Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
He nods as I click into the second file of footage attached to the drive.
Anoushka’s disappointed sigh is louder than the strokes of Konstantine’s fingers on his keyboard when “Kneel. Now!” sounds through the speakers of my laptop.
Arabella… Aleena? Whatever the fuck her name is immediately follows my command. She falls to her knees as swiftly as I spin to close my bedroom door, blocking the visual of my supposed wife-to-be naked and ready to please.
Zoya thinks I cheated on her with her sister.
I wonder if she would be as upset when all the truths of that week are exposed?
I’m close to telling her. I can’t live with the torment for much longer. But first, I need to visit my old hometown.
My son was interrogated without a parent present.
That warrants punishment, and I’m the judge, jury, and executioner when it comes to punishing the insolent fools who hurt the people I love.
And perhaps their caretaker. “Make sure she eats today.” Zoya skipped both dinner last night and breakfast this morning.
After waiting for Anoushka to agree to my request, I add another task onto Konstantine’s never-ending list. “And find out who doctored the footage.”
Although Zakhar can’t be monitored twenty-four-seven by Konstantine, there’s meant to be someone watching his feed day and night. I have a hunch of who might have coerced the security personnel from their post for a minute or two, but I’m not as trusting of my intuition as I once was, so I’d rather Konstantine check. He is one of only a few people I trust right now.
“Who do you want me to forward my findings to?”
Konstantine’s question stumps me until I turn to face him. He knows I wouldn’t have anyone to take my anger out on if it hadn’t been for Zoya, so he believes she should get some credit for her finding.
Since I don’t disagree with him, I nod, wordlessly approving his suggestion.
69
ZOYA
Idunk my head under a heavy flow of water, willing myself to pull up my big girl panties and handle my mistakes myself for the third day in a row. It isn’t Nikita’s job to continually bandage my boo-boos. And it isn’t her husband’s either. I objected at Aleena’s wedding before running the ruse that I’m pregnant, so I need to suffer the consequences of my actions.
It isn’t like I have long. Andrik said yesterday that the annulment will be processed within a week. Then I’ll be as free as a bird—and most likely still unable to take the edge off without Andrik’s involvement.
After swallowing enough water to drown my wish to squeal, I poke my head out of the heavy flow of water. The wetness clinging to my lashes reminds me that I don’t need to carry this burden alone. I objected, but I was coerced into making that decision. Ano is as much a part of this as I am, and he doesn’t have my number blocked like Aleena does.
He won’t be able to help me with the itch I haven’t been able to ignore since Andrik’s spanking, but he can offer some comical relief to my overstressed head.
I tried to call Aleena a dozen times today, and over a hundred yesterday when the man in the background of every scene of late announced who lured the security officers out of their nook with a damsel-in-distress routine a Disney princess would be proud of so our mother could interrogate Zakhar.
I’m not angry at Aleena’s tactics. She’s been under our mother’s thumb for seven years longer than I had to endure, and she can make Stockholm syndrome seem endearing. I just wish there was a way I could get her to listen to me without involving Nikita’s husband.
Kidnap is not above me when it comes to keeping my promises.
Murder may not even be.
The email I sent last night after unearthing the footage of Aleena on her knees in front of Andrik is proof of this. It made it seem as if money is the answer to everything, but the guilt it is bombarding me with now is horrendous.
Morals have me wanting to say I’m striving to get Zakhar a new heart because he deserves one—no child should endure what he has the past twelve months—but in reality, it is because I don’t want Andrik to use Zakhar’s health battles to excuse his rollercoaster moods.
I need him to be honest and upfront.
He can’t do that with his son’s sickness hanging over his head.
I went about it the wrong way, though. Not just for Andrik and his family, but Nikita as well. The email I sent went to someone high up at the hospital where she is undertaking her residency. I don’t think she has a clue the board at Myasnikov Private is letting people buy their way to the top of the organ donor list.