It’s just that it doesn’t make sense for him to keep coming all over my stomach, my breasts or even my ass. His hard-ons seem painful, but he still refuses to fuck me.
I refuse to let him hear me moan or scream, so I guess it won’t happen in the near future.
Is that what he did with Lia, too?
“How was your marriage with Lia?” I ask before I can stop myself.
My voice is quiet compared to the blow-dryer, so I pray to all the stars above that he didn’t hear me.
But then he says, “It was a marriage.”
My mortification at being heard disappears at his answer. He has this infuriating way of avoiding questions. He doesn’t exactly refuse to respond, but he gives something vague or rephrases the original question.
“How did you guys meet?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Why do I want to know, really? Why am I interested to know about him and his wife?
Clinking my nails together, I keep staring at them. “I thought I should know in case anyone asks.”
“The official version is that we met at a party.”
My head slowly lifts and I stare at him through the mirror. “There’s an unofficial version?”
He’s preoccupied with my hair as he speaks, “Correct.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a secret between Lia and me.”
“I thought I was Lia.”
“I thought you didn’t like being called Lia.” He threads his fingers through my fast-drying hair.
“You still make me play her role.”
“You still don’t think you’re her and that doesn’t make you privy to my secrets with her.”
I open my mouth to say something but choose not to, because whatever I spout will backfire in my face.
The sick asshole is trying to completely erase me so I’ll become his wife. If I let my guard down, there will be nothing left of me.
“You’ll accompany me to a birthday party in a few days,” he announces out of the blue, shutting off the blow-dryer and brushing my hair.
“Whose birthday party?”
“Igor’s.”
I squint. “Igor Petrov?”
He nods. “What do you know about him?”
I pause, feeling attacked by a quiz all of a sudden. I try to recall the details I read about him. “He’s higher up in the brotherhood. Not as high up as you, but he has a notable position.”
“And?”
“And, what?”
“His family. How many members are there?”
“I…don’t remember.”
He glares at me through the mirror.
“What? There are too many people in your organization and I’m super bad with names. I’m sure I’ll be fine when I meet them.”
He wraps his hand around my hair and tugs back, tilting my head to peer down into my eyes. “You’ll learn all about them before the birthday. You are not allowed, under any circumstances, to make any mistakes. Is that clear?”
“Ok—I mean, fine. Fine!” Jeez. He has a weird way of flipping from gentle to harsh in a fraction of a second. It’s like he has a split personality or something.
“Ogla will ask you questions until she makes sure you’ve learned everything.”
“Lovely,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that, Lenochka?”
“Nothing.”
His grip tightens on my hair, but he lets it and the subject go.
“Let’s sleep.” He extends his palm, and I want to refuse it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist, but that will only result in more punishment and I really want to sleep.
As per every night, I try to scoot to the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Adrian doesn’t stop me, as usual, but he spoons me from behind, his knee pushing between my thighs and his chin resting on my shoulder. He smells like woods and shower gel. Clean and strong like everything about him.
His hand slips under my arm and wraps around my stomach. Sometimes, he grabs my breast and absentmindedly teases a nipple until it’s sensitive and aching.
I stare at the soft light on the nightstand, attempting to erase his existence from my surroundings, to pretend that his skin isn’t covering mine.
That I’m not a hostage in my own body.
If I at least had a drink, I wouldn’t be feeling so victimized right now. I would’ve numbed it—everything about it.
Fourteen days without alcohol—aside from that slight taste that preceded Adrian’s first and only kiss.
I don’t think I was that much of an alcoholic if I’ve managed to go two weeks without a drop of it. Maybe I merely convinced myself I was one.
My cravings are somehow gone, but my yearning for that state of mind alcohol provided me is definitely real and ever-present.
Adrian traces an invisible line over the cloth on my stomach and it’s hypnotizing—like his touch. I fall asleep almost immediately.
I shouldn’t feel safe enough to fall asleep in the embrace of a monster like Adrian, but it just happens.
A small sound makes me open my eyes. I’m still sleeping on my side, Adrian wrapped all around me.
I blink the sleep away as the sound comes again. It’s almost like the footsteps of a child, but they’re heavier than Jeremy’s.
Something jams against the doorknob. It turns but rolls back into place because of the lock.
Who the hell would attempt to come into the master bedroom at night? Adrian’s guards don’t step inside, except for Kolya and Yan sometimes, but never at night. Ogla never bothers us during this time either.
All sounds disappear and I think I’m imagining things, but the doorknob is jammed again, rattling harder this time.
I gasp, sitting up in bed and pulling the sheet to my chest. Adrian’s arms drop from around me and I shake his shoulder, tentative at first, but it becomes more urgent with every passing second. “Adrian…wake up…”
The doorknob is still twisting and turning with supersonic speed.
“Adrian!” I hiss, but he’s not moving.
The door bursts open, and I suck in a sharp breath at the view.
The ghost I saw from the window is standing in the doorway. Her plain white gown falls to below her knees. Her hair is tied back and her face is pale, but other than that, she’s a replica of me. Even her dark-circled eyes and hollow cheeks look like mine from when I was living on the streets.
“L-Lia…?” I whisper.
“So you know who I am, yet you still dare to steal my husband as if it were your God-given right.”
I shake my head frantically. “No…I didn’t…”
“Home-wrecking cunt.”
I shake my head again. “I didn’t want to…Adrian…” I extend a hand to wake him up, but I’m stopped by her harsh voice.
“Don’t touch him! Leave!”
“I can’t…” I’m crying now, my voice hoarse with how much I’m trying to form into words that I never wanted this. I never thought about taking her place or her name or her husband.
She lunges toward me and I cross my hands in front of my face to protect it. But she doesn’t reach me. Instead, a gurgling sound emerges in the silence.
I peek from between my fingers and gasp as a patch of blood explodes on Lia’s nightgown, something sharp protruding from her abdomen—a knife.