Chapter 10 Nikolai
I watched Anya's face go pale as she worked.
I watched her huge dark eyes widen with terror. I watched her small body sway like she might faint right there in my study.
Good. Fear was what I needed from her. Fear would keep the distance between us. Fear would remind me that she was only a property, not a person I cared about.
Because I did not care. I could not care.
Mikhail's words from this morning still echoed in my head.
"You care about her."
"I do not," I had said.
"Nikolai. I have known you for fifteen years. I have seen you torture men without blinking. I have seen you order executions without hesitation. I have never seen you hesitate about anything." He had leaned forward. "But this girl makes you hesitate. She makes you second guess yourself. That is caring."
"It is not caring. It is weakness." I had said, trying to justify myself.
"Maybe they are the same thing."
I had wanted to argue and insist he was wrong. But I could not find the words.
"What should I do?" I had asked quietly.
"That depends. Do you want to destroy her? Or do you want to keep her?"
"I do not know."
"Then figure it out quickly. Because when Alexei Volkov knows she matters to you, he will use that against you. He will hurt her to hurt you. And when that happens, you will have to choose between your empire or the girl."
"I will choose my empire. Always."
"Will you?" Mikhail had stood to leave. "We will see."
After he left, I had sat alone in my study and made a decision. I would treat Anya badly. I would use her the way powerful men used helpless girls. I would prove to myself and to everyone else that she meant nothing to me.
I would destroy whatever softness she had started to create in my chest.
But now, watching her stand frozen in my study, I felt something twist inside me. Something that felt almost like regret.
And I crushed it immediately.
"Did you not hear me?" I asked coldly. "I said prepare yourself. You will serve me in my bed tonight."
"Please," Anya whispered. Her voice was shaking. "Please do not make me do this."
"You do not give orders here. You obey them." I poured another vodka. "Go to your room. Clean yourself. Put on something clean. And be in my bedroom in one hour. Do you understand?"
Tears filled her eyes. "I thought... I thought you did not want..."
"What did you think?" I interrupted. "That I was different? That I was kind? That I would not use you the way every other man in this world would use you?" I laughed. "You were wrong. I am exactly what you should have feared from the beginning."
She stood there, tears sliding down her dirty face. Her cut cheek had stopped bleeding but the mark was still there. A reminder of the glass I had thrown.
And I had thrown it on purpose? A part of me wanted to hurt her, push her away and make her hate me so I would stop feeling these things I did not want to feel.
"One hour," I repeated. "Do not be late."
Anya turned and fled. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
I sat alone in my study and drank vodka until the bottle was empty.
Then I opened another one.
I was doing the right thing. I was protecting myself. Protecting my empire. Protecting everything I had built.
This was necessary.
An hour passed. I went to my bedroom and waited. The lamp burned in the corner. I had changed into black pants and left my chest bare. I poured another vodka and stood by the window, looking out at the dark forests.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Enter," I called.
The door opened slowly. Anya stood in the doorway. She had cleaned herself like I ordered. Her hair was still damp. She wore a simple white nightgown that I recognized from the servants' supplies. It was too big for her small frame, hanging off one shoulder.
She looked terrified.
She looked exactly like my mother had looked the night before my father killed her.
I pushed the thought away and drank more vodka.
"Close the door," I ordered.
She closed it and stood there with her hands clasped in front of her, shaking.
"Come here." I ordered.
She walked slowly towards me. Each step looked painful. Like she was walking towards her execution.
She stopped a few feet away from me and kept her eyes down.
"Look at me," I said.
She raised her eyes. Those huge dark eyes that saw too much.
"Take off the nightgown," I ordered.
Her hands went to the fabric. They were shaking so badly she could barely grip it.
"Please," she whispered. "Please do not do this. I will work harder. I will do anything else. Just not this."
"Take it off. Now."
She pulled the nightgown over her head with trembling hands and let it fall to the floor. She stood there naked in front of me, her whole body shaking. She tried to cover herself with her arms.
"Put your hands at your sides," I ordered.
She dropped her arms. Tears streamed down her face. Silent tears that she could not stop.
I looked at her. She was too thin. Her ribs showed through her pale skin. Bruises covered her back and arms from years of servitude. She looked fragile and breakable.
She looked like a child.
And suddenly I felt sick.
What was I doing? What had I become?
I was standing here, drunk on vodka, ordering a terrified girl to strip naked so I could use her. So I could prove I did not care. So I could destroy the softness she had created.
I was my father.
The thought hit me like a bullet.
I moved to the bed and sat on the edge. "Come here," I said. My voice sounded strange.
Anya walked towards me on shaking legs and stopped in front of me.
I reached out and pulled her onto the bed beside me. She gasped, her whole body going rigid with fear.
I pushed her down onto her back and looked down at her pale face. At those huge eyes filled with terror. At how her chest rose and fell with panicked breathing.
"Please," she whispered. "Please be gentle. This is my first time. I do not know what to do."
First time. Of course it was her first time. She was twenty two years old but had spent four years as a slave.
No one had touched her. No one had wanted her.
Except me.
I leaned down and kissed her. Not gently. Not with any kindness. But roughly. Trying to prove I did not care. Trying to prove I was the monster everyone said I was.
She whimpered against my mouth. Her hands pushed weakly at my chest. But she did not fight. She did not scream. She just lay there trembling while I kissed her.
I pulled back and looked at her face.
Tears streamed into her hair. Her lips were red from my kiss. She looked so small beneath me. So helpless.
"Spread your legs," I ordered.
She obeyed. Her whole body was shaking so badly the bed moved with it.
I positioned myself between her legs, looking down at her one last time.
And I could not do it.
I could not take her like this. I could not use her this way. I could not become my father.
I moved off her and stood up, turning away so she could not see my face.
"Get dressed," I said. My voice was cold again. "You disgust me. Your fear. Your weakness. Your pathetic tears. You have made me lose my appetite again."
Behind me, I heard her gasp. I heard fabric rustling as she grabbed the nightgown and pulled it on, sobbing quietly.
"Get out," I said. "Go back to your room. And do not come back until I summon you."
"I am sorry," she whispered. "I am sorry I am not... I am sorry I disappointed you."
"Just leave."
She ran. I heard the door open and close and her footsteps fading down the hallway.
I stood alone in my bedroom. My hands were shaking, my chest was tight with something I could not name.
I had wanted to prove I did not care.
But I had failed. Because at the last moment, I had seen my mother in her eyes. I had seen the twelve year old boy I used to be. I had seen what my father had done to everyone he touched.
And I could not become that.