I think about last night and immediately wish I hadn’t. The memories assault me—Dimitri’s hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, the way he made me feel things I shouldn’t have felt. The pleasure that had torn through me, overwhelming and consuming and so intense I’d lost myself completely.
I betrayed Alexei. I let his brother touch me, claim me, possess me. And the worst part—the part that makes me hate myself—is that my body had responded. I had wanted it and I wanted more.
What does that make me? What kind of person lets herself enjoy sex with the man who married her for revenge less than two weeks after losing the man she loved?
The worst type of person, that’s what kind.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my whole body shaking with silent sobs. I curl forward, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. Trying to disappear.
Will Dimitri come to my room tonight? Will he expect me to submit to him again? The thought fills me with equal parts dread and that shameful, unwanted anticipation. My body remembers him. It want him, even though my mind screams that it’s wrong.
I wait, tense and anxious, listening for footsteps in the hallway. For the sound of that door opening. For him to appear and claim what he thinks is his.
But hours pass, and he doesn’t come.
The clock on the nightstand ticks past midnight. Past one. Past two. And still, he doesn’t come.
He meant what he said. Once was enough. He’s done with me.
I should be relieved and grateful that I don’t have to face him again or let him touch me. I don’t have to feel that confusing tangle of fear and desire.
Instead, I feel... abandoned. Forgotten. Like I’m not even worth the effort of hating anymore.
I finally lie down around three in the morning, still fully dressed, on top of the covers. I’m too tired to undress, too exhausted to go through the motions of getting ready for bed. I just lie there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, my hand pressed against my stomach.
“You deserve better,” I whisper to the baby. “You deserve a father who is still alive. You deserve to be born into a home where there’s love and laughter. You don’t deserve this.”
I cry silently into my pillow, mourning everything I’ve lost—my freedom, Alexei, my old life, my innocence, and my sense of self.
I’m trapped in this beautiful house with a secret that could get me killed, married to a man who can’t even stand to be near me, cut off from everyone who loves me.
And somewhere out there, Dimitri is avoiding this house, me, and the complicated reality of what he’s done.
Tomorrow will be the same as today. And the day after that. And the day after that. Days stretching out before me like an endless hallway with no exit. Just this beautiful prison and the crushing loneliness and the baby growing inside me day by day.
I’ve never felt more alone. I’ve never felt more terrified. And I’ve never felt more hopeless.
This is my life now. This is forever. And I don’t know how I'm going to survive it.
6
DIMITRI
I've read the same territory report paragraph three times now, and I still couldn’t tell you what it says. Something about the docks? Shipping schedules? There’s also something about payments that need to be collected. It’s all important shit that requires my attention. Business that keeps this organization running.
But my eyes keep drifting to the bank of monitors mounted on the wall to my left.
Six screens, each displaying different areas of the estate. Security feeds that run twenty-four seven that record everything and miss nothing. I installed this system years ago for protection and surveillance, to make sure I always know what’s happening on my property.
Right now, all six screens show various angles of an empty house.
Empty except forher.
I catch movement on monitor three which looks at the second-floor hallway. Vera appears, moving slowly down the corridor, one hand trailing along the wall like she needs the support. She’s wearing another one of those outfits Mrs. Kozlov selected—dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater. Her hair is in a ponytail, the reddish-brown waves catching the light from the hallway windows.
She stops at a door and tries the handle. It doesn’t open as it’s locked, like all the others up there except for select rooms. She moves to the next door. Same result. Then the next.
I watch her try every single door on the east wing, her movements getting more agitated with each locked door. By the time she reaches the end of the hallway, her shoulders are slumped. She stands there for a long moment, just staring at the last locked door, and even from this angle, I can see the defeat written in every line of her body.
