Chapter 91 Anya
I stopped counting the days after the first week.
What was the point? Every day was the same. Every night was the same nightmare.
Ivanov had sex whenever he wanted. Rough and cruel, like he was punishing me for not loving him. Sometimes it lasted minutes. Sometimes hours.
I learned to go somewhere else in my mind during those times. To float above my body and watch from a distance, like it was happening to someone else.
In the mornings he would parade me around like a prize. He took me to business meetings, to dinners with important people, to parties where everyone stared at me.
"My beautiful wife," he would say, keeping his hand tight on my waist. "Is she not stunning?"
And I would smile. I would nod. I would play the part he wanted me to play.
Because I had no choice.
I rarely saw Nikolai anymore. Only during meals when Ivanov forced him to serve us.
Each time I saw him, my heart broke a little more. He looked terrible. Thin and exhausted, his eyes were hollow, his hands were wrapped in dirty rags.
This was my fault. All of this was my fault.
If I had just listened to him from the beginning. If I had just trusted him instead of Ivanov. If I had just waited.
But I did not. And now we were both paying the price.
One afternoon I asked Ivanov about Nikolai's meals.
"Why do you care?" Ivanov asked, his eyes narrowing.
"I do not. I just noticed he looks unwell. If he collapses from hunger, you will need to find a new servant."
Ivanov laughed. "Always thinking practically. That is what I love about you."
He kissed my forehead and I forced myself not to pull away.
"He gets fed," Ivanov said. "Once a day. Leftovers from our dinner. That is more than he deserves."
"Once a day? That is not enough."
"It is enough to keep him alive. And that is all that matters."
I said nothing more. But that night I made sure to leave extra food on my plate. Food that would go to Nikolai.
It was a small, pathetic thing. But it was all I could do.
Weeks passed. I stopped trying to escape. I stopped hoping for rescue.
I accepted my fate. I was Mrs. Ivanov now. This was my life.
Ivanov seemed pleased with my surrender. He became almost gentle with me sometimes, stroking my hair, calling me pet names.
But then night would come and he would remind me what I really was to him.
A possession. A toy. A thing to be used.
One evening Ivanov left for a business meeting in the city. He would be gone all night, he said.
I was alone in our chambers, staring out the window at nothing, when I made a decision.
I called for a servant. Viktor appeared at my door.
"Yes, Mrs. Ivanov?"
"I need you to bring Nikolai Markov to my room."
Viktor's eyes widened. "Mrs. Ivanov, I do not think that is a good idea."
"I am not asking for your opinion. I am giving you an order. Bring him to me. Now."
Viktor hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
He left.
And I waited.
Ten minutes later there was a knock on my door. I opened it.
Nikolai stood there. Confusion and fear was written on his face. "Anya? What is wrong? Did something happen?"
"Come inside." I pulled him into the room and closed the door.
"You should not have called me here. If Ivanov finds out..."
"He is gone for the night. We are safe."
Nikolai looked around the room, at the massive bed, at the expensive furniture, at the prison I lived in.
"Why did you call me?" he asked quietly.
"Because I needed to see you. To talk to you. Without him watching."
"Talk about what?"
I walked to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine. "Sit. Please."
He sat hesitantly on the edge of a chair. I poured two glasses and handed him one.
"When was the last time you ate a real meal?" I asked.
"I do not remember."
I went to the table where my dinner sat untouched and brought it to him.
"Eat."
"Anya..."
"Eat, Nikolai. Please."
He looked at the food, then at me, then he started eating. Slowly at first, then faster, like he could not help himself.
I watched him and felt tears burn my eyes. This was what Ivanov had reduced him to. A starving man grateful for scraps.
"I am sorry," I whispered. "For all of this. For everything."
Nikolai stopped eating. "It is not your fault."
"It is. I should have listened to you. I should have trusted you."
"You were trying to save your brother. Anyone would have done the same."
"But I doomed us both."
He set down his fork and looked at me. "What has he done to you?" He asked.
"Nothing I did not deserve."
"Do not say that. You do not deserve any of this."
"Neither do you."
We sat in silence for a moment. Then I poured more wine into both our glasses.
"Drink with me," I said. "Just for tonight. Let us pretend we are somewhere else. Someone else."
He picked up his glass. "Where would we be?"
"Anywhere but here. Maybe that little house you always talked about. The one by the lake."
"With the garden," he added softly.
"Yes. With the garden."
We drank. Then drank more.
The wine loosened something inside both of us. Something that had been locked away for too long.
We talked about the past. About what could have been. About the life we should have had.
And somewhere between the second bottle and the third, something shifted.
I do not know who moved first.
Maybe it was me. Maybe it was him.
But suddenly we were kissing
His hands were in my hair. Mine were pulling at his shirt.
"We should not," he breathed against my mouth.
"I do not care."
"If he finds out..."
"Then let him find out. I do not care anymore, Nikolai. I do not care about anything except this moment with you."
He kissed me harder. We stumbled toward the bed.
Clothes fell away. His hands were shaking as they touched me, gentle despite everything, like I was something precious.
I pulled him closer, needing to feel something real, something true, something that was not pain.
We fell onto the bed together. The wine made everything hazy and warm.
He touched me like I was made of glass. I touched him like I was trying to memorize every part of him.
And then we were together, finally, after so long, and it felt like coming home.
Like finding something I had lost and thought was gone forever.
Tears ran down my face but I did not stop. Neither did he.
This was ours. This moment. This stolen piece of happiness in the middle of hell.
Outside the window the moon rose higher. Inside the room we held each other close.
I whispered his name. He whispered mine.
And for just a little while, we forgot about Ivanov. We forgot about the mansion. We forgot about everything except each other.
But reality has a way of crashing back in.
We were lying together afterward. His arms were around me. Both of us were still breathing hard, when we heard a sudden knock at the door. It was sharp and loud.
We froze.
Then Ivanov's voice came through the wood, cold and angry.
"Anya. Open this door.”