Chapter 10: Wren

A slight groan escaped my lips as I woke up to the savory aroma of eggs benedict and the sweet fragrance of freshly squeezed orange juice.

This tantalizing scent that teased me awake wafted through the room, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

My eyelids fluttered for a moment, my vision still a little hazy from the lingering sleep, but there were two figures—two maids—standing across the bed.

I squinted at how poised they stood ahead of me, their gaze fixed in my direction. With the back of my hands, I wiped my eyes, my senses basking in the sweet aroma that filled the air.

My vision cleared, revealing Mary and Martha standing before me with beautiful smiles perched on their faces. My eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly.

“Good morning, Miss Wren,” they chimed in unison, their contiguous smiles never faltering.

“Okaaaay…” I drawled, sitting up, my tone laced with hesitation and skepticism as my lips curled into a dubious grin.

“Your breakfast is ready, Miss Wren,” Martha said, nodding at her associate.

Mary did the same and walked over to a table by the window where rays from the morning sun filtered through. She picked up a tray and gracefully glided over to me, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she set the tray on my lap.

She took a step back, and Martha joined her to tower over me, both women giggling softly.

I shifted my gaze across the two of them, eyes squinting ever so slightly as I tried to read between the lines.

Breakfast in bed. That was a first. And what the hell was so amusing?

Why were they being overly friendly and nice?

Mary and Martha were mature women, probably above forty, and of all the maids in the mansion, they were the oldest and most respected.

Since my arrival, they'd been somewhat nice to me, although they never really smiled this much. I'd always thought Mary and Martha were gorgeous women, and these infectious smiles only confirmed that I was right.

Martha was a stout woman whose blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her hazel-brown eyes sparkled with a blend of mischief and excitement as she stared at me.

Mary, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She was a lanky woman of an intimidating height and long, dark hair that fell loosely over her shoulders. She had an amazing pair of piercing green and lush eyelashes. She must have been hotter when she was younger.

“Wh…what's going on?” I stuttered, my gaze lingering on the two of them, searching for answers.

They were quiet for some time, each retaining their smiles, their silence heightening my anticipation for a response.

This had never happened before. Usually, I would have my breakfast downstairs, alone. Although, sometimes, Afanasy would stop by and make a silly joke that would either leave me sad or angry—in most cases, it was often the latter.

“Your food is getting cold, Miss Wren,” Martha said, her tone courteous.

I hesitated before darting my eyes to the luxurious breakfast set-up: fine china, crystal glasses, and a delicate lace tablecloth.

My stomach growled in anticipation, and my mouth watered at the sight of the elegant meal laid before me. On the set-up, poached eggs were perched atop toasted English muffins, smothered in rich hollandaise sauce, and sprinkled with edible gold dust. I took a moment to savor the aroma of this masterpiece that invaded my senses.

I swallowed, eyes narrowing as I picked up a fork and shot a quick look at the women.

Martha nodded as if urging me to eat, her expression soft and gentle.

With cautious movements, I took a tentative bite, and in an instant, every cell in my body sprang to life, my senses roaring. The incredible flavor exploded on my tongue, overwhelming my taste buds with an intoxicating deliciousness.

“Hmm.” I reflexively let out a satisfactory sigh, eyes shut for a moment as I chewed with delicate motions.

Olga, I love you , I thought to myself, appreciating her cooking.

Mary and Martha exchanged glances, giggling softly.

As good as the meal was, I couldn't let my guard down, nor could I help the unease growing within me. I knew that something was amiss—something was fishy—but I had no idea what it was.

While eating, my mind raced across a myriad of possibilities but never really settled on one, which was useless, by the way, considering I still had no clue what was going on.

I hated being watched over while eating; it always made me feel uncomfortable, and clearly, these women couldn't take a hint.

As I ate, I squirmed under their watchful gaze, feeling suffocated by this unwanted attention. Each bite felt like a scrutinized performance under their hovering presence, which only intensified my discomfort.

Thanks to Mary and Martha's towering figures, I barely enjoyed the meal that way I would have if I was alone.

Once I was done, Mary stepped forward and took the tray off my lap, her smile unwavering. She headed back to the table, set the tray on the surface, and returned to stand beside Martha.

“Now what?” I questioned, my voice laced with curiosity as my eyes shifted between their bright faces.

“It’s time for your bath, Miss Wren. Shall we proceed?” Martha asked, stepping forward.

My brows drew together at her response, eyes narrowing. “Proceed?” The bed creaked under my weight as I sat on the edge, my bare feet resting on the fluffy rug at the base. “Can somebody tell me what's going on?”

“We’re about to get you cleaned up, Miss Wren. That's what’s going on,” came Martha's polite reply.

I pulled my head back, brows arching in surprise. “Get me cleaned up…. What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that…” Mary began, her eyes fixed on me.

I cut her off mid-sentence, “I know what it means, Mary—that was rhetorical—and yes, I can bathe myself, thank you very much.” I rose to my feet.

“We don't doubt that, Miss Wren,” Martha said, her voice calm and collected. “But that was the instruction.”

“Given by….” I sighed, swallowing my words. My fingers rubbed my eyeballs in a massaging motion. “Never mind.” My shoulders slumped as I lowered my defenses.

This was glaringly Afanasy's doing, and it was pointless to resist. He'd made it pretty clear that I wasn't allowed to disobey his orders; there would be consequences if I ever defied him again. I didn't know what those would be, and honestly, I wasn't willing to find out.

After he caught me trying to flee the mansion, he'd let me off with a warning. I got lucky that he didn't punish me in ways beyond my imagination, and it would be stupid to try and defy him again.

I'd concluded that my obedience was my only ticket out of here, so I'd rather not jeopardize that.

However, the million-dollar question lingered: What on Earth was he up to this time?

At first, it was a bit awkward, allowing them to shed my clothes in the bathroom, and my eyes dropped to the floor, my hand flying to subtly cover my breasts. My discomfort when they watched me eat was nothing compared to how I was feeling right now.

My nakedness was exposed, arms across my moderately sized breasts, thighs clasped against one another. My free hand discreetly glided down to cover my cunt as shame washed over me.

The women readied the bathtub, its surface transforming into a luxurious oasis. The air was thick with the sweet fragrance of red roses, their delicate petals floating like crimson kisses over the soft, velvety foam that blanketed the surface of the water.

Once done, they gestured toward the tub, and I slowly stepped in, the warm water enveloping me as the faint scent of lavender soap and chamomile shampoo filled the air.

As I relaxed in the tub, these women bathed me thoroughly, their delicate hands dancing across my skin with expert motions.

I shut my eyes, letting out a slow exhale as I allowed the maids to do their jobs. As one washed my hair, the other scrubbed my body with a soft sponge.

After a while, they were done. They helped me out, wrapped my body with a towel, and led me back to the room. There, Mary strolled over to the wardrobe and withdrew a beautiful flowered knee-length dress with spaghetti straps.

Together, they applied light makeup on my face that matched my skin tone. Martha was busy making me look beautiful, while Mary was busy styling my hair.

By the time they were done, they led me to the mirror. I looked at my reflection and could barely recognize the woman staring back at me. My lips curled into a smile despite my attempts at trying to suppress it.

“You look amazing, Miss Wren,” they chimed in unison.

Honestly, their combined voices sometimes gave me the creeps. But there was no denying the fact that they'd done an awesome job at transforming me into this sophisticated woman I saw in the mirror.

My dark hair was swept upwards, piled elegantly on top of my head, with two delicate strands escaping to frame my face. The flowered dress hugged my body, accentuating my figure, as I stood balanced on a pair of heels.

As they led me out of the room and down the hallway, my heart raced, pounding in my chest, as I wondered what exactly was going on.

I couldn't help but feel like a sacrificial lamb about to be slaughtered. I’d been fed like a princess, treated like a queen, and dressed to look like a goddess. Something was fishy, and I was disturbed by it.

It was as though everyone else but me knew what was happening, and the fact that I was unaware of my fate scared the living daylights out of me.

As we drew closer to his Afanasy's study, I could hear the same classic tone from the other day—the melody that had drowned his lover's pleasured moans. I felt a pang of irritation swell within me. Was he fucking her again?

My brows knitted together ever so slightly.

What do you care whether or not he's fucking her or some other woman? I thought, immediately silencing a faint voice that hinted at my jealousy.

No. I couldn't be jealous. I wasn't jealous. Why would I be?

Wait. Why were they leading me to his study? He was obviously working and shouldn't be disturbed.

This uncertainty about everything was killing me, and I hated the feeling of being kept in the dark.

We halted outside his study, and both women looked at me with a smile before Martha knocked twice and gave the door a gentle push.

It creaked open, revealing the cozy interior and the soft classical music playing in the background.

As I stepped inside, my eyes darted across the opulent setting of the study, where mahogany paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and warm golden lighting created a simple yet fascinating setting. The cozy space exuded luxury and style—simple but classy.

By the window, Afanasy stood poised, a hand dipped in his pocket as he looked through the blinds, his back against the entrance.

Martha stepped forward and cleared her throat conspicuously.

With a graceful move, he swiveled, his eyes locking with mine. It was as if my heart stopped for a minute, like he'd literally stolen my breath away.

I'd never seen him as handsome and dashing as he was today. His dirty blond hair was neatly styled, his piercing green eyes sparkling with mischief as his lips curled into his signature smirk. Ironically, today, that smirk of his that often annoyed me looked rather charming and alluring.

As he stood tall, his athletic build was palpable beneath the sleek lines of an impeccably tailored charcoal gray suit that accentuated his muscular physique and broad shoulders.

“Thank you, Martha,” he said to the maid, his voice soft and smooth. “You may go now.”

She nodded and looked at me with that contiguous smile of hers before heading out with Mary.

As the door shut behind me, signaling their exit, I felt my heart resume racing as he slowly glided over to me.

I struggled to steady my heartbeat, to gain control of my breathing, but the closer he drew, the more I lost my composure. My weight shifted from one foot to the other, my face dropping to the ground to avoid his unwavering gaze.

“You look amazing,” he said, halting in front of me.

His cologne filled the air around me.

I felt my cheeks flush at his remark, and I wondered if he’d truly just given me a compliment. Or didn't I hear him correctly? I managed to jerk my head and meet his eyes, as if searching for validation. “Thanks.” The word was above a whisper.

There was a glint in his eyes that revealed he was up to something. But what was it?

“What…what's going on, Afanasy?” I stuttered, gazing into his eyes. “Why's everyone suddenly nice to me? Why am I all dressed up?”

“Because, my dear Wren,” he said, his voice tinged with charm and wit, “we're celebrating your engagement.”

I pushed my head back, eyes narrowing. “I'm sorry…we're celebrating what, now?” My brows arched, and my gaze remained unwavering.

He let out a soft sigh and withdrew a finger from his pocket. “I should've led with this; your debt has been forgiven.” He took my hand, his eyes fixed on me.

Cold sweat dampened my forehead, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at him with widened eyes. My body tensed, my hands shaking and legs trembling beneath me. The joy of my debt being pardoned was overshadowed by the fear and anxiety of being engaged to him.

What exactly was going on?

As he slipped the ring into my finger, a voice in my head screamed at me to run. But where would I run to?

I felt my eyes misting as a number of thoughts overlapped in my mind, threatening to rip it apart. I’d yet to come to terms with what was happening, and it all felt like a bad dream.

“You're my fiancée now, and because of that, you no longer owe the Bratva a dime,” he said, his eyes crinkling mysteriously at the corners.

I shook my head, a tear rolling down my cheek. “No,” I muttered, stumbling backward.

Afanasy grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to himself, my front side against his as I squirmed subtly. His arm wrapped my slender waist, and with his fingers, he jerked my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes.

“You're going to be my wife, Wren,” he declared, his words cutting deeper than a knife. “And you're gonna do as I say.”

My shoulders slumped in dismay, tears streaming down my cheeks in an uncontrollable flow. My heart was broken, shattered, and battered at the realization of how messed up my life had become.

This ring on my finger signified that I was his, and even though I could've tried to reject it, it wouldn't have been a good idea.

I blamed my father for this. Everything happening to me was his fault. And to make matters worse, he fled the country like a coward, leaving me in the mess he’d gotten me into.

Now, I was forced to accept an engagement with the man who delighted in seeing me suffer.

Afanasy was handsome, powerful, and wealthy—most likely every girl's dream man. But this was against my will, meaning that I was just a glorified prisoner.

“Do I have a say in this decision?” I summoned the courage to ask, my gaze still lingering on him and my tone barely audible.

He placed a palm on my face, wiping my tears with his thumb. “No, sweetheart. You don't,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. Afanasy looked into my eyes and added, words striking me like an arrow to the heart, “You're mine now, Wren.” He edged closer and whispered into my ear, “I own you.”

His tone was soft and smooth, but his words were heavy—each syllable weighing me down. There was no remorse in his eyes, nothing whatsoever except for delight dancing in their depths.

“Stop ruining your makeup,” he said, cupping my face in his palms as his thumbs wiped my tears.

Ruining my makeup was the least of my problems right now. He and my father had just ruined my life.

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his arm tightening around my waist and his breath brushing against my skin.

Gently, he placed my head on his chest, our bodies swaying to the slow rhythm of the classical music playing in the background.

It was official. This jam had climbed up the list of my least favorite songs. I despised it for one reason and one reason only: It would always remind me of this moment, the moment my fate was sealed.

I shut my eyes, and more tears rolled down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric of his suit.