Chapter 16

Chapter

Sixteen

"But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.

And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care."

― Rachel C. Lewis

Sofiya

Making my way to my room, flanked by two imposing guards who refused to assist me despite my injured leg, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking toward my doom as the velvety carpet muffled my footsteps.

Mentally drained from the day's chaos, I rushed into the bathroom to wash away the thick layer of mud clinging to my skin.

Stripping off my clothes, I winced at the numerous cuts on my leg and stomach.

Craving the soothing embrace of warm water, I cranked up the temperature and allowed the steaming cascade to wash over me, calming my aching body with each droplet.

For a fleeting moment, I lost myself in the warmth of the water.

But in an instant, memories flooded back—Volk's lips trailing over my skin, his breath against my ear, and the electric thrill that coursed through me at his touch. It ignited a fire within me, a mix of desire and frustration that left me breathless.

As the memories consumed me, I felt absolutely torn.

It wasn't just passion; it was also the memory of his insults and humiliations.

The thought of being drawn to him made my skin crawl, yet the raw attraction simmered beneath the surface. It was a battle between my body and mind, leaving me confused.

Could I give in to desire when my mind screamed in protest?

No.

He is a deranged sadist who relishes tormenting and humiliating me, dredging up painful memories I'd rather forget.

Despite my attraction to him, who he is and what he's done remain unchanged.

Torn between lust and pride, I let the water rain down, trying to clear my mind.

But thoughts of his rough hands on my skin crept in again and the water intensified everything making me shiver.

I was fighting against a part of me I never knew existed.

Just for a moment, I let myself get swept away by the passion still burning inside me. His touch felt so real—his hands grabbing my breasts, pinching my nipples, caressing my body, kissing my neck, and whispering in my ear. I could almost feel his breath on my skin and the heat of his body pressed against mine.

But just as my hand was about to slip between my legs, I stopped myself.

I had to wake up. It was one thing to imagine what might have been, but quite another to act on those impulses, especially given the danger he represented.

I couldn't change who he was just to entertain my fantasies.

As I pulled my hand away, I let out a deep sigh, feeling both relieved and frustrated. The desire still burned within me, but I knew it could never be fully satisfied, at least not with him.

I began to wash myself, moving my hands in slow circles over my arms and legs, scrubbing until my skin turned red and wincing as I brushed against the cuts on my leg.

Memories of his soft kisses on my leg hit me, and I fisted my hands, digging my nails into my palm to stop them.

He is a freaking killer, Sofiya!

I dried off and made my way to the small bedroom, where I found the white dress I intended to use as pajamas.

Slipping it on, I winced again as my wounded leg still ached.

Perfect, now escaping through the woods will be impossible.

I rolled my eyes and crawled into bed, and let out a long, shuddering sigh.

It was way too early for bed, but I was too exhausted to care. I desperately needed to sleep this horrible day away.

Yet, despite my best efforts to block out the world, my mind stubbornly refused to shut down, staying annoyingly alert .

Is Volk really attracted to me? Or am I so touch-starved that I'm seeing romantic sparks where there's barely a flicker?

Tired, I closed my eyes for what felt like a few moments, only to be gently awakened by a soft hand caressing my cheeks. There stood Dasha, softly calling my name and whispering that it was time to prepare for dinner downstairs.

"Please, just leave me alone," I mumbled, trying to close my eyes again.

"I'm sorry, Sofiya, but you need to get ready."

"I don't want to go."

I didn't want to see him or any of them, not after what happened today.

I just wanted to pretend I was back home, in my bed, away from this madness.

"I know you don't, but you have to," Dasha urged. "If you don't go, he might get angry, and that could make things even worse for us."

"I don't care," I snapped, tears welling up in my eyes. "I don't want to pretend like everything is okay. He's a monster, and I don't want to be near him."

She sighed. "I understand how you feel, but you need to be strong."

To be strong? How dare she? I didn't want to be strong. I wanted this nightmare to end. I didn't want to suffer like a martyr, waiting for divine intervention. I just wanted freedom from this place, from him, from this chilling feeling creeping up my spine.

Turning to face the wall, my shoulders shook as silent tears streamed down my cheeks.

"I hate you so much," I whispered hoarsely. "How could you do this to me? How could you betray me like this, Dasha?"

Dasha's voice softened as she gently placed her hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I had no choice. Please, you need to get dressed and come downstairs. He's expecting you."

I shook my head. "I can't face him again."

With a frustrated sigh, she reached down, firmly grasping the edge of the blanket, and swiftly pulled it back, causing a sudden gasp to escape my lips.

"You have to," she said firmly. "Now hurry up."

Even if the entire Russian royal family were resurrected and Princess Anastasia herself served me stroganoff, I wouldn't budge from this room or this bed unless there was useful information to aid my escape.

Gathering the small dignity I still had left, I turned back around and got up from the bed, but quickly sat back down, wincing at the sudden pain in my leg.

I raised my tear-filled eyes at Dasha. "Please, tell me where my mom is."

She sat down next to me and pulled me into her arms, trying to console me. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything else," she whispered, leaving faint kisses on my head. "But I promise, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."

"But I'm not safe here," I sobbed.

I didn't trust Dasha anymore, but a tiny part of me still hoped that she would help me.

"P-please, Dasha," I pleaded, placing my hands above hers. "I don't know what to do. Can't you just give me some kind of hint? Anything that could help me get out of here?"

I watched as her expression turned cold.

"We've already had this conversation. Now get ready and come downstairs."

With that, she stood up, grabbed the lacy black dress from the bed, and tossed it at me .

Feeling defeated and more alone than ever, I caught it and watched as she left the room. Despite Dasha's warnings echoing in my mind, I couldn't stand being confined in my room any longer. Determined, I descended the stairs, still in the same white dress, each step a painful reminder of my injured leg.

At the bottom, Dve's gaze met mine, his eyes lingering over my disheveled appearance.

Despite his taunting expression, he offered his hand to help me.

"What's taken you so long?"

I swatted his hand away. "Oh, just a leisurely stroll down memory lane. You know, reliving all the traumatizing moments of my near-death experience. No biggy."

Ignoring his chuckle, I brushed past him, my leg protesting with each step.

"Sofiya, stop acting out."

"Seriously, Dve? I've been kidnapped and taken to another country against my will. I think I'm showing remarkable restraint."

Dave scoffed, clearly unamused. "Right, and I'm the Tsar of Russia. Now stop throwing tantrums and show some respect to Volk and everyone else."

I halted abruptly, glaring at him. "Respect? Oh, sorry, I must have misplaced my ‘how to be a polite hostage' handbook."

He remained silent.

I could tell he was getting impatient, but I didn't care.

"Oh, and just so you know, I couldn't care less about your boss or his guest," I snapped. "Just hours ago, I was nearly dead because of you people! Do you have any idea what it feels like to be utterly helpless and terrified?"

Tears welled up in my eyes as I remembered the moment when I was at the mercy of a man who clearly intended to harm me.

"I just want to escape this nightmare."

Dve grabbed my arm. "You should thank Volk for saving your life. You wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. So, show some gratitude."

"Let me go, Dve! I was nearly killed. You can't expect me to just brush it off."

"Consider yourself lucky to still be breathing," he muttered. "Now, clean up and dress decently. We have a guest, and I won't have you looking like a total disaster."

I stepped back, pulling my arm away. "Leave me alone."

"I don't want to hurt you, Sofiya. I'm just following orders."

I sighed, tired.

The room fell silent, and I felt a presence, an aura behind me.

Slowly, I turned to see Volk emerging from the shadows.

His entrance was perfectly timed.

Asshole.

He loomed a few meters away, his gaze cutting through me with a chilling intensity that sent shivers down my spine. With each step he took, closing the distance between us, my heart raced faster, and sweat formed on my palms.

"Is she bothering you, Dve?"

" Nyet. I was just escorting her to dinner."

Volk's attention shifted back to me. "Dve, why is she dressed like a ghost from medieval times?"

My throat tightened. "Don't talk about me like I'm not right under your nose. "

His jaw clenched, conflicting emotions flickering in his eyes. "Leave us."

At first, I thought he meant me, but Dve bolted out the door like it was on fire. Despite my mixed feelings about him, I felt safer with him than facing this beast alone.

Arms folded, I bit my tongue to steady myself.

"Off to join a witch-burning ceremony?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's the only explanation for your costume."

I shrugged, looking down at my long dress that almost brushed the floor. "I found it in the ‘Witch Chic' section Dasha offered. Maybe your last victim left it behind as a parting gift."

A twisted smile played on his lips, his eyes dancing with dark amusement. "Well, aren't you a witty one?"

"And you're an asshole."

He chuckled, the sound echoing through the empty corridor. "And you're a bitch."

His insult hit me hard, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I fought to maintain my composure, refusing to let him see my vulnerability. Engaging in this verbal battle felt foolish, but I couldn't resist defending myself.

"You should really work on your people skills. I'm sure you'd make a great friend... to a cactus."

His tense shoulders hinted he wasn't amused.

Then his eyes bored into mine, probably searching for another insecurity to mock.

"I see," he said slowly. "Well, you better learn to shut up if you want to survive here, Sofiya. I saved you once, but I won't do it again."

His words landed like a punch to my gut.

I tried to hold his gaze, but I felt my confidence slipping away .

My life meant nothing to him.

"How's your leg?"

Surprised by his sudden interest in my injury, I stood there in silence.

"Care to let me take a peek, or should I wait for your response?"

My eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

He scoffed. "You think you know me so well."

"I do," I shot back. "You're just a self-absorbed, manipulative psycho who gets off on seeing others suffer."

"And what are you? A damsel in distress?"

"Yes," I responded with a resigned sigh.

His smug grin widened as his eyes scanned me from head to toe, his hand idly stroking his chin. "Go upstairs and change."

"I can't. My leg hurts too much," I shrugged, pointing at my sore leg.

Suddenly, concern flickered across his face. He knelt down and lifted the hem of my dress to check my leg, but I protested.

Ignoring my objection, he firmly grabbed my ankle.

"What the hell are you doing?" I said, placing my hand on his shoulder to steady myself.

He remained silent, his hands around my calf, his face close to the cuts on my legs. His touch burned against my skin, creating goosebumps on my legs. As his fingers gently trailed over the cuts, heat bloomed in my stomach.

After a moment, he rose to his feet, his expression hardened. "I'll call the doctor tomorrow. Follow me."

He then turned around and left.

I stood there speechless, feeling frozen in place, my skin still tingling where his fingers had grazed.

Was he… concerned ?

No!

He's just an asshole, Sofiya.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the cold floor, shivering, and entered the room. My eyes swept across the dining room, taking in the exquisite decor and the long, dark dining table adorned with delicate china and sparkling crystal glasses.

However, my attention was quickly captivated by a tall, slender blonde girl standing by the window, her gaze lost in the depths of the surrounding dense forest.

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at her effortless beauty.

Who was she? A friend, relative, or… girlfriend?

Feeling out of place, I hesitated near the entrance.

As I stood there, the girl turned, locking eyes with me.

" Zdravstvuyte, Hello, Sofiya, " she said, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug.

"She doesn't speak Russian," Volk mumbled, reaching for his crystal glass of whiskey and swallowing a large gulp.

With an apologetic smile, she introduced herself and shook my hand warmly. Her name was Marina Kruglov, and her smile was so contagious that I couldn't help but smile too.

"I've heard a lot about you," Marina said with a chuckle. "You're quite the topic of conversation around town."

I let out an embarrassed laugh. "Really?"

Volk remained stoic, and the tension between us was palpable.

Marina glanced between us and frowned.

"I trust you're treating your guest with kindness, moya lyubov', " she said, her tone firm.

My love? My Russian was rusty, but I recognized the pet name Dasha used to call me when I was younger .

She must definitely be his girlfriend, and for some reason, that bothered me.

"I assure you, Marina, that I always treat my guests with the utmost respect," Volk finally spoke, his tone cool.

Marina gave me a warm smile. She then reached out and clasped my hand, leading me to the long dinner table and sitting me down on a plush chair beside Volk.

I sank deeper into its soft cushion, admiring the vintage silver cutlery set on the table, gleaming in the dim light. Everything in this room must be worth a fortune.

Marina sat across from me and started with some basic questions, then drifted into small talk about the Russian weather. I listened with a distant ear as I reached for the knife, intending to admire it more closely.

Suddenly, Volk's hand gently closed around my wrist, halting my movement.

His partially unbuttoned white shirt caught my attention as his gaze met mine.

"Put it down."

I clutched the knife, my pulse pounding as I tried to make sense of his sudden demand. I must've looked completely lost, just staring at him in confusion.

The room was so quiet you could hear our breathing.

Volk's face was set in a serious expression, but I noticed a flash of concern in his eyes. It hit me—he was worried I might hurt myself with that knife.

"I'm not gonna hurt myself. I'm not here to give you what you want," I shot back just as his thumb lightly grazed my wrist.

Overwhelmed, I couldn't help but lower the knife.

"Good girl," he whispered.

Heat spread across my cheeks.

Marina cleared her throat, and that snapped Volk's hand away, breaking the spell he had me under. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," I said, forcing a smile and avoiding Volk's eyes. "Just a little tired, I guess."

Marina gave me a knowing look but didn't push it any further. "Have you ever had pelmeni ?"

I frowned. " Pelmeni? "

Marina nodded, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Yes. It's a Russian dish, and I happen to have made some tonight. I think you'll love it."

Despite my unease, I couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity. I was starving, so anything would do at this point.

I smiled. "Sure, I'll give it a try."

Marina's radiant smile provided a welcome distraction from the palpable tension in the room. As she served us the piping hot pelmeni , my gaze shifted nervously between Volk and her.

To my surprise, Volk's eyes seemed fixated on her, wearing an expression I hadn't seen before.

Suddenly self-aware, I averted my gaze and focused on the meal before me, taking modest bites and trying to ignore the awkward silence.

Throughout it all, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside and savored the delicious meal Marina had prepared.

"Mmm, this is amazing, Marina," I whispered, my eyes glued to my plate, my hair hiding my face.

It really was; the ravioli melted in my mouth, and the sauce was so good I could almost moan.

" Spasibo, " she winked.

Suddenly, Volk checked his phone and stood up so abruptly that his plate tipped over, spilling its contents onto the table. He muttered something in Russian to Marina before storming out of the room.

Marina sighed deeply. "Don't mind him. He can be a real pain sometimes, but deep down, he means well."

For a while, the room fell silent, Volk's footsteps echoing down the hallway. I couldn't shake the knot in my stomach at Marina's words.

What did she mean by that? And why does he act so… strangely tonight?

But then, another question popped into my mind, and before I could stop it, it slipped out.

"Are you and Volk dating?" I blurted.

Marina refilled her glass with whiskey, avoiding my question.

Instead, she steered the conversation toward Igor, my father. His name made me flinch, and I swallowed hard before responding.

"I don't remember much from my childhood," I admitted, barely above a whisper. "I was just told that he passed away when I was still a child. I don't … even know his real name."

Marina nodded, her eyes distant. "What about Volk? What do you know about him?"

"Other than him being a psychopath?"

Marina chuckled as she refilled our glasses with whiskey.

I took a sip, feeling the burn down my throat.

"Volk is complicated," Marina said, swirling her drink. "But he's fiercely loyal to those he cares about. That includes you."

My eyes widened in surprise. "Me? Why?"

"Because of your father," Marina explained simply. "Volk brought you here because Igor asked him to. That's why he won't let any harm come to you. "

My papa asked Volk to kidnap me?

My stomach turned. "And what about you? Why are you here?"

Marina's gaze locked onto mine, revealing her striking blue eyes adorned with long lashes.

Gosh, this woman is absolutely beautiful.

She stood up, carrying Volk's glass with her, and walked over to the large window. As she gazed outside, she suddenly turned back to me and asked, "Have you ever heard the tale of Avelina Biklavana?"

I shook my head, intrigued. "No, I haven't."

"Avelina was a beautiful young woman who lived in a small village on the edge of a vast forest. She had long golden hair and eyes as green as the leaves on the trees. Her parents were poor, so she spent her days gathering berries and mushrooms from the forest to sell at the village market."

Marina paused, her gaze distant.

She then sighed and crossed her arms. "One day, as Avelina wandered through the forest, she stumbled upon a clearing she had never seen before. In the centre stood a tall tree, and beneath it was a handsome prince. Lost and alone, he had been wandering for days, searching for a way out. Avelina, moved by his plight, offered to help him find his way back to his kingdom."

As she spoke, I saw a flicker of pain in her eyes, as if the story was awakening old wounds. I listened closely as she continued with the tale of Avelina and the prince, and the love that bloomed between them.

"The prince was deeply grateful for her kindness and promised to repay her. Avelina asked for nothing but his friendship, and they fell profoundly in love as they strolled hand in hand through the forest."

Marina returned to the table, refilled her glass, and drank the liquor in one gulp. "But the prince's kingdom was far away, and he knew he couldn't stay with her forever. He vowed to return soon, and Avelina waited patiently."

She settled back in her chair, golden hair cascading around her. "Months turned into years, and Avelina heard nothing from the prince. She began to lose hope but refused to give up on their love. She continued to sell berries and mushrooms at the market."

My heart broke for the poor girl.

"One day, as she sold her wares, a grand procession approached the village. The prince had returned, intending to take Avelina with him to his kingdom. Overjoyed, she agreed to go."

Desperate for a moment away from Marina and the oppressive atmosphere, I walked over to the window. Marina's voice softened, tinged with bitterness.

"But as they left the village, the people looked at her oddly, as if they knew something she didn't. When she asked the prince about it, he confessed he was already married and had returned to take Avelina as his mistress."

I traced my fingers along the window's cold glass, leaving delicate imprints as I gazed into the encroaching darkness.

In the distance, Volk's silhouette was visible in the garden, his phone pressed to his ear. He suddenly turned as if he sensed my gaze.

"Avelina was devastated. She realized the prince had never truly loved her. He intended to abandon her in an unfamiliar land, leaving her isolated and heartbroken for his own selfish pleasure."

The tension in the room grew almost unbearable. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Volk, feeling like I was sinking into a trance. My cheeks flushed as I pressed my hand against the windowpane, Volk's eyes unyielding on mine. My heart raced, and forbidden thoughts began to creep in.

"Avelina fled back to the forest and climbed to the top of the tall tree in the clearing. There, she cried out to the forest spirits, begging for their help. The spirits heard her cries and transformed her into a bird, a nightingale with a hauntingly beautiful voice."

Marina's voice jolted me back to reality.

I spun around, pressing my back flat against the cold window.

"She flew away from the tree, never to return to the village. But her song could still be heard at night, a mournful melody of lost love," Marina continued, her eyes now fixed on her empty glass.

When she finished, she turned to me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Sometimes, love can be a cruel mistress," she said softly. "And the forest, with all its secrets, can be both a refuge and a place of despair."

My eyes locked with hers. "Are you Avelina?" I whispered.

The room fell silent, the seconds stretching into eternity.

I remained frozen, afraid to move or speak.

Finally, Marina let out a shaky breath, breaking the silence.

"Aren't we all?" she asked with a sigh. "All women are Avelina, in a way. We all want to be loved, and we all want to believe that someone will come back for us, no matter how hopeless things seem." She shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "But in the end, we're left with shattered dreams and broken hearts."

I listened, absorbing the depth of her pain and disappointment.

There was a profound truth in her words, a shared experience that transcended our individual stories. Despite our differences, we were bound by a common longing for love, hoping for someone to stay and mend our broken hearts.

But often, life shatters those dreams, leaving us with nothing but heartache.

Love had always been an elusive concept to me—something I observed from afar but never truly felt.

But as I stood there, Marina's words made me think of my mama.

My mama loved my papa with a depth that I could only marvel at. Their bond seemed unbreakable, but fate had other plans, taking him away from us.

I remember the pain in her eyes when we first landed in the States, as she realized she had left behind her home and the man she loved. Her love for my papa had shaped her entire world. She had dreamed of growing old with him, sharing a future filled with love and laughter.

When that dream shattered, she was left with heartache and an emptiness that seemed impossible to fill.

Reflecting on her story, I understood that love isn't always a fairytale. It can be cruel, unpredictable, and devastating.

But it also reveals the strength of the human heart.

Despite the pain and heartbreak, my mama found a way to carry on.

"What about you, Sofiya?" Marina asked, tilting her head. "Who are you? "

Her question took me by surprise, and I scratched my palm, trying to distract myself. "What do you mean?"

She got up and walked toward me, looked down through the window, and waved, presumably at Volk in the garden.

I pressed my back harder against the glass, my heart pounding, refusing to turn and check.

Her hand rose to caress my cheek.

"Do you wanna fuck him?" she whispered softly.

I jerked back in shock. "What? No!"

Marina chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Relax, silly. I'm just teasing you."

Leaning against the window, she traced her fingers along the glass.

"You know, Sofiya," she continued with a sly grin, "Volk's wild between the sheets. I doubt a girl like you could handle him, so please … be careful."