Chapter 16 Nikolai
I woke to the gray morning light filtering through Anya's small window. For a moment, I was confused. The bed was too small. The room was too plain. The air smelled like soap and something sweet I could not name.
Then I remembered where I was.
And whose waist my arm was wrapped around.
I should have pulled away immediately and put distance between us.
But I did not move.
Anya was still asleep. Her breathing was soft and even. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow. In sleep, she looked even younger than usual. Peaceful and not afraid.
When was the last time I had seen her not afraid?
I carefully removed my arm from her waist. She stirred slightly but did not wake. I sat up slowly, trying not to disturb the bed too much.
The morning routine was becoming too familiar. This was only the third night, but it already felt like something more than temporary.
That thought made my chest tight.
I stood and moved to the small mirror on her dresser. I looked like hell. My hair was messy. My shirt was wrinkled from sleeping in it. My face had stubble.
I looked like a man who had spent the night with a woman.
Which I had. Just not in the way people would think.
Behind me, I heard Anya stir. The bed creaked as she sat up.
"You are leaving," she said. It was not a question.
"Yes. The servants will be waking soon." I picked up my jacket and tie from the chair. "We cannot be seen together in the morning."
"Because of last night?"
"Yes." I turned to face her. She was sitting up in bed, her nightgown twisted around her small frame. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep.
"Last night. You heard the guards outside your door."
"Yes." Her voice was quiet. "They know you are here."
"Which means everyone will know by noon." I ran my hand through my hair, frustrated. "Mikhail was right. We cannot keep this a secret."
"So what do we do?" Anya pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She looked so small.
I had thought about this all through the meeting last night. Had considered every angle while Boris Zaytsev and his men had questioned me about her.
"I’ll come up with something before the end of the day." I said, walking towards the door.
As I stepped out, the hallway was empty. I walked quickly back to my wing, keeping my head down.
But I could feel eyes on me. The servants were peering from doorways. Guards watched from their posts. They all saw me leaving the servants' wing at dawn.
By noon, everyone would know.
By evening, my enemies would know.
The game had to change.
When I reached my quarter, Mikhail was waiting. He sat in my study, drinking my vodka, looking frustrated.
"You look like you spent the night in a closet," he observed.
"I spent it in a small bed, actually." I poured myself vodka. "And before you start, I know. Everyone knows. I saw them watching."
"Good. Then you understand we need to control this." Mikhail leaned forward. "What story are we telling?"
"That she is my mistress and I only keep her for pleasure." I drank the vodka in one swallow. "It is simpler than the truth."
"Much simpler." Mikhail nodded. "But you will need to sell it. And act the part well to make it clear she is yours."
"I know."
"Can you do that? Touch her like that after what happened three nights ago?"
I remembered how Anya had looked when I ordered her to strip. How she had trembled. How I had stopped because I could not become my father.
"I will have to," I said.
"Will she agree to this?"
"She has no choice."
Mikhail was quiet. Then he said, "You know this will make her a target, right? If your enemies believe she matters to you, they will come for her. Mistress or not."
"I know." The thought made my stomach turn. "I will protect her."
"Why?" Mikhail's eyes were sharp on me. "Why protect her at all? She is Marco Koslov's daughter. Your enemy's child. Why not just let them take her? It would solve all your problems."
The question hung in the air between us.
Why protect her? Why care if she lived or died? Why risk everything for a girl I was supposed to hate?
"Because she is mine," I said finally. "And I protect what is mine."
"Even when protecting her puts you at risk?"
"Yes."
Mikhail stared at me. Then he sighed. "You care about her. You can lie to everyone else, but do not lie to me. You care about the detective's daughter."
"I do not care," I snapped. "I need her to sleep. That is all. Once I can sleep on my own again, she will be nothing to me."
"Keep telling yourself that," Mikhail said. He stood up. "But I know you, Nikolai. Better than anyone. And I see what is happening. You are falling for her."
"I am not falling for anyone." I raised my eyes at him.
"Then prove it. Tonight, there is a gathering tomorrow. All five families will be there. Bring her. Show everyone she is just your mistress. Just a warm body. Nothing more."
The thought of parading Anya in front of those men made me angry. But Mikhail was right. I needed to prove she meant nothing.
Even if it was a lie.
"Fine," I said. "I will bring her."
"Good." Mikhail moved towards the door. "And Nikolai? Make it convincing. Because if anyone suspects you actually care, they will use her to destroy you."
He left.
I stood alone in my study and poured more vodka.
I sent for Vera. The head housemaid.
She arrived, her face carefully blank.
“You sent for me Pakhan?” Her voice was low.
“The girl, Anya,” I said, not turning from the window. “She is to be moved. Today.”
“Moved, sir?” Her voice shook.
“To the room next to mine. The blue room.” I said quietly.
I heard her sharp intake of breath. The blue room was for important guests. Or for a kept woman.
“I… see,” Vera said slowly.
“You will have her things transferred. She is not a servant anymore. She does not clean. She does not work. Her only duty is to be available to me. Is that understood?”
“Understood, Pakhan,” Vera said, her voice tight.
“Good. Have it done by noon.”
I went to the training room in the basement. I pounded the punching bag until my knuckles were raw and my shoulders screamed. I needed the pain. It cleared my head. It reminded me who I was.
A killer. A Pakhan. Not a man who needed a girl to keep the dark away.
By the time I returned. Anya was already in the room next to mine. I could hear movements.
She would be really mad at my decision.
Why do I even care about feelings?
Why do I feel so sick?
I did not have an answer.
The day dragged on. Meetings after meetings. But my focus was divided. I kept wondering if she was settled. If she hated the new room.
As evening fell, a strange tension settled in my chest. The shadows in my office seemed longer. The silence felt heavier. The walls were just walls, but they felt like they were waiting to close in.
It was the fear. The old, childish fear. It was coming back because I knew the remedy was now just down the hall. And I didn’t know if I should go.
Pride told me to stay away. To fight the dark alone like I had for twenty years.
But need… need was a louder, and more desperate voice.
I waited until the estate was quiet. Until it was so late. I told myself I was just checking on my possession. Making sure she was still there.
I didn’t knock. I just opened the door to the blue room and stepped inside.
It was dark, but moonlight streamed through the large window. The room was beautiful. It suited her, though she didn’t belong in a gilded cage.
She was asleep in the big, four-poster bed. She looked even smaller in it. Her hair fanned out on the silk pillowcase.
My body ached with tiredness. The fight from the panic was exhausting.
Quietly, I took off my shoes and my jacket. I lay down on top of the covers, as far from her as I could. The bed was massive. An ocean of space between us.
I closed my eyes. I listened to her breathe.
But it wasn’t the same. The room was too big. The bed was too soft. The scent was all expensive linen, not soap and her.
The darkness behind my eyelids began to swirl. I could smell damp earth. I could feel the rough wood of the cellar walls. My breath hitched.
“Nikolai?” I heard her call.
Her voice was soft, and sleepy.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
I heard the rustle of sheets. Then, slowly, she moved. Not away, but closer. She didn’t touch me. But she settled in the middle of the vast bed, closing the distance.
The scent of soap reached me.
And my breathing slowly evened out. The cellar walls retreated.
“This bed is too big,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
A faint, unexpected smile touched my lips. “You complain about a better bed?”
She shook her head. And without thinking, I moved. I turned onto my side and reached for her. My arm went around her, pulling her back against my chest. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed with a small sigh.
Sleep started pulling me under.
Then she spoke, her whisper so faint I almost didn’t hear it.
“You can’t hide what this is by moving my bedroom.”