Chapter 8 The Letter
I lie on the bed for what feels like hours, drifting in and out of shallow naps. The silence in this house is unnerving, like even the air is afraid to move.
Not too long after Nikolai left and I heard the sound of his car fade down the driveway, a maid slipped in with my breakfast. She didn’t speak, only bowed slightly before setting the tray down. I devoured everything like someone who hadn’t eaten in days, because truthfully, I hadn’t had a proper meal aside last night's dinner.
Now, I lie staring at the ceiling, tracing the intricate designs of the chandelier as my mind drifts back to the day before. In the span of twenty-four hours, my entire life has been rewritten. Yesterday, I was still free, still holding on to Adrian’s promise that we’d spend our lives together. And now… I’m someone’s wife. Nikolai’s wife. The word alone send a knot through my stomach.
A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. My heart jumps, an instinctive reaction now as every sound in this mansion feels like a threat. But the knock is soft, hesitant. Probably a servant.
The door creaks open a moment later, and a young maid steps inside. Not the one who brought my breakfast or dinner yesterday, this one is new. She has pale skin, gold curls tucked neatly beneath her cap, and wide eyes that dart nervously around the room before settling on me.
“Good day, ma’am,” she says quietly, bowing her head. “This came for you.”
Her voice trembles just slightly as she holds out a small envelope. My gaze lingers on it, on the careful handwriting across the front. There’s no seal. No crest. Just my name.
I hesitate before taking it. “Who sent it?” I ask.
“I—I wasn’t told,” she replies quickly, eyes flicking toward the door as though afraid of being seen here too long. “I was only asked to deliver it to you directly.”
That answer alone is enough to set my pulse racing. She bows once more and slips out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Silence.
I stare at the envelope in my hand, my fingers trembling just a little. My gaze flicks around the room, searching again for the cameras Nikolai promised to 'block.' I still can’t spot any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
My chest tightens as I slide my thumb beneath the flap. The paper rustles softly, the sound loud in the quiet room.
Please let it be from Adrian.
With a shaky breath, I unfold the note and begin to read.
The handwriting is unmistakable. Familiar enough to make my heart stop for a full second.
Liora.
Just my name, written. I press my hand to my mouth as tears sting my eyes. It’s him. Adrian.
I read on.
I don’t have time to write much.
When the clock strikes five, the maid who gave you this note will return. Follow her quietly. Don’t bring anything that’ll slow you down.
I’ll be waiting near the east gate. Trust no one else.
— A
My fingers tighten around the paper until it wrinkles. I stare at the words again and again, as if they might disappear if I blink. He’s here. He’s actually here.
Relief floods through me so suddenly I almost laugh, but it’s a shaky, nervous sound that dies in my throat. Because beneath the relief is fear.
If Nikolai finds out…
My heart stutters violently at the thought. The idea alone is enough to make my palms sweat. He would not forgive such defiance. Not from me.
Or worse… what if the letter isn’t from Adrian?
The thought slithers through my mind before I can stop it. My stomach twists. What if this is one of Nikolai’s games? A test to see how far I’d go behind his back? The man is capable of anything. Anything.
But then my gaze drops to the ink again, the steady, confident strokes of each letter.
No. I know this handwriting. I’ve memorized it from the countless letters he used to sneak into my books.
This is Adrian. It has to be.
Still… Nikolai is a strange and twisted man. A puppeteer who likes to pull invisible strings. What if—
I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away before they swallow me whole. No. I’ll take my chances. I have to.
For once, I’ll choose optimism over fear.
I decide to take a nap, hoping sleep will make the hours pass faster. When I open my eyes again, the room is washed in soft orange light. I glance at the clock on the wall. A little past four.
My heart skips. Closer.
I sit up quickly, smoothing my hair as I walk toward the mirror. The purple dress Nikolai picked for me fits perfectly, the fabric hugging me in all the right places. I stare at my reflection. For someone trapped, I almost look… normal. Beautiful, even. The color flatters me, bringing warmth to my cheeks and brightness to my eyes.
One thing I can’t deny is Nikolai has exquisite taste.
Still, I can’t help a small, rebellious smile tugging at my lips. It’s perfect that Adrian will see me in it first, not him.
I perch on the edge of the bed, staring at the clock again. The seconds tick by painfully slow. I drum my fingers against my knee, my nerves tightening with every passing moment. How ironic that time always seems to crawl when all you want is for it to fly.
After some time, the clock’s long hand reaches twelve, marking five. This is it.
Any moment now, there should be a knock. Someone should come for me.
I sit perfectly still, every muscle tense, eyes glued to the door. But a minute passes. Then two. Then five. Nothing.
A cold wave of panic sweeps through me. Why hasn’t anyone come yet?
Did something go wrong? Did Nikolai find out about the note?
I rise to my feet, pacing back and forth near the bed. The floor feels icy under my bare feet, grounding and yet making my anxiety worse. My mind won’t stop racing.
No… Adrian wouldn’t risk sending me that note unless he was sure. He wouldn’t forget me. He wouldn’t—
My throat tightens. What if he couldn’t come? What if Nikolai had already done something? The thought send a sick feeling through me.
I move toward the window, half-expecting to see something, anything, that would tell me what’s going on. But the courtyard below is still. A few guards linger by the gate, chatting, their rifles slung lazily across their backs. They look relaxed. Unaware.
Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe Adrian’s plan is still in motion.
I glance back at the door, chewing on my lower lip. The quiet feels wrong now, like the air itself is waiting with me. The purple dress rustles faintly as I move, and I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My reflection looks… tense. Eager and afraid all at once.
My heart thuds painfully when the doorknob finally turns.
My breath catches as the door opens just an inch, then another.
A head peeks through first. Blonde hair glimmers in the light. It’s her. The maid from earlier.
She slips inside, shutting the door behind her with barely a sound. For a moment, she doesn’t speak. Her gaze sweeps the room cautiously, lingering on the corners, the ceiling, as though she, too, knows someone might be watching.
Only when she’s certain no one’s listening does she meet my eyes. Her voice comes out low, almost a whisper.
“Ma’am,” she says softly, “it’s time.”