“Really?” he drawls the word.
“You think I’d let her breathe another second if that were the case?”
“Right. You wouldn’t.” He pauses as noises erupt from the other end of the line. “My shipment is here.”
The beeping sound is the only thing I hear after he hangs up.
I remove the phone from my ear, tightening my hold on it until my knuckles turn white.
“Kolya. Yan. I need you to uncover all the rumors circulating about Lia. Start with digging into what Mikhail’s wife is spouting and move from there. Don’t leave any fucking thing out.”
“Yes, sir,” Kolya says.
I fix Yan with a stare when I don’t hear his confirmation. “You have a problem?”
He stares right back, his light eyes clashing with mine. “Aside from the problem you created, sir?”
“Yan!” Kolya glares at him because of his show of insubordinate behavior.
I dismiss my senior guard with a hand. “Let him continue. You seem to have a lot to say. Let’s hear it, Yan.”
He doesn’t even smooth his glare. “This is wrong and you know it, sir. Stop this madness.”
Kolya punches him in the face. “Shut up.”
The punch is so strong that Yan staggers backward, clutching his jaw and staring at Kolya with hurt mixed with anger. He thinks Kolya hit him to cause pain, but Yan is an idiot sometimes. He fails to realize that the ever so diplomatic Kolya went out of his way and punched him because that will lessen my reaction toward his insolence.
But even Kolya’s gesture won’t save Yan.
I stand up and my second-in-command tries to get in my way. “He won’t repeat it, sir.”
“Nice try, Kolya.” I tap his arm as I bypass him toward Yan and grab him by the shoulder.
My guard stands upright, a red bruise already forming on his cheek. I speak calmly, not letting my emotions get the best of me, even though he has many strikes to count. “Whose guard are you, Yan?”
“Yours.”
“Correct. Then why are you acting otherwise?”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“How long have you known me?”
“Since I was three.”
“You’re twenty-five now, so that’s twenty-two years. That’s such a long time, don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“It’d be a pity to end them with your head chopped the fuck off.” I grab him by the nape, peering into his eyes. “Kolya and I brought you up and made a man out of you. Don’t make me regret it.”
“But, Boss—”
“Shut the fuck up, Yan,” Kolya grits out from beside me, and that manages to silence the younger guard.
I release Yan, and Kolya grabs his nape and forces him to nod in apology.
Ignoring his sullen presence, I concentrate on work. I spend the next two hours or so opening emails and combing through the information my various hackers have sent my way. Some are insignificant, but others are saved until I can ensure their integrity.
The entire time, my focus is scattered by what Kirill said. Though the first part—that Pakhan suspects me—should get my attention, it’s the latter half that’s on my mind.
The motherfucking rumors.
I’ll eradicate each and every one of them until the truth is mixed with lies. I’m good enough at exercising that tactic to the point that even those closest to me are fooled.
Like Yan.
A movement in front of me makes me lift my head.
“She’s ready, sir.” The manager smiles with utter pride, as if she’s made a swan out of an ugly duckling.
But that’s not the case. She was always a swan, only hidden.
Winter steps from behind the manager to stand in front of me.
As I requested, her hair is dark brown. It’s tied in a bun and her face is radiant, though a bit thin.
A simple beige dress reaches her knees, molding against the curve of her breasts and hips. Black heels cover her feet. She’s wearing the same makeup from the wedding picture I showed her earlier.
The only difference is that she’s not smiling.
Almost like she’s already stepping into my wife’s shoes.
As she should.
Winter is no longer Winter. She’s Lia.
She took my wife’s life, and her punishment is spending the rest of her existence being Lia’s replacement.
I’ll bring my Lia out of this woman, even if it’s the last thing I do.
7
Winter
I remain as still as a corpse under the stranger’s scrutiny.
Adrian. The stranger’s name is Adrian Volkov and I’m supposed to be his wife now.
The staff took me to a special massage room, undressed me, and placed me in a bubble bath full of roses, which is now my scent. After being the definition of trash, I currently feel like a rose plucked from a field.
And not in an I’ll go to a better place way, but in an I’ll probably wither and perish way.
The girls did all sorts of things to my body. They dyed my hair, waxed me, did my nails and my makeup. Then they put me in a straight brown dress that’s a bit bigger than my thin frame. The heels are a perfect size, although they’re uncomfortable and I can barely stand in them, let alone walk.
The entire time that they were turning me left and right, doing this and that, I felt like a doll. The type that’s played with and tossed aside once the fun is over. Already, I felt like I was losing my will.
I didn’t want to change my hair color. As hideous as it was, the blonde was something I had chosen. When I said that, the manager, who introduced herself as Emily, said she was following Mr. Volkov’s order and neither of us had a say in anything.
I chose not to make her job even harder, considering that she and the rest of her staff stayed late just for my sake. Adrian might feel normal doing that to other people, but I’m not like him. I dislike being the source of others’ discomfort—it’s a shitty place to be.
Adrian seems more and more like a sociopath, so I doubt he cares who might suffer because of his demands. As long as he gets what he wants, to hell with everyone else.
So even though Emily and her staff were attentive, I felt my skin crawling. No amount of rose baths or luxurious clothes would’ve made me feel comfortable.
It’s like I’ve been thrust into an alternate reality and have been living on thick, murky air ever since this afternoon. Ever since I was trapped in his gray eyes. Ever since I made the mistake of existing in his space. And now, I’m starting to think it’ll be impossible to find a way out.
But even if I did, where would I go? To jail?
Surely, the discomfort of being here is better than jail.
Or so I’d like to believe.
The moment I looked in the mirror after Emily and the others finished, I saw a reflection of the woman in the wedding picture Adrian showed me.
Lia.
I’d become her and a tear nearly escaped my eyes at that thought.
Is there anything crueler than erasing one’s identity? Than wiping away the essence of their being as if it never existed?
Because that’s what I feel right now as I stand in front of him. I’m not Winter in his eyes. I’m already Lia, and he intends to cement that fact into the very marrow of my bones going forward.