Chapter 90 Nikolai
The days blurred together after the wedding.
I became a shadow in Ivanov's mansion, moving quietly through halls and rooms, watching everything, learning everything.
I studied him like a predator studies its prey.
His routines became clear to me within the first week. He woke at six every morning, drank black coffee with two sugars, and read the newspaper in his study for exactly thirty minutes. He wore only Italian suits, preferred red wine over white, and ate steak that is never well done. He retired to his chambers at eleven each night. He always keeps Anya by his side. He never lets her out of his sight. It was beginning to seem like an obsession.
I memorized every detail, every habit, every weakness.
The guards were my next focus. I watched every guard closely. With everything that Ivanov is, he is nothing without his guards. Nothing without protection. If I could win some of them over, I would be able to face him.
I started with the younger ones. The ones who looked tired and broken. The ones who flinched when Ivanov walked past.
There was Viktor, a tall man with sad eyes who worked the night shift. He was too young to be working as a guard. I offered him the cigarettes I had stolen from the kitchen. We smoked together in silence at first, then he started talking.
"I hate this place," he said one night as we smoked. His voice was low and bitter.
"Why then are you still here?" I asked, leaning closer to him.
"Because I have no choice. Ivanov owns me. He owns all of us. He cleared my father's debt and offered to raise me."
I nodded and said nothing more. But I remembered his words.
There was Dmitri, not the Dmitri I knew but another one. He was younger and angrier. He had scars on his hands from where Ivanov had burned him for dropping a glass.
"I hope someone kills that bastard," he whispered to me once while we were cleaning the garage together.
"Maybe someone will," I said carefully.
He looked intently at me. His eyes bore into mine. And I saw understanding in his eyes. We both share the same desire.
There was Pavel, an older guard who limped from an injury Ivanov had caused years ago. He barely spoke but when he did, his hatred was clear.
"He is a monster," Pavel told me while we were moving furniture. "I have seen what he does to people. What he did to your Anya."
My hands clenched. "What did he do to her?"
Pavel shook his head. "Things a husband should never do to a wife."
I wanted to ask more but he walked away, leaving me with rage burning in my chest.
I did not tell any of them my plan. I could not risk it. But I got close to them, close enough that when the time came, they might look the other way.
After weeks of relating to half of Ivanov's guards, it turned out most of them hated Ivanov. I learned this quickly. They only served him because they feared him, because he paid them well, because they had nowhere else to go.
But they did not love him. They did not respect him.
And that was his weakness.
I also learned where he kept his weapons. A locked cabinet in his study held three handguns and a rifle. The key was in his desk drawer. The third one from the left.
I learned where he kept his money. A safe behind a painting in his bedroom. The combination was Anya's birthday, because of course it was. He had become obsessed with her.
I learned his security codes, his passwords, his secret meetings with corrupt council members.
I learned everything.
I didn't write them down. Writing them down could lead to someone finding out. And I couldn't let that happen. Not again.
I chipped in a tip of my plans to the guards. Some of them bought the idea while some, the weaker ones, were too scared. But I knew what to do. When the time comes, they would have no choice.
I waited patiently for the perfect moment to strike.
But as days turned into weeks, something else happened.
I started seeing Anya less and less. She became a ghost in the mansion, appearing only when Ivanov summoned her.
When I did see her, she looked different. Thinner. Paler. Her eyes were empty, like all the life had been drained from them.
Ivanov announced that I would be serving them now. He made me serve them during breakfast and dinner. I hated every second of it. Watching him touch her, watching him speak to her like she was his property.
She never looked at me during these meals. She kept her eyes down with her hands folded in her lap.
One morning I noticed bruises on her wrists. Dark purple marks where someone had grabbed her too hard.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the coffee pot.
"Careful, Markov," Ivanov said with a smile. "That coffee is expensive."
I set the pot down and stepped back. I wanted to kill him right there. But I could not. Not yet.
After breakfast I asked one of the kitchen staff about Anya. A young girl named Sasha who sometimes brought food to the upper floors.
"How is Mrs. Ivanov?" I asked quietly.
Sasha looked around nervously. "She is not well."
"What do you mean?" My voice cracked.
"Mr. Ivanov is rough with her. We can hear her crying sometimes through the walls."
My vision went red. "And no one does anything?"
"What can we do? He is our master. She is his wife. It is not our place."
"It should be someone's place," I said through clenched teeth.
Sasha touched my arm gently. "You care for her."
"Yes."
"Then be careful. Mr. Ivanov is watching you. He knows you still have feelings for her. That is why he makes you serve them. That is why he hurts her in front of you. He wants you to suffer."
I knew she was right. But knowing did not make it easier.
They barely fed me.
Once a day, late at night, a guard would bring me leftovers from Ivanov's dinner. Sometimes it was enough. Usually it was not.
I grew thinner. My clothes hung loose on my body. My hands shook from hunger and exhaustion.
But I kept working, watching and planning.
Because soon, very soon, I would make my move.
And Ivanov would pay for everything he had done.