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)
When neither of us moves, Semyon’s nostrils flare. His voice cracks like a whip. “Now.”
Then he turns back to Ophelia, his tone icy. “Leave. I don’t want to see you again.”
“For God’s sake!” I snap, unable to stop myself.
Semyon levels his gaze at me, his voice dropping dangerously. “If I were you, I’d be quiet right now. You’re in heaps of trouble. You left without my permission, snuck away, and got into a car with a reckless driver who could’ve killed you.”
I ignore Ophelia’s indignant huff as she slams the door behind her.
“You disobeyed me,” Semyon continues, his tone cutting, “and you’re already on thin ice.”
Semyon steps closer to me, dragging his fingers along my wrist. His thick thumb presses against my pulse, and his eyes glint coldly. “Just as I thought,” he murmurs, cataloging my every reaction with unnerving precision.
It’s hard to believe men like him exist. I’ve known men like my brother—selfish, reckless, charming as hell. And men like my father—selfish, addicted, too broken to take care of the people they should love.
But Semyon is different. Responsible. In charge. Yet as cold as an ice king. And he’s my husband.
I made a decision long ago that I would never fall in love. I’ve seen how it wrecks people—how it destroyed my mother. Women lose their self-respect in the futile hope of earning love in return. That will never be me.
Maybe, in a way, I’m almost thankful. Being married to an ice king makes it easier to keep that promise.
“You’re soaking wet,” Semyon says suddenly, shaking his head. “Were you so afraid for your brother’s safety that you had no regard for your own?”
I glance down, only now realizing I’m still wearing my old, faded dress, soaked through and clinging to me. The wet fabric reveals more than I’d like—the dusky outline of my nipples, the curve of my breasts.
Before I can move, Semyon shrugs off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders.
“Zip that up,” he orders curtly. “No one looks at you but me. No one, Anya.”
He jerks his head toward Stefan. “Have you eaten?”
“I had some cookies,” Stefan mumbles.
“Grab a paper bag and pack some things for breakfast,” Semyon says, his tone softening just slightly. “You’ll eat at home and in the morning before school.” He shakes his head.
Stefan hesitates at the pastry case, then asks nervously, “Do you… want anything?”
The surrealism of the moment nearly knocks me off balance—my little brother, my dangerous husband, and me standing together in this strange, fragile truce.
Semyon glances at the case, then points. “Two of those,” he says, pointing to a pair of pirozhki. It’s not indulgence he’s after, but practicality. A quick, filling meal, chosen with the same cold efficiency he applies to everything else.
It’s a small gesture, but it feels almost human.
“Lock the shop behind you,” Semyon says brusquely.
I hold up the bent key.
“Are you serious?” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “Forget it. We’ll handle this tomorrow. For now, everyone needs sleep.”
He leans down, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And you and I will discuss every detail of your disobedience… when we get home.”
Chapter 10
ANYA
The sky had turned a deep shade of gray before it split open, rain pouring down in furious sheets, turning the dirt path beneath my feet into mud. Lightning forked across the horizon, followed by a peal of thunder so loud I screamed. I was soaked to the skin by the time I stumbled into the shed—an old, rickety thing at the edge of the woods, with its rusted metal roof and broken planks that groaned against the wind.
My breath came in gasps as I fought the rising panic. I hated storms. Ever since I was trapped in my bedroom as a child during one, they made me feel like the world was unraveling around me. Panic would sweep through me, and I’d have to force myself to breathe.
Seconds after I stumbled into the shed, a figure loomed in the darkness, yanked the door open, and ducked inside, not seeing me.
I flattened myself against the splintered wall. Semyon. My god.
Semyon was right there, in the small space of the shed that didn’t seem big enough to hold both of us. He hadn’t seen me yet and stood just a few feet away, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and wringing it out with quick, efficient movements, giving me a wide-open view of the hard, bare planes of his chest. My eyes were riveted on his lower abdomen, on the line of barely visible dark hair that sunk low into his waistband.
I swallowed hard.
“Semyon,” I whispered, not wanting him to be caught off guard. His head jerked up at the sound of my voice, his sharp blue eyes locking on mine, wide with surprise for a second, before his expression shifted back to something controlled and unreadable.