Chapter 43 The Marks
Anya woke to the pale grey of morning slipping through the curtains. The sheets clung cold against her skin, twisted around her legs like she’d been restless all night. Her clothes lay in a careless trail across the room, one shoe tipped over, her top half hanging off a chair.
She shifted, then went stilled. A dull ache settled deep in her body, pulling a sharp breath from her lips. Her muscles protested the smallest movement, and her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric beneath her, as if bracing against the memory her body hadn’t forgotten even if her mind had.
She stared at the ceiling for a long moment, unmoving, the silence around her thick with everything she couldn’t quite piece together.
She sat up slowly, the sheet falling away.
And saw the marks.
They were scattered across her body like a map of the night, a bruise on her hip where she'd pressed against the bookshelf, a scratch on her shoulder from some forgotten edge and the tender spots on her neck where his mouth had lingered too long which was a proof that the passion had been real.
She touched her collarbone, feeling the slight roughness where his stubble had rubbed her skin raw. The mark there was small but unmistakable, it was a love bite, dark against her pale flesh.
“He looked at me like that once too.” Lena's words echoed in her mind, a warning she couldn't shake.
Anya dressed carefully, choosing a sweater with a high neck that would cover the evidence. She had seventy-two hours to make a decision nd she had a secret she hadn't shared with anyone not even Dima.
The second Petrova Key drive was still in her possession.
She'd never told him she'd kept a copy. When they'd hidden the original in the library, she'd slipped the duplicate into the lining of her favorite bag as a safety net in case everything went wrong.
If she'd told him, they'd be fully committed and if she kept it, she retained some control, power and way to protect herself if things went wrong.
She touched the hidden compartment in her bag, feeling the small shape of the drive which serves as insurance for now.
Breakfast was a minefield.
Anya arrived early, hoping to settle herself before the others appeared. But Lena was already there, seated at the table with a cup of coffee, her perfect face composed and unreadable.
"Good morning." Lena's voice was calm, polite. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough." Anya took her usual seat, keeping her movements careful, controlled. "You?"
"As well as can be expected." Lena's eyes flickered over Anya, missing nothing. "This house has a way of disturbing rest."
Before Anya could respond, Dima entered. He looked as composed as ever, he was on a dark suit and perfect hair. When his eyes found Anya immediately, a brief flicker of warmth before he looked away.
"Lena, Anya." He nodded to each, taking his seat. "Quiet morning."
"The quiet ones are my favorite," Lena said smoothly. "Less to navigate."
Evelyn drifted in, followed by Nikolai's booming voice. The meal proceeded with the usual performance which was the polite conversation, careful smiles and the constant undercurrent of tension.
Anya kept her neck covered, her movements small and her eyes on her plate but halfway through the meal, she reached for the cream pitcher, and her sweater shifted.
Just slightly but enough.
Lena's eyes immediately caught the dark mark on Anya's collarbone, visible for a single heartbeat before Anya adjusted her sweater. Their eyes met across the table.
Lena's expression didn't change. But her hand moved slowly and eliberately, to her coffee cup. She set it down with a soft, precise click.
Anya's heart pounded, but she held Lena's gaze, refusing to look away. Something passed between them like recognition and understanding which was a silent acknowledgment of shared knowledge.
Then Lena looked away, returning to her breakfast as if nothing had happened.
The meal continued but everything had shifted.
After breakfast, Anya fled to her room.
She needed to think and process cause Lena knew and had seen the mark, understood what it meant, and chosen to say nothing for now.
Anya checked her bag making sure the drive was still there, hidden in its secret compartment.
She sat on her bed, staring at the wall, trying to sort through the chaos of her emotions.
She had feelings she couldn't categorize for a man who should be her enemy. Dima Volkov was the son of her father's killer, the warden of her prison and the architect of her captivity. He was also her partner, protector and lover but the lines between enemy and ally, captor and confidant, had blurred until she couldn't see them anymore.
And now Lena knew. Lena, who had loved him first, who had been sacrificed to protect her, who was watching Anya with knowing eyes.
What did Lena see when she looked at Anya? A replacement? A fool? A woman walking the same path she'd walked, toward the same inevitable heartbreak?
Anya didn't know. Couldn't know.
But she had a choice to make. Reveal the second drive, or keep it hidden. Trust Dima completely, or retain some control.
She thought of his hands on her face, his voice in her ear, his promises of forever. She thought of the guardianship clause, hidden in the fine print. She thought of Lena's warning, echoing in the darkness.
He doesn't mean to destroy things. He just does.
Her hand hovered over her bag, the hidden drive calling to her.
Insurance. For now.
She left the room for a walk, needing air, needing space. The gardens were cold but beautiful, the winter sun weak on her face. She walked without direction, letting her feet carry her where they would.
When she returned to her room hours later, something was different.
She felt it immediately, a shift in the air, a wrongness she couldn't name. Her eyes swept the room, searching. Her bag was where she'd left it. Her clothes hung neatly in the closet. Everything seemed normal.
But on her pillow, something lay.
A photograph.
She crossed to the bed slowly, her heart pounding. She picked it up with trembling fingers.
It was a younger Dima, maybe twenty-five, his face open and unguarded in a way she'd rarely seen. He was laughing, truly laughing, his head thrown back, his whole body relaxed. Beside him, Lena was younger too, her hair loose in the wind. She was laughing with him, her hand on his arm, her face turned toward his with an expression of pure, uncomplicated love.
They were on a beach somewhere, the ocean behind them, the sun warm on their skin.
Anya's eyes burned.
She turned the photograph over.
On the back, in elegant handwriting:
He looked at me like that once too. It doesn't end well.
The photograph fell from her fingers, drifting to the floor.
Anya stood frozen, Lena's words echoing in the silence.
It doesn't end well.
She looked at her bag, at the hidden drive, at the only insurance she had against a future she couldn't predict.
And she wondered if Lena was warning her or telling her the truth.