Chapter 73

Chapter 73
The sound of the engine was the first thing I heard when I opened my eyes. A deep, constant roar that vibrated through the floor beneath me. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming, that maybe the night before had been another one of my nightmares. But the cold leather seat against my skin and the faint scent of Adrik's cologne told me otherwise.
We were in the air.
The windows showed nothing but endless white clouds and an ocean of gray below. I couldn't move much—my wrists were bound lightly with silk restraints that looked almost decorative, the kind that would fool anyone into thinking they were gentle. My throat was dry, my voice gone from the night before.
Across from me, Adrik sat calmly with a glass of red wine, dressed in his usual tailored black shirt. He looked untouched by exhaustion, while I felt like the air had been beaten out of me. His gaze met mine and a slow smile curled on his lips.
"You're awake, moy dorogoy, (my darling) he said softly, the words almost affectionate but layered with control. "You should rest more. It's a long flight home."
I didn't answer. The word home tasted like poison.
He gestured to a tray near my side—there was food, neatly arranged like something from a luxury hotel. Fruits, bread, water. My stomach twisted.
"I'm not hungry," I whispered.
"You will be," he replied, taking a sip of his wine. "You always are after you cry."
My body went cold. The way he said it—so casual, so sure—made my chest tighten. I turned my face toward the window, watching the clouds blur by.
"How long have we been flying?" I managed to ask.
"Six hours," he said, as if it were a simple business trip. "We'll land soon" Your grandmother will be waiting—well, when she wakes up."
I froze. "You said she's unconscious. What did you do to her?"
Adrik tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "I don't lie, Joy. She's fine. For now."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes locking on mine. "You should be grateful. I'm giving you back your life. You belong with me. You always have."
The plane dipped slightly, the pressure making my ears ache, but it was nothing compared to the pressure in my chest.
If I screamed, no one would hear me up here. If I ran, there was nowhere to go. The sky was endless—and I was trapped in it with him.
Adrik reached out, brushing his thumb across my cheek, and I flinched. His smile deepened.
"Still trembling," he murmured. "Good. It means you still feel."
He sat back again, closing his eyes like a man at peace. "Sleep, lyubov moya (my love)

When you wake up, everything will be as it should be."
But I didn't close my eyes. I couldn't. I just sat there, counting the seconds, praying that somehow, the plane would never reach the ground.

The hours dragged by like ghosts in the dark. I didn't sleep, not even for a second. Every small sound — the soft hum of the engine, the faint clink of his glass, the rustle of fabric when Adrik shifted — made my skin crawl. The cabin lights were dim now, casting long shadows that moved with the turbulence.
He hadn't said a word since his last whisper, "Sleep, lyubov moya." He didn't have to. His silence spoke louder — a threat wrapped in calm.
I turned toward the small window. Outside, the clouds had thinned, revealing a faint glow beneath — cities, tiny clusters of light swallowed by darkness. My heart sank. Russia. We were close.
My wrists had started to ache under the silk restraints, but I didn't dare move. I needed to appear obedient, compliant — at least until I could think. I had escaped him once. I could do it again. I had to.
A soft rustle broke the silence. Adrik had stood up. He walked toward me slowly, his presence filling the narrow space like a storm. I tensed instinctively, pulling slightly against the bindings.
"Still awake?" he asked, his voice smooth but heavy with meaning.
I didn't answer.
He crouched in front of me, his dark eyes searching my face as though reading something written on my skin. "You think too much, Joy. That's your problem. You plan, you imagine, you hope. It's exhausting to watch."
He reached out and undid the restraints — not out of kindness, but confidence. He knew I had nowhere to run.
"Stretch your wrists," he said. "I don't want you hurting yourself. Not before we land."
I rubbed my wrists gently, the marks faint but visible. My voice trembled. "Why are you doing this?"
Adrik tilted his head. "Because I can." Then, with a slight grin, "And because I missed you."
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, and my breath caught. The tenderness in his gesture was terrifying — it wasn't love; it was ownership disguised as affection.
"Once we land," he continued, his tone softening, "you'll see the house I've built for us. It's beautiful, you'll love it. There's a garden, just like you always wanted."
The intercom chimed suddenly, a flight attendant's voice announcing their descent. Adrik stood, adjusting his sleeves.
"Fasten your belt, lyubov moya. When you open your eyes again, you'll be home."
The wheels hit the runway with a heavy jolt, shaking me from the half-dazed trance I'd fallen into. The hum of the engines deepened, the jet slowing, sliding through the darkness until it stopped completely. I could see nothing but shadows through the window—no city lights, no sign of the world beyond. Just fog, thick and endless.
Adrik stood, buttoning his coat with an unhurried grace. His calmness terrified me more than any rage could have. He turned to me, extending his hand, as though we were just another couple arriving from a long trip.
"Come, Joy."
I didn't move. My legs felt too weak, too heavy. He sighed, that same soft, deceptive sound of patience, and leaned down. "Don't make me carry you. I'd rather not have you wake up sore."
The threat was quiet, almost gentle, but it worked. My body obeyed even when my soul screamed not to.

Two men in black coats stood by the stairs—his guards, the same shadows that had always followed him. One carried a black umbrella, the other, my small bag.

Adrik placed a hand on my back, guiding me down the stairs like a gentleman escorting his wife. But his touch was iron, and the moment we reached the ground, I felt that old, cold dread crawl up my spine again.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured beside my ear. "The air here—it smells like home."
I said nothing.
When we reached the car, he opened the door for me. "After you, lyubov moya."
The car smelled faintly of leather and something floral. I didn't ask what it was; I didn't care. I just wanted the silence back — the kind that didn't involve his voice or his eyes on me.
We drove for what felt like forever. The snow thickened, and soon the world outside was nothing but white and shadow. Then, through the blur, I saw it — the mansion. Massive. Pale stone walls. Windows glowing faintly, like eyes watching from the dark.
As the car stopped, I felt his gaze again. "You'll behave, won't you?" he murmured, his tone laced with quiet amusement. "I'd hate to make a scene in front of family."
"Family?" I whispered, my voice barely there.
His lips curved. "You'll see."
The doors opened, and the cold struck again as we stepped out. The front doors of the mansion swung wide before we even reached them.
Inside, the air was warm — but heavy. I froze the moment I saw them.
Sofia stood at the top of the stairs, elegant in a deep velvet gown, her eyes sharp and unreadable. The kind of woman whose silence said more than any word could. Beside her, two guards stood like statues, their expressions blank.
But it wasn't her that made my breath hitch — it was the woman standing just behind her.
My mother.
Her eyes met mine, wide, red from tears. For a moment, she looked relieved — her lips trembled as she whispered my name. "Joy..."
Then her expression cracked. Her hands twisted together nervously, as if afraid to speak too loudly in his presence. I saw the conflict in her eyes — the fear of Adrik, the helplessness, and the small, desperate joy of seeing me alive.
Adrik's hand pressed lightly against my back, guiding me forward. "Surprised?" he asked softly near my ear. "Your mother's been our guest for some time now. Mother insisted on it."
Sofia descended the stairs slowly, her gaze fixed on me. "She's thinner," she said in Russian, her tone flat, almost disappointed. "You should've brought her home sooner, Adrik."
He smiled faintly. "She thought she could hide."
Sofia's lips curved slightly — not in warmth, but approval. "Well, she's home now."