35
EVA
I'm reviewing seating charts for the wedding when I hear raised voices drifting up from Roman's study. My hand instinctively moves to my still-flat stomach, a protective gesture I've developed over the past weeks.
The voices grow louder, and I recognize Boris Borisov's booming tone even through the thick walls. I set down my pen and move to the sitting room doorway, my pulse quickening. Roman didn't mention expecting visitors today, and the tension in those raised voices makes my skin prickle with unease.
I should stay out of it. Whatever business Roman is conducting with Boris isn't my concern. But my feet carry me to the top of the stairs, anyway, drawn by some instinct I can't name. Through the ornate railing, I can see Roman's study door is closed, but Boris's voice carries clearly.
"You owe me compensation! My family's reputation is destroyed because of your rejection!"
Roman's response is too low for me to hear, but the cold authority in his tone makes me shiver despite the distance.I've heard that voice before, the one he uses when he's done negotiating, when he's simply stating facts that won't be argued with.
I retreat to the sitting room, trying to focus on the wedding arrangements spread across the coffee table. Two weeks until I become Mrs. Sokolov. Two weeks until I'm bound to Roman permanently, for better or worse. The thought sends conflicting emotions through my chest. Fear, yes. But also something warmer, something I'm not quite ready to examine.
The sound of heels clicking on marble pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to find Daria Borisova standing in the doorway, and my stomach drops to my feet.
She's stunning even in her fury. Her dark hair is perfectly styled, her designer dress probably costs more than my old monthly rent, and her ice-blue eyes are fixed on me with pure hatred. I stand slowly, my professional armor snapping into place despite the fear flooding my system.
"Miss Borisova. I didn't realize you were here."
"Of course you didn't." Her voice is venomous, her accent thick with rage. "You're too busy stealing what's mine to notice anything."
I force myself to meet her gaze without flinching. "I'm not stealing anything. Roman made his choice."
"His choice?" Daria's laugh is shrill, almost hysterical. "You trapped him somehow, like some desperate whore, and now you think you've won?"
The words hit like physical blows, but I keep my spine straight. "You need to leave."
"I'm not going anywhere." Daria moves into the room with predatory grace, and I notice for the first time that her right hand is hidden behind her back. "You've destroyed everything. My reputation, my family's alliance, my future. All because you spread your legs for a man who was promised to me."
My heart pounds against my ribs as she closes the distance between us. I should scream for Roman, for security, for anyone. But my throat is closed with fear, and Daria is moving too fast.
Her hand whips out from behind her back, and I see the flash of metal. A letter opener, ornate and sharp, the kind of decorative weapon that sits on expensive desks. She lunges at me with a shriek of pure rage, and instinct takes over.
I dodge to the side, but not fast enough. The letter opener's blade catches my forearm, a line of fire that makes me gasp. Daria's designer nails rake across my face as she tries to grab me, her voice a continuous stream of Russian curses and threats.
"You bitch! You fucking bitch! I'll kill you!"
I shove her hard, putting all my weight behind it, and Daria stumbles backward. But she recovers quickly, coming at me again with the letter opener raised.
I grab her wrist, my fingers digging into her skin as I try to control the weapon. We struggle, crashing into the coffee table, scattering wedding arrangements across the floor. Daria is taller than me, stronger than I expected, and the letter opener keeps getting closer to my face, my throat, my stomach.
"Help!" The scream finally tears from my throat. "Roman!"
Daria uses my distraction to rake her nails down my other arm, drawing blood. The pain makes me lose my grip on her wrist,and the letter opener slashes across my shoulder. I feel the fabric of my blouse tear, feel the sting of the blade cutting skin.
Rage floods through me, hot and consuming. My hands ball into fists, and I punch her square in the face with every ounce of strength I possess.
The satisfying crunch of cartilage breaking fills the air. Daria's head snaps back, blood exploding from her nose, and she staggers backward with a shriek of pain and shock. Her designer heels catch on the edge of the rug, and she goes down hard, landing on her ass with her hands clutching her ruined face.
The study door slams open. Roman and Lev burst into the sitting room, and I've never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. Roman's blue eyes sweep the scene, taking in my bleeding arms, my torn blouse, and Daria on the floor with blood pouring between her fingers.
His expression transforms into something terrifying. Pure, cold fury that makes the temperature in the room seem to drop ten degrees. He moves toward me with frightening speed, his hands gentle despite the violence radiating from every line of his body as he examines my injuries.
"Eva.Solnyshko. Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay. The cuts are shallow." My voice shakes despite my best efforts to sound calm.
