She exhales, emotion shuddering through her. “Good.”
I hold her a little tighter, knowing that whatever storms are coming—whatever choices must be made—we’ll face them together.
And this time, I won’t let anyone take her choices away again.
EPILOGUE: ANYA
I rise on my toes and kiss Vladimir before he can say another word. It’s soft at first, just a brush of my lips against his, but it carries everything I’m feeling—gratitude, relief, something deeper that still scares me if I think about it too long. When I pull back, his eyes are dark and intent, fixed on me as if the rest of the world has ceased to exist.
“I just want to go upstairs and change,” I tell him quietly. “I’ll be back soon.”
His mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flutter. “Take your time,” he says, though his tone suggests he hopes I won’t.
I laugh softly and gesture for Skylar to follow me. She falls into step beside me as we head upstairs, her presence comforting in a way I didn’t realize I needed until now. My room feels like a sanctuary when I step inside—familiar, safe, untouched by everything that happened earlier today.
I cross straight to my wardrobe, pulling it open as I start talking, the words spilling out now that I finally can.
“Igor was waiting for me,” I say, my hands moving automatically as I push dresses aside. “He said he was taking me to the theater. I didn’t think anything of it at first. He was… nice. Too nice. He talked more in that car ride than he ever has.”
Skylar stays quiet behind me, and I take that as permission to continue.
“He told me he loved me,” I say, my voice tightening as I lift a dress from its hanger and then discard it. “That he killed Oleg, Artem, and Pavel to protect me. That if I married him, my father would have to give him Alexi’s position.” My fingers tremble slightly. “When I tried to get away, that’s when he drugged me.”
I pause, drawing in a steadying breath, then force myself onward.
“Vladimir came,” I say softly. “He saved me. If he hadn’t—” I stop myself there, shaking my head. I don’t want to finish that sentence. Not ever.
I find a dress in pale blue silk and hold it up, studying my reflection in the mirror. It’s simple, elegant. Something Vladimir would like. Something that makes me feel like myself again—not a victim, not a bargaining chip.
I want to look beautiful for him.
As I set the dress on the bed, I finally notice the silence behind me isn’t the attentive kind anymore. I turn.
Skylar is standing near the door, her arms crossed loosely, her gaze unfocused. She looks… distant. Uneasy.
“Skylar?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
She blinks, as if startled out of her thoughts, and forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing. I just—something came up.”
My brow furrows. “Came up?”
“I need to go home,” she says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s important.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointment blooming in my chest. “I thought we could talk more later.”
“I know.” She steps closer and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m so happy we became friends, Anya. Truly. I’ll keep in touch, I promise.”
Her words feel final in a way I don’t understand.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I have to go,” she repeats, already backing toward the door. “Tell Vladimir I said goodbye.”
Before I can respond, she turns and hurries out of the room, her footsteps quick and retreating down the hall.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, my dress still lying out on the bed behind me.
A strange, unsettled feeling curls in my stomach.
