Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Leaning forward, his gaze is so chilling, I actually shiver.
“I wanted a wife who knew that marriage to me was forever. And just like always, Anya… I got exactly what I wanted.”
I open my mouth to tell him off, to snatch back some scrap of dignity, but I don’t know where to begin.
“Here. Look.”
With a scowl, he takes his phone out of his pocket and shows me the screen. With deft movements, the blunt tips of his rough fingers slide over it. I stare, not sure what I’m seeing. “Come closer, Anya.”
I rise out of my chair, curiosity getting the better of me. I stand close enough to see the phone but not close enough for him to touch me. Numbers swim in neat rows on the screen.
“This is your family’s debt to me.” I stare at the numbers, a sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.
With a few swipes, the screen of red goes white. My shoulders feel a bit lighter. I let out a breath.
“And this,” he continues, tapping a few more things with cold precision, scowling at the screen, “is what I’ve deposited in your business bank account. I’ve settled your outstanding debts, and on Monday, I’ll introduce you to Claude, your new business manager. Do you know what this means, Anya?”
I shake my head slowly.
“A few things,” he says, his voice low and his eyes blazing into mine. He doesn’t look cold right now but as fiery as a stoked furnace. “Your family is no longer in debt. Not to me, nor to anyone. That would be a liability I won’t take on.”
“Thank you,” I say in a tentative whisper as I stare at him because it feels like the right thing to say, even though I know this isn’t the end.
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do this to save you. I did this because I’m a businessman, and I know ensuring your reliance on me will mean you stay. You have no choice. It also means I’m now the cosigner on your bakery. The next move is to bring your business back in the black.”
Cold fear trickles down my spine.
That was my mother’s bakery. It feels like the worst form of betrayal to know he’s co-owner.
Hate me all you want, but your family is alive because of this.
He puts his phone away and turns back to his dinner. “Are you done with your meal?”
“I told you, I’m not hungry.”
“Then I’ll excuse you from the table,” he says. “I haven’t forgotten your punishment from earlier. Your room is at the top of the stairs on the left. Go.”
He looks away, excusing me.
“You’re punishing me by sending me to my room?” I shake my head.
Your room?
So we aren’t sharing a bed?
His fork raised to his mouth, he looks up at me. Why does he have the face of a vengeful angel? “Would you rather have a spanking?”
My cheeks flush as I stare at him. I consider flouncing away and storming out, but that feels petulant and childlike.
“I’m your wife,” I say inanely as if that somehow dulls the roaring in my ears and the swoop of arousal between my legs. I’m so angry at myself because it seems like every time I make any headway with him at all, he takes back control with hardly any effort.
“Your point? Yes, you’re my wife. It seems we have different ideas of what that means.”
“Oh, do we? What does that mean to you? I’m just a figurehead to you, Semyon.”
I note the flare of his nostrils and the flash of his eyes before he’s calm and in control again. What was that all about?
“No, Anya. You’re wrong about that.”
My cheeks feel hot, my pulse ragged. I swallow and stand straighter, as I remind myself to hold my own. He might be older and more powerful, but he doesn’t own me.
He continues. “In my world, that means I expect respect and obedience. It’s a husband’s job to protect and care for his wife. And it’s your job to allow me,” he says as if it’s obvious.
It isn’t in my world. When I don’t respond, he continues, a note of finality in his voice. “Top of the stairs on the left, Anya. Go.”
I scoff, even though it sounds weaker than I want it to. “Obedience?” I echo. “What am I—a dog?”
“No,” he says simply. I wonder if he gets sarcasm. He’s so literal and matter-of-fact it’s maddening. “I would have had a dog trained better than this by now.”
My cheeks burn, and I want to lash out at him, do something, anything that would take him by surprise and break through that absolutely maddening, unshakable calm. But instead, my throat tightens. “You’re unbelievable,” I whisper.
“And you’re still here,” he counters, shaking his head. “Do you really think it’s wise to push me right now?”