Page 29 of Savage Reign

“I’m not stupid, Nikolai.”

A smirk plays at the corner of his lips as if he’s somehow enjoying this. “Of course not.” He’s about to leave my room when he stops and turns in the open doorway. “If you don’t want to wear Eva’s clothes, you can always wear mine. I’d rather enjoy seeing you in my shirt and nothing else.”

“In your dreams!” I yell out as the door shuts with a hard click.

My eyes flutter shut as I sink back into the pillows. The interaction with Nikolai drained every ounce of my energy, and for a moment, I was tempted to let the mattress swallow me whole. But I can’t. Hiding in this room won’t solve my problems.

Along with the stack of clothes, I find basic toiletries and makeup. Eva’s doing, no doubt. I can’t figure out why she’s being kind to me. Maybe she’s lonely living here, or more likely, Nikolai told her she had to play nice.

After I brush my teeth and take a hot shower, I slip into a red summer dress that’s a little too tight across the chest—one of the many joys of being well-endowed. As a dancer, I’m strong and lean, but I certainly don’t have the body of a workout queen like Eva, not to mention she's an Amazon, and I’m the height of a mere mortal.

For now, this dress will have to do because I’d rather wear a trash bag than put on anything belonging to that mudak. I refuse to think about everything he’s taken from me.

The only thing I need to focus on is figuring out a way out of here.

The house is quiet as I head downstairs, retracing my steps to the kitchen, where I find an older woman with short, graying hair pulling something from the oven. She spots me and smiles, as if she knows who I am.

“Good morning,” I say, unsure of how I’ll be received.

Any uncertainty I have dissolves when all five feet of her come hurtling toward me. She hugs me more fiercely than I imagined someone of her size could.

“Look at you, so beautiful,” she says and steps back to squish my cheeks between her hands.

“I… thank you.” I have no idea what's happening or why she still hasn’t let me go. “Uh, nice to meet you. I’m Sofiya.”

“I know who you are: Nikolai’s wife.” She beams. “I’m Yelena,” she says, releasing me from her grasp before thrusting a steaming cup of coffee into my hands. “Cook, housekeeper, and the one who keeps everyone in line. Even Niko.”

Her words make my stomach drop. Nikolai’s wife. She says it so casually, like it’s something to celebrate. Does she think this marriage is something it’s not? Like a love match. I don’t want to be the one to burst her bubble, but she needs to know the truth.

“Listen, Yelena, you seem very nice, but let me be clear. This marriage wasn’t my choice. I don’t want Nikolai as a husband, and I don’t want to be here.”

She pats my hand. “You just need to get used to him. His bark is worse than his bite.”

This is definitely not going as intended. “I don’t want to get used to him. I want to be free of him.”

She studies me, her eyes narrowed. “I think you need something to eat.”

I almost laugh. She’s not wrong about that, at least. I sink onto one of the stools at the counter as she sets a platter of fruit and a basket of warm vatrushka in front of me. The cheese Danish is my weakness, and I don’t even try to resist. I usually overthink everything I eat, but it’s not like I’ll be onstage anytime soon.

God, maybe ever.

An ache cuts through me like a knife. In a few days, I’ll miss the audition with the Berlin Contemporary Dance Company. They’ll assume I stood them up, that I’m not serious, when that’s not the truth at all.

My dream life—my sunny apartment, my career, my lazy weekends—vanishes like smoke over water. In its place is an ankle monitor that costs more than my flat in Moscow and a husband I never wanted.

My shoulders sag as I take another bite of the Danish, which is absurdly good, and let my eyes drift around the room. No matter how civilized Nikolai’s home appears, it will never feel that way to me. It will always be a prison with lavish cells.

“You don’t like my vatrushka?” Yelena’s frown pulls me back to the present.

My face must have betrayed my spiraling thoughts. “No, that’s not it at all. They’re amazing. I’m just… tired.”

“More coffee,” she declares, refilling my mug.

“Thanks.”

As soon as I polish off the last bite, Yelena gives a satisfied nod and drops another Danish onto my plate. Might as well take enjoyment where I can.

Before either of us can say more, Eva saunters into the kitchen. Her eyes light up when she sees me. Once again, she’s in skintight leggings and a sports bra that shows off her toned stomach. Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, wisps framing her flushed face. Like Nikolai earlier, she looks like she just stepped out of a Peloton commercial.

---