I don’t know what’s in this box that Nikolai thinks will save me. But Ezra already knows and that knowledge took away some of his brightness.
I feel nauseous.
Time is wasting. The four families could arrive at any moment, and I need to know what’s in this gray box that will spare me from harm. I lift it from the black cavern and carefully set it on the carpet. I close the hinged door in the floor, remove the key, and cover the keyhole on the armrest.
Though my curiosity threatens to kill me, I don’t dare look inside the box—not here, not alone. Whatever is in this box is going to change my life. I know it. I can feel it. And I can’t find out alone.
I pick up the box and carry it all the way across the manor and back to the dance studio, holding it delicately, as if it were a bomb that would explode should I drop it. I hurry inside the studio only to be welcomed by the sound of Nikolai’s gasping breaths. They’re heavier and shorter than they were before, and it halts me in the doorway.
Ezra is on his knees beside him, grasping his hand, almost comfortingly. Nikolai deserves no comfort…
Then why do I feel thankful that Ezra gives it?
Something inside me feels torn to see Nikolai this way—weak and helpless. He’s finally getting what he’s always deserved, yet I feel a prickling confusion from my head down to my toes.
Ezra catches my gaze and I lower to my knees on the opposite side of Nikolai. Ezra’s expression is mixed with urgency and concern. “He doesn’t have much time.”
“I know,” I reply.
Nikolai’s head falls to the side and he looks at me. “Open the box.”
I nod and sit back on my heels, bringing the box onto my lap. I inhale deeply, steeling myself against Nikolai’s unpredictability one last time.
One last time?
The last time.
I remove the lid and set it aside.
Nikolai speaks, as quiet as a whisper, his voice weak and strained. “Everything is official. Legal.”
Inside, there’s a letter-sized envelope and a small black box. I reach for the envelope, lifting it with care, my fingers delicate on the paper that holds untold secrets. I quickly glance up at Ezra and he nods. I swallow down my anxiety and open it.
I pull out the pages.
I unfold them.
My hands tremble as I read the words.
Certificate of Marriage.
My heart stops beating.
Anya Antonov and Nikolai Mikhailov were joined in marriage on the twenty-first of September in the year…
Oh, God.
I remember.
This is what happened that day.
That’s what he was trying to remind me of when I was forced to spend the night with him three months ago as my punishment for trying to commit suicide.
Nearly a year into my captivity—when I was tired of fighting him, when I was lonely, lost, and desperate—I’d come to his room willingly for the first and only time and he’d made me come with his fingers. He never showed me compassion or caring after. He used the knowledge he gained that day against me, knowing how to use my body to coax me into compliance. I went back to hating him after that, though I suppose that was the time when I stopped fighting and gave him my submission to avoid pain.
But this, this Certificate of Marriage, was from the day after that. I remember Nikolai’s brother making me drink beyond intoxication. I remember him bringing me into Nikolai’s home office. I remember seeing another man who I didn’t recognize.
A clergyman.
And Kostya, whose name is here as a witness on the certificate, along with Nikolai’s brother.
Then it’s true?
“We’re married?” I stare at the certificate in my hands. “We’re married. Is this true, Nikolai?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “I told you, I fell for you.” He gasps. “I was going to tell the board when I turned forty.”
Forty?
He would be forty in a couple of months.
I look at Ezra, hoping for some sort of clarification and thankfully, he’s able to provide it since Nikolai’s breaths are becoming erratic. “Heads of House choose a bride when they’re forty…to bear children and carry on the family name,” Ezra explains solemnly. “He was going to tell them he’d already married you, but he wasn’t supposed to marry anyone without their agreement. That certificate would’ve forced their approval.”
With insistence and no warning at all, a bubble of rage rises into my chest and bursts explosively. “Why would you do this to me?” I shout at Nikolai. “Why did you do this?”
“To keep you,” Nikolai says. “To make you worthy of me.”
“You bastard,” I snarl. “Worthy of you? I’m worth more than your sick soul could ever afford.”
“I know.” He’s shaking, pale as a ghost, eyes shadowed with his oncoming death. “I know that now. That’s why I tried to buy you back. To save you.” His eyes flicker toward the box again. “Look.”
I pull out the only other item I see in the gray box—a small, square, black jewelry box.
No.
Please, no.
I flip open the hinged top.
Sparkling bright is a large, square-cut diamond ring and a wedding band to go with it.
Hot tears spring to my eyes.
I don’t know whether I’m livid or hurt or heartbroken. Probably all three. He took my future from me. He has well and truly stolen my life and this ring is a symbol of my slavery. He tied me to his family. Forever.
“Am I,” my voice cracks, “am I a Mikhailov?”
“Yes. Since our wedding.”
There’s a page behind the marriage certificate proving that it’s true. He had my name legally changed—legal in the sense that he paid off corrupt officials, no doubt.
My name is Anya Mikhailov.
I drop the jewelry box and dig my fingers into my hair at the scalp. “No. No, no, no. I’m not. I can’t be. I won’t be.”
“You’re the last Mikhailov,” Nikolai says and I scream.
I scream and I sob and I don’t stop until I hear Ezra softly say my name.
“Anya. There…there might be more.”
I turn my head to look at him, my vision blurred by the tears that form a sheen across my eyes. “More? What more could there be?”
“I lied,” Nikolai breathes out hard. “On Vigo’s contract of sale…I lied.”