrounded by more freedom than she’d had in years.
Her brothers weren’t here to monitor her every move. There were no family obligations or social events she was required to attend. For the first time since Adrian had destroyed her relationship with Viktor, she was truly on her own.
The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.
She started small, testing the boundaries of her new existence. She took long walks around the grounds, always accompanied by at least two guards but otherwise left to her own devices. She struck up conversations with the household staff, learning their names and histories, building the kind of rapport that might prove useful later.
