Chapter 44 Evidence Gathering
The photograph stayed under Anya’s pillow for exactly one day.
By the next morning, it was gone from sight, slipped between the pages of a book on her desk, the spine pressed shut as if that could quiet it. Still, her hand found it more than once, her fingertips lingering on the cover before she forced herself away. Later in library, her pen hovered above her notebook, unmoving while the same three words looped in the margins until the ink began to dig through the paper.
The library was too quiet at noon.
Anya sat at the far table, a book open in front of her, untouched. Her leg bounced beneath the desk, heel tapping a steady, restless rhythm against the floor. She checked the time.
A chair scraped softly across the floor.
She looked up.
Dima slid into the seat opposite her, his movements precise, his gaze flicked once over her shoulder, then to the windows, then back to her.
“Tonight,” he said.
Her fingers stilled against the page.
“Tasha’s ready.”
The name caught in her throat. “Tasha?”
He leaned in, voice dropping until it barely carried past the table. “Irina’s girlfriend, the one I told you about.”
Anya’s grip tightened on the edge of the book.
“She’s been inside the system for months,” he continued, eyes steady on hers, “mapping it..” He paused, then, quieter “tonight, my father’s out, he is having dinner with Maxim for about two hours.”
“Irina will get us in while Tasha would open the rest” he added.
The library clock ticked above them, loud in the silence.
Anya didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped, unfocused, to the page in front of her, lines of text blurring together before she slowly closed the book.
"And us?"
"We behave normal, have dinner with Lena and Evelyn." He caught her hand, squeezing briefly. "Can you do that?"
Anya thought of the photograph under her pillow, Lena's knowing eyes and the second drive hidden in her bag.
"Yes," she said. "I can do that."
Dinner that night was an exercise in controlled performance.
Nikolai was absent—at his dinner, as planned. Evelyn was vague and distracted, her wine glass never empty. Lena was perfect, as always, her conversation light, her smile warm, her eyes occasionally flickering to Anya with something unreadable.
Irina was late, arriving halfway through the meal with a breathless apology. "Lost track of time, Tasha called."
The name hung in the air. Lena's eyebrow arched slightly, but she said nothing.
After dinner, they drifted to the sitting room. Drinks were poured, conversation meandered. Anya's skin prickled with the awareness that somewhere in this house, Irina was doing something dangerous.
At ten o'clock, Irina's phone buzzed. She glanced at it then smile.
"Tasha says goodnight. She's off to wherever hackers go at night." She stretched, feigning boredom. "I'm exhausted, I think I'll go in."
Anya caught the signal. She waited ten minutes, then excused herself.
In Irina's room, Tasha Volkov—not officially Volkov, but Irina wore the name like armor, sat cross-legged on the bed, a laptop open before her. She was small, sharp-featured, with dark hair pulled into a messy knot and eyes that missed nothing.
"You're Anya." Her voice was flat, direct. "Irina's told me about you."
"I hope they are good things?."
"Irina doesn't do 'good things.' She does accurate things." Tasha's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Sit and watch."
Anya sat on the edge of the bed, peering at the screen. It was filled with files, folders, documents consisting of names and dates while Nikolai's private server, laid bare.
"You got everything?"
"I got everything that wasn't encrypted, the encrypted stuff will take time." Tasha's fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up files. "But what I got is enough to put him away for multiple lifetimes which includes financial records, communications, photographs." She paused. "And files about you."
Anya's blood ran cold. "About me?"
Tasha pulled up a folder with Anya's name on it, neat and official. Inside were documents, surveillance photos, background checks, psychological profiles. Pages and pages of information about her life, compiled before the wedding.
"They've been watching you for months," Tasha said flatly. "Before your mother even met Nikolai, before any of this started." She scrolled through the files. "Your habits, your friends, your weaknesses, everything."
Anya stared at the screen, her own face staring back from a dozen photographs. From her leaving her apartment, walking across campus to her laughing with Katya at a café. She'd been watched, cataloged, analyzed and she'd never known.
"Did Dima know?" The question came out before she could stop it.
Tasha was silent for a moment, then, slowly, she nodded.
"These files are on the server, he's had access to the server for years." Her eyes met Anya's, flat and honest. "He knew."
The words hit like a physical blow.
He knew, Dima knew his father had been watching her, cataloging her, preparing to use her and he'd never said a word.
Anya's hands trembled. "How long?"
"Hard to say, probably months cause some of these are dated over a year ago." Tasha closed the folder, her expression unchanged. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, I'm saying it because you should know that everyone in this house keeps secrets and you deserve to decide which ones you can live with."
Anya sat frozen, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her.
Dima knew and he kept it away from her.
Just like the guardianship clause, Lena and everything.
The door opened. Dima stood there, his eyes moving from Anya's pale face to Tasha's impassive one to the screen still showing the files.
"Anya." His voice was careful, "I can explain."
She stood still, unable to mobe
"Can you?" She looked at him, the man she'd trusted, loved and given everything to. "Can you explain why you didn't tell me your father was watching me long before we ever met?"
His jaw tightened. "Because it wouldn't have changed anything. You were already trapped and knowing would only have made it worse."
"That's not your choice to make." Her voice was quiet, but steel ran through it. "You don't get to decide what I can handle or get to keep secrets that are about me."
He moved toward her, but she stepped back.
"Not now." She held up a hand. "Not tonight, I need…" She stopped, breathing hard. "I need to think."
She walked past him, out of the room, down the hall, away from his explanations, his justifications and his beautiful, broken face.
In her room, she pulled out the photograph from under her pillow.
“It doesn't end well”, she kept on remembering what Lena said.
She looked at her bag, at the hidden drive she'd been right to keep.
And now, more than ever, she needed to decide what to do with it.