Chapter 5 Anya
Nikolai kept silent for a while, then his gaze darkened.
"I do not care. But she is my property now. And no one touches what belongs to me without permission."
His words echoed in the silent study. I stood frozen by the bathroom door, towels still clutched in my trembling hands. My head was down, but I could feel the tension in the room like electricity before a storm.
The dangerously beautiful lady’s eyes narrowed. She looks like she was raised in wealth and power. Her skin was flawless, glowing under the lights.
I took a glance and saw her looking between Nikolai and me.
"Of course," she said finally. Her voice was sweet like poisoned honey.
"Forgive me. I was just curious."
She moved back to her seat and picked up her expensive purse. Everything about her screamed wealth and power. The kind of power I would never have. The kind of woman who belonged in Nikolai's world while I was just something he owned.
"I should go. My father will be expecting me. We have much to discuss about the wedding." She stood gracefully, smoothing her designer dress.
Wedding? My stomach dropped. Nikolai was getting married. To this cruel, beautiful woman who looked at me like I was dirt on her expensive shoes.
Nikolai stood to walk her out which was strange. At the door, the lady paused. She turned back to look at me one last time, and her smile made my blood run cold.
"Enjoy scrubbing floors, little mouse," she said sweetly. "It is all you will ever be good for."
Then she left.
The door closed behind them with a soft click. I stood alone in the study, my whole body shaking. Tears started sliding down my face before I could stop them. Silent tears that I had learned to cry without making a sound. Because loud crying brought punishment. Loud crying only made them angrier.
Four years with the Petrov family had taught me how to cry quietly.
I tried to wipe the tears away with my sleeve, but they kept coming.
Everything hurts. My hands. My back. My heart. I was so tired of being small. So tired of being afraid. So tired of being nothing.
The door opened again. Nikolai came back in. He did not look at me as he moved to his desk and sat down. He picked up some papers and began reading like nothing had happened.
I stood there, tears still falling, not knowing if I should leave or stay or apologize or disappear.
"Go back to your room," Nikolai said without looking up.
I nodded even though he could not see me. Then I fled.
I ran through the corridors on bare feet, still clutching the towels I had brought for his bathroom. I did not stop until I reached my small room in the servants' wing. I locked the door behind me and collapsed on my bed.
And then I let myself cry. The kind of crying that came from deep inside where I kept all the pain locked away. I cried for my father. For my brother Dmitri who I had not seen in four years. For the girl I used to be before the world broke me.
I cried until there were no more tears left.
Then I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, and thought about the lady’s words. Little mouse. That was what Sergei Petrov used to call me too. Like I was something small and worthless that could be crushed under their feet.
Maybe they were right. Maybe that was all I would ever be.
The days passed in a blur of work and fear.
I cleaned Nikolai's rooms every day. Scrubbed floors. Dusted furniture. Changed sheets. I made myself invisible. The other servants whispered about me when they thought I could not hear.
"She is the Blood Tithe girl."
"The detective's daughter."
"She stays in Nikolai's private wing. He must want her for something."
I ignored the whispers. Ignored the looks. And focused on surviving one day at a time.
Nikolai rarely spoke to me. Sometimes I would feel his eyes on me while I worked, watching me in a way that made my skin prickle. But he never touched me again. Never came close. Just watched like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
I did not understand him. This brutal man who killed my father. Who took me as revenge. Who owned me like property. But who also made sure I ate three meals a day. Who told his woman I was his property and no one could touch me. Who listened to me hum my mother's lullabies and did not tell me to stop.
He confused me and terrified me.
Then one night, it was late. Maybe midnight. I was sleeping in my small bed when someone knocked on my door. Not a gentle knock. A hard, demanding knock that made me jolt awake.
I opened the door to find two female servants I had seen before but never spoke to. They looked at me with expressions I could not read. Pity maybe. Or disgust.
"Come with us," one of them said. "The Pakhan has sent for you."
My heart stopped. "Why? What does he want?"
"You don't ask questions. You only obey." The other replied.
They did not give me time to change. I was wearing a thin nightgown, my hair loose and messy from sleep. They grabbed my arms and pulled me through the corridors.
But we did not go to Nikolai's study. We went to his bedroom!
The two servants pushed me inside and closed the door behind me. I heard them leave, their footsteps fading down the hallway.
I stood alone in Nikolai's bedroom, my whole body shaking with terror.
The room was huge. A massive bed with black silk sheets and dark furniture. Floor to ceiling windows showing the forests beyond. And a lamp burning in the corner, casting warm light across everything.
Nikolai sat at a desk by the window, working on something. He did not look up when I entered.
I did not know what to do. Should I speak? Should I wait? Should I run?
Minutes passed. Maybe five. Maybe ten. I stood there frozen, my bare feet cold on the expensive floor, my heart pounding so hard I thought he must be able to hear it.
Finally, Nikolai spoke without turning around. "You were brought here because the other servants think you should serve me in other ways. They prepared you. Send you to my bedroom like a gift."
My stomach turned to ice. I knew what he meant. Knew what happened to girls summoned to powerful men's bedrooms in the middle of the night.
"But," Nikolai continued, still not looking at me, "you have made me lose my appetite." He said coldly.
The words should have made me feel relieved. Instead, they made me feel ashamed. Even as a gift, I was not good enough.
Nikolai finally turned to look at me. His storm gray eyes traveled over my thin nightgown, my small frame, my frightened face. "You are too thin. Too young-looking. Too much like a frightened child." He paused. "Sending you back now would make me appear weak. So you will stay here tonight. You will sleep on the floor. You will not speak. You will not move. You will not make me regret keeping you alive. Do you understand?"
I nodded. My voice would not work.
"There." Nikolai pointed to a spot on the floor beside his desk. "Sleep there where I can see you."
I moved to the spot he indicated. The floor was covered with expensive carpet but it was still hard. I curled up on my side, making myself as small as possible, and closed my eyes.
But I did not sleep.
I listened to Nikolai working at his desk. The scratch of his pen on paper. The rustle of pages turning. The soft clink of his glass when he drank something. Hours passed. The lamp in the corner kept burning. It never went out.
Through my lashes, I watched him.
Nikolai worked until his eyes grew tired. Then he would stand and pace the room, always staying in the circle of light from the lamp. Never going near the dark corners. Never turning off that light.
I remembered what my father used to tell me. That understanding people was survival. That if you could see what someone feared, you could predict what they would do next.
And I understood then, watching Nikolai Markov work through the night with a lamp that never went out, watching him flinch at shadows and position himself so he could always see the light.
The Pakhan who ruled Moscow through terror. The man who killed my father. The monster everyone feared.
Could he be afraid of the dark?
This knowledge settled in my chest like a secret.
I must have fallen asleep eventually because I woke to gray dawn light streaming through the windows. The lamp was still burning. Nikolai was still at his desk, still working. He hadn't slept.
I stood up, my legs were weak. Nikolai's head snapped up. His eyes fell on me. For one second, he looked vulnerable. Tired. Almost human.
Then his face went cold again. Back to the brutal Pakhan.
"Anya." His voice was cold.
I froze. It was the first time he had said my name. Really said it, not just mentioning it during the ceremony.
He stood up, moving towards me with those controlled steps.
I looked up at his storm gray eyes as they scanned my body. They were dark and scary.
“Pull off your clothes.” He ordered.
And I felt my world stop.