Chapter 64 The Plan
The library was quiet again, the books still scattered on the floor where they'd fallen, the darkness thick around her. Anya stood alone in the center of the room, her dress straightened, her hair smoothed, her body still humming with the memory of Dima's hands. She touched her lips where he'd kissed her, felt the warmth still there, and let herself have this moment. Just one moment before she became someone else.
She heard him before she saw him. The soft creak of the door, the whisper of his feet on the carpet, the way he moved through the dark like he'd been born in it. She didn't turn. She knew who it was.
"You shouldn't be here." Her voice was quiet, steady. "He could come looking for me."
"He won't." Dima moved closer, stopping just behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him through her dress. "He thinks he's already won. He's not worried about what happens in the dark."
She turned to face him. His face was still flushed from the library, his shirt untucked, his hair disheveled where her fingers had been. He looked like a man who had been put back together wrong, like the pieces of him didn't quite fit anymore.
"We need to talk," she said. "About what happens next."
He moved to the window, his back to her, his hands in his pockets. The moon was rising, pale light cutting through the clouds, throwing his shadow long across the floor.
"Then talk."
She crossed to the table where the candles had burned down to nothing, where Dmitri had sat across from her and told her she looked like her father. She thought of his cold fingers on her hand, his grey eyes fixed on her face, the way he'd said her name like it was something he already owned.
"I'm going to let him court me. I'm going to let him believe I'm considering his proposal. I'm going to let him think he's winning." She looked at Dima's back, at the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched in his pockets. "I need to get close to him. I need to find out what he's planning, what he knows, what he's hiding. And the only way to do that is to let him believe I'm choosing him."
Dima turned. His face was pale in the moonlight, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. "You want to let him touch you. You want to let him hold your hand, take you to dinner, pretend he's courting you like some kind of gentleman."
"I want to let him think he's winning. There's a difference." She moved toward him, stopping just out of reach. "He's been watching me since I was a child. He knows my habits, my weaknesses, my fears. He knows what I'll do when I'm scared, what I'll say when I'm cornered, what I'll give up when I have nothing left. The only way to surprise him is to be something he doesn't expect."
She reached out, taking his hand, feeling the tension in his fingers, the way they wanted to curl into fists.
"I'm going to surprise him, Dima. I'm going to let him think he's getting what he wants, and then I'm going to show him what happens to men who try to own me."
He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face, his hand cold in hers.
"What if he hurts you? What if he decides he doesn't want to wait? What if he—"
She squeezed his hand. "He won't. He wants me to choose him. He wants me to come to him willingly, to sign that contract, to become his wife. He's been waiting for this since he was seventeen years old. He's not going to ruin it by being impatient."
Dima pulled his hand away, moving back to the window, his back to her again. "You don't know that. You don't know what he's capable of. I've seen what he does to people who refuse him. I've seen what he does to people who get in his way."
She moved behind him, her hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the fear he was trying to hide. "Then help me. Help me find what we need to destroy him. Help me get close enough to see what he's hiding. Help me end this, so we can stop being afraid of what he'll do next."
He turned, his hands finding her waist, pulling her close. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm on her lips.
"I'll help you. I'll do whatever you need me to do. But I need you to promise me something."
She waited. His hands tightened on her waist.
"The moment he hurts you—the moment he lays a hand on you that you didn't invite, that you didn't plan, that you didn't choose—I end him. Plan or no plan. Strategy or no strategy. I end him."
She nodded slowly, her hands framing his face. "He's going to try. He's going to test me, push me, see how far he can go before I break. He's going to touch me, and hold my hand, and stand close enough to kiss me. He's going to try to make me afraid, to make me doubt, to make me forget who I am."
She kissed him, soft and brief, a promise she intended to keep.
"That's when you'll have your chance. That's when he'll be careless, when he'll think he's won, when he'll let something slip that he shouldn't. And when that happens, I need you to be ready."
He pulled her close, his arms around her, his face buried in her hair. "I'm always ready. I've been ready for this since I was old enough to understand what he was."
They stood like that in the dark library, holding each other, the weight of what they were about to do pressing down on both of them.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes were clear, her hands steady.
"There's something I haven't told you. About what I found in Zurich."
He watched her, his face still, his hands loose at his sides.
"The safe my father left me. It wasn't just evidence about Dmitri. It was a plan. A way to destroy everything he's built, everything his father's built, everything they've been hiding for twenty years."
She reached into her pocket, pulling out the small drive she'd taken from Zurich. It was cool in her hand, heavy with the weight of everything her father had died to protect.
"But it's not enough. Not yet. I need access to his files, his accounts, his communications. I need to know what he's planning, who he's working with, what he's hiding. And the only way to get that is to get close enough to take it."
She pressed the drive into his hand, closing his fingers around it.
"This is everything I found in Zurich. Everything my father left me. I'm giving it to you because I trust you to use it if something happens to me. If he finds out what I'm doing, if he decides he doesn't want to wait, if I don't come back—you use this. You destroy him. You burn everything he's built to the ground."
His hand tightened on the drive, his jaw tight. "Nothing's going to happen to you."
She smiled, small and fierce. "Nothing's going to happen to me. Because I have you. Because you're going to be watching, waiting, ready to catch me when I fall."
He pulled her close, his arms around her, his heart pounding against her chest.
"I don't want to watch him touch you. I don't want to stand in the shadows while he pretends you're his."
She held him tight, her face buried in his chest. "I know. But I need you to. I need you to be there, watching, waiting, ready. Because when this is over—when we've won—I'm going to need you to remind me who I am. Who I was before he tried to make me someone else."
He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips. "When this is over, I'm going to spend the rest of my life reminding you."
She pulled away, her hands sliding down his arms, her fingers lacing with his.
"Go. Before someone sees you. Before he starts asking questions."
He didn't want to. She could see it in his face, the way his eyes lingered on her, the way his hands held hers like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
"Tomorrow," he said. "I'll be watching."
Tomorrow, she would become someone else. Someone who smiled at Dmitri Smirnov, who let him hold her hand, who let him believe she was choosing him.
But tonight, she was still Anya. Still the woman who had walked out of this house with nothing but a key and a photograph. Still the woman who had found her father's truth in a safe in Zurich. Still the woman who had given everything to the man who loved her, because she knew he would keep it safe until she came back to claim it.
She moved to the window, looking out at the dark grounds, at the gate where Dima had stood every night waiting for her. The moon was high now, pale light cutting through the clouds, throwing long shadows across the frozen ground.
She thought of the contract she was going to sign, the words she was going to write, the life she was going to pretend to choose. She thought of Dima's hands on her face, his voice in her ear, his promise to catch her when she fell.
She smiled, small and fierce.
Let Dmitri think he was winning. Let him think she was choosing him. Let him think he knew her, owned her, controlled her.
He didn't know anything.
\---
In his room, Dima sat on the edge of his bed, the drive from Zurich in his hand. It was small, ordinary, the kind of thing that could be lost in a pocket or dropped in a drawer and forgotten. But he knew what it held. He knew what her father had died to protect. He knew what Anya was risking to finish what he'd started.
He thought of Dmitri's hands on her, the way he'd touched her at dinner, the way he'd walked her through the garden, the way he'd looked at her like she was something he already owned. He thought of the plan, the waiting, the pretending. He thought of the moment when Dmitri would try to hurt her, when he would test her, when he would push her to see how far she would go before she broke.
He closed his fingers around the drive, feeling the weight of it, the weight of everything she'd given him.
She was right. He would watch. He would wait. He would be ready. And when the moment came, when Dmitri Smirnov made the mistake of thinking he'd won, he would end him.
He lay back on the bed, the drive pressed against his chest, and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he would become someone else. Someone who had lost her, who couldn't fight for her, who let Dmitri Smirnov take what he wanted. He would watch her smile at another man, let another man touch her, pretend to choose another man's future.
But tonight, he was still Dima. Still the man who had waited for her at the gate, who had trusted her when she asked him to, who loved her more than he'd ever loved anything in his life.
He closed his eyes, the drive warm against his skin.
Tomorrow, he would watch. Tomorrow, he would wait. But tonight, he let himself believe that when this was over, she would come back to him.
\---
In the garden, Dmitri Smirnov stood alone, looking up at the window where a light had just gone out. He'd seen her leave the library, seen her climb the stairs, seen her close the door behind her. He'd seen Dima slip out after her, his shirt untucked, his hair disheveled, his face the face of a man who had just lost something he couldn't name.
He should be angry. He should be worried. He should be doing something to stop what was happening in the dark, in the rooms he couldn't see, in the spaces where she was still pretending she belonged to someone else.