Chapter 21

Chapter

Twenty-One

"If you build the guts to do something, anything, then you better save enough to face the consequences."

― Criss Jami

Caia

I threw my belongings into my bags with frantic haste, barely pausing to consider what I was packing. Wallet, check. Phone—no, not taking it. I refused to be tracked.

I wasn't about to marry a man I despised, especially one with a known penchant for evil like my father. I was done being his puppet; it was time to escape.

I quickly asked Valeria to look after my grandmother, making sure she'd be safe on the fifth floor, a sanctuary only she could access. I needed to know she'd be alright, even if I had to disappear from her life .

Saying goodbye to my babushka was excruciating. I kissed her hands and cheeks, whispered words meant just for her. The farewell was painful, but I hoped she'd be proud of me for finally taking control.

I took one last, reluctant glance at my apartment. It was a somber goodbye, but I had to leave. I threw on dark jeans and a black hoodie, trying to blend into the night like a shadow. Each step in my black sneakers felt like a quiet farewell to the life I was leaving behind.

In the dead of night, I headed for the bus stop to catch the first ride to Saint Petersburg, where I planned to book a flight out by morning. But relief turned to dread when I saw a drunk guy sprawled on the bench, mumbling incoherently about Lenin and the Red Army.

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, he lunged at me, grabbing my arm with a grip that was alarmingly strong. I jerked back, startled by his aggression.

"Anastasia!" he slurred, his voice rising in volume. "I found you, my princess!"

His drunken gaze was fixed on me, sending a shiver down my spine. I tried to pull away, but he was relentless, clutching at me as if I were someone else. Anger surged through me as I fought to break free, pushing him with every ounce of strength.

"Anastasia's dead! I'm not her! Let me go!" I yelled, my voice cracking with desperation.

He didn't let go, and in the struggle, my bag slipped from my hands, spilling my clothes across the snowy ground. Frustration boiled over—I was being hassled by a drunk now?

The streets were eerily empty, shadows stretching under the dim streetlights. The drunk guy laughed, took another swig from his bottle, and slumped back on the bench, his laughter echoing down the street.

I stood there, dazed.

This was the worst luck anyone could have in this cursed country.

Just then, a black SUV prowled down the street, its engine a menacing rumble. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the vehicle. Panic surged through me, and I stumbled back, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

No, not now! Please, no!

Without thinking, I bolted down the snowy streets, the biting wind stinging my cheeks. I was running for my life, ready to leave the country with nothing but my fear.

I spotted an open bar and darted inside, desperate for refuge. The place was nearly deserted, except for two men in suits, engrossed in a card game surrounded by empty glasses. They glanced up as I hurried past, but I ignored them and slipped into the restroom, locking the door behind me.

Slumped against the door, I tried to calm my racing heart.

Please, God, just let me get out of this alive, and I promise—I'll go back to church this Sunday!

In the restroom's oppressive silence, the creak of the door opening was a jarring disruption. The sound echoed through the small space, magnifying my mounting dread.

Distant bar chatter and the clinking of glasses seemed to fade as slow, deliberate footsteps approached. The clink of keys, sharp and intrusive, grew louder with every passing second.

My senses were on high alert, every nerve jangling. I pressed my back against the door, muscles coiled tight like a spring. My heartbeat thundered in my chest, not from bravery but pure adrenaline. I was ready to fight if it came to that—or at least try to.

"Hello, Caia."

His voice sliced through the silence, making my spine tingle with fear. I could barely breathe, my throat tight as if trying to swallow a scream. Three deliberate knocks echoed, each one hitting like a punch to my chest.

I pressed my hand over my mouth, struggling to stay silent.

"Open the door, Caia. I know you're in there."

His voice was like poison, seeping into my bones and sparking a surge of panic. I pressed myself harder against the door, caught between paralyzing fear and the urge to bolt.

A faint click sliced through the tension. My heart pounded as I recognized the sound—a gun being cocked.

"I'll count to three," Alexsei's voice dripped through the door, chillingly calm. "If you don't open up by then, my bullet will. I'd really hate to hurt my bride on the eve of our wedding night."

I stayed silent, my whole body trembling uncontrollably.

"One," he said, the gun tapping ominously against the door.

My thoughts raced.

He wouldn't really shoot me… would he?

"Two."

I knew he wouldn't—after all, he had me right where he wanted. But the creeping doubt gnawed at my sanity, making it hard to breathe. I braced myself, trying to steel against the worst.

"Thre—"

Panic exploded within me, and I yanked open the door.

There he stood, his gun now casually hanging at his side, a twisted smirk on his lips. His eyes sparkled with cruel amusement as he watched me.

My breath caught, torn between furious defiance and a weird, unsettling relief.

"Oh, my sweet Caia," he drawled with twisted amusement. "You really shouldn't have made it so easy for me to hunt you down."

"A vodka and a tea for the lady."

I snatched the cup from the waiter's tray and took a sip of the spicy peppermint tea, savoring its bite as it helped calm my frayed nerves.

" Spasibo ," I muttered, barely looking at him as I finished the tea.

After that debacle in the restroom, Alexsei had given me a choice: join him for tea or head back to my place where he might just chain me to the living room table. And of course, he'd made it clear that any attempt to escape would prompt a call to my father, who would unleash an army of spies to track me down.

"Didn't expect you to be such a fast runner," Alexsei said with a sneer.

I rolled my eyes. "Stop making assumptions about me."

"Why? Is reality more entertaining than my imagination?"

My eyes narrowed. "Stop fantasizing about me."

He scoffed. "Who says I am?"

"Your face does," I shot back.

He took a swig of vodka before setting the glass down. "Stop telling me what to do."

I studied him as he took stock of me. With his dark blue eyes, disheveled brown hair, full lips, and cheeks flushed from the cold and alcohol, he looked like he'd wandered off a Russian king-themed fashion shoot.

His finger drummed absently on the table as he licked his lips, drawing my gaze before meeting his eyes. He arched an eyebrow.

"Like what you see?"

I took another sip of my tea, unimpressed. " Nyet. "

"Too bad, ‘cause you're stuck with this gorgeous face for the rest of your life."

My grip on the cup tightened, frustration and resentment bubbling up.

Okay, just breathe, Caia. Don't let him see you lose control.

"Just to be clear, I will never marry you."

The corner of his mouth curled up. "You're already my wife, Caia. Contract's signed, remember?"

I shot up from my seat, slamming my hands on the table. "I'd rather face the flames, Joan of Arc-style, than spend a second as your wife."

"Sit down."

My throat tightened, my anger flaring hotter. "You had no right to—" I stopped, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "I trusted you. How could you do this to me?"

He lit a cigarette, taking a drag before speaking. "I warned you, Caia. I'm going to win this game you started." He exhaled smoke, his eyes cold. "Seems I've already won."

I scoffed, incredulous. "You think forcing me into marriage is winning?"

He shrugged and took another drag.

"I thought we were... friends," I said, my voice steady despite the simmering anger.

Friends.

Even I knew it wasn't true.

The hatred I had for him was too deep it nearly consumed me.

But after what happened a few nights ago, I'd dared to hope that, in some twisted, unconventional way, we could be... friends.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "I never intended to be your friend, Caia.

His words hit like a slap. I cursed my own naivety for letting him into my world—sharing stories, letting him into my home, showing him my art, even kissing him.

The betrayal burned, but I refused to show weakness. Enraged, I snatched the cigarette from his lips and crushed it against his hand. He cursed and jerked his hand away, glaring at me.

"Just a preview of what's coming, husband ," I spat.

I turned on my heel, ready to storm out, but before I could reach the door, his hand clamped around my wrist, anchoring me in place while he remained seated.

"See you tomorrow, wife, " he murmured, his thumb drawing lazy patterns on my skin. "Make sure you're wearing white for me."

I wrenched my arm free, seething with a mix of anger and frustration. The nerve of him, the arrogance—it grated on me. But even as I fumed, a spark of defiance flared within.

I shot him the finger and, with a determined stride, marched out, leaving his smug smirk behind.