Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
A woman sits near the front, dressed in black lace, lips painted red, eyes bright with the excitement of spectacle. She watches me like she’s watching a performance she paid to see. Her husband leans in to whisper something to her, and she smiles wider. I don’t need to hear the words to understand the tone. They’re talking about my body, my face, my value, my willingness to obey.
My stomach roils, and I feel like I might puke down the aisle. My hand twitches at my side, wanting to protect my baby, wanting to shield it from the scrutiny. I don’t move it. I keep my hands relaxed and empty because they are hoping for weakness. They are watching for any sign I might try to escape again. It’s all part of the drama for them.
They won’t get that from me. I’ll play my part right up until the end.
The aisle is too long. The hem of the dress brushes the floor as I walk, the fabric heavy and restrictive. Every step feels like I’m walking toward the gallows. The dress is heavy, weighing me down like shackles. That’s by design, I suspect. It’s harder to run away with all this extra weight on me.
Mikhail stands at the front beneath an arch of flowers, immaculate in a dark suit. He looks calm and composed, like he’s a happy groom, instead of the man who has been tearing Brooklyn apart for the last few weeks. His expression is pleasant, almost proud. He watches me approach with a gleam in his eye. I wonder how he does it. I wonder how he became such a good actor.
When our eyes meet, his smile deepens slightly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are flat and cold. They’re the eyes of a man who believes he’s getting exactly what he wants and no one could stop them if they tried.
I stop at the end of the aisle because the guards stop. The entire room is quiet now, hundreds of people holding their breath like they’re waiting for me to bold. Instead, Mikhail takes a step forward and extends his hand.
It’s a simple gesture. Anyone at a normal wedding would swoon at a groom offering support to his future wife. They would wipe their eyes seeing a man welcoming his bride.
Only I know that this is really a trap. If I take his hand, the cameras get their photo. The crowd gets their proof. The narrative becomes solid. Anya Malenkova finally accepted her place.
I look at his hand and feel the nausea twist again, hard enough that my mouth floods with saliva. I swallow it down without blinking, without flinching. I refuse to get sick in front of him. I refuse to give him that kind of control over my body too.
Mikhail’s voice is low, meant only for me. “You look beautiful.”
I hold his gaze. “You look pleased with yourself.”
His smile stays polite. “I got you down the aisle, didn’t I?”
“Not without a gun to my head,” I answer.
The guards behind me shift slightly. They don’t like that tone. Mikhail’s smile tightens a fraction. “Take my hand, Anya.”
My throat tightens. My heart races. All the fears and anxieties I’ve been holding onto come to a head right here. This is the moment. This is the line.
If I take his hand, I’m agreeing to live in a cage with silk sheets, constantly in fear for my life. I’ll have to raise my baby in a prison, never knowing if Mikhail will choose to use its life against me.
If I refuse, people will die. Viktor will die. I know that. He has already proven to me that he’s capable of senseless murder.
My breath comes shallow. It’s part pain and part control. I keep my face smooth and let my eyes flick once across the room.
There are so many men here with weapons hidden under jackets. There are so many eyes watching. There are so many exits that I can’t reach. The guards have me positioned perfectly so that if I run, they can grab me fast without making it look messy.
Mikhail’s hand remains extended, unwavering. He’s acting patient, but it’s just another layer of his control.
A ring box sits on the table nearby, velvet and expensive. The sight of it makes something hard settle in my stomach. This isn’t the man I should be marrying. My mind drifts, uninvited, to Viktor.
He isn’t some romantic fantasy. He isn’t a white knight who’s coming to save me. He is, however, the only man who’s treated me like a person. He allowed me to be myself without compromise. He accepted who I am, with all my faults and failures, and didn’t ask me to be anything else. He didn’t try to control me. He didn’t try to hurt me. I may have gave him hell but in the end, he was just trying to protect me.