Chapter 149 Anya
I stared at the note. "Tomorrow at noon. The south garden. Be ready."
My hands shook. Who kept leaving these notes? Who was trying to help me? And why could they not just open the door and let me out?
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything Alexander had told me.
But the note said it was a trap. The note said my grandfather was already dead.
I did not know what to believe anymore. My head ached from all the lies and secrets. The silk sheets beneath me felt like chains. The soft pillows felt like cages. Everything in this beautiful room was designed to make me forget that I was a prisoner.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, someone was knocking on my door.
I sat up, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Who is there?"
"It is me, miss." The maid's voice. Her voice was shaking. "Please open the door. The master is not here. I have the key."
I ran to the door. My bare feet slapped against the marble floor. I heard the lock click. The door swung open.
The maid stood there, her face was pale as death, her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold the key. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her whole body was shaking.
"What is wrong?" I asked. My voice came out smaller than I intended.
"It is the old master, miss. Your grandfather. He is... he is dying." She grabbed my hand. Her fingers were cold and shaking. "He has been asking for you. Please, miss. You need to come. Now. Please hurry."
My blood turned to ice. "Dying? But he was fine yesterday. He was talking. He was..."
"He is coughing blood, miss. The doctor said it will be any minute now. He said there is nothing more they can do. Please. Please hurry."
She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the hallway. We ran up the stairs, through the corridors, past the guards who did not stop us. Everyone seemed frozen. The whole house felt like it was holding its breath.
The door to my grandfather's room was open. I walked inside.
The room was darker than before. Someone had drawn the curtains, blocking out the afternoon sun. The machines were beeping faster, like they were trying to keep up with a heart that was failing. The air smelled of medicine and death.
And in the bed, the old man was struggling to breathe.
His face was gray. His lips were blue. Blood stained the white sheets around his mouth. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps. His eyes were closed but his lips were moving, whispering words I could not hear.
"Anya," the maid whispered. "Go to him. He has been waiting for you."
I walked to the bed. My legs felt like they were made of stone, heavy and cold and impossible to move. But I moved anyway. Until I was standing beside the dying man who was supposedly my grandfather.
I sat down beside him. The mattress dipped under my weight. He reached for my hand. His fingers were cold.
"Anya," he whispered. His voice was barely a sound. "You came."
"I am here," I said. My voice broke.
Tears leaked from his eyes. They rolled down his gray cheeks and disappeared into the white pillow. "I am so sorry. For everything. For throwing you away. For letting them take you. For not finding you sooner. For all of it."
"Save your strength," I said. But I knew it was too late. There was no strength left to save.
"There is no time." He coughed. Blood sprayed from his lips and landed on my hand. "I am dying, child. And I need you to know the truth. The real truth. Before it is too late."
"What truth?" My voice was shaking.
"Your father... the man who raised you... the man you thought was your father... he was not your real father."
My heart stopped.
"Your mother, Elena, she was my son's mistress. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. But I would not allow it. She was beneath us. Beneath our family. So I sent her away. I sent her away while she was pregnant with you."
I could not breathe.
My hands started shaking. My whole body started shaking.
"You ruined my life." My voice was barely a whisper. "You sent my mother . You made her die, suffering. You made me grow up alone."
"I know." He coughed again. "I know, child. And I have regretted it every single day. But I was too proud to admit I was wrong. Too proud to find you. Too proud to bring you home."
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I am dying." He grabbed my hand, held it tight. His grip was weak but desperate. "Because I need you to know that what I did was unforgivable. I destroyed your family. I stole your life. And I have been trying to make it right. In my will, I left you everything. More than half. All of it. I want you to have it. I want you to be free."
"Dmitri, my brother, died because of this." My voice cracked. "If you had not sent my mother away, he would still be alive. I wouldn't have been given as a blood tithe to a mafia lord. My life would not have ended."
I wept. I could not stop the tears. They poured down my face, hot and endless. I lifted his head and placed it on my lao.
"Stay with me," I whispered. "Please. Do not die."
"I am sorry," he said one last time. His voice was fading. His eyes were closing. "I am so sorry, Anya. For everything."
His chest stopped rising. The machines went quiet. The room fell silent.
He was gone.
I sat there in the silence, holding a dead man on my lap. A man who had ruined my life before I could even speak.
The door flung open.
Alexander stood there. His face was frozen, and unreadable. His eyes went to the bed, to the body, to the blood on the sheets, to me holding our grandfather's head on my lap.
"Grandfather," he whispered.
He walked forward slowly. His hands reached out and touched the old man's face. Then he fell to his knees and started to cry.
But his tears were too loud. They were fake. I had seen real grief before. I had felt it in my own chest. This was not grief. This was theater.
"Take me back to Moscow," I said, tears still streaming down my face. But my voice was firm. "Now."
Alexander stood up. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. His expression changed. The mask dropped. His eyes went cold and dangerous.
"Not yet," he said, looking at me with something I had never seen before.
"What do you mean, not yet?"
"The will. The inheritance." He walked toward me. His footsteps were slow and deliberate. "Grandfather gave you everything. More than half. Billions of rubles. And I cannot let you leave until you put your seal on the papers."
I stared at him. "You brought me here for the money."
"I brought you here because you are family." He stopped in front of me. "But yes. I need your signature. And I will get it. One way or another."
His voice was cold and deadly.