Maybe I've been through too much in my life, because nothing really fazes me anymore. Maybe I've just grown numb with everything. Because the second he walked out, I swept every splintered bits of my pride and every pesky, complicated feelings back into whatever dark corner they've crawled out of.
I ignored the box he threw at me. I didn't even bother opening it, just shoved it back onto the counter like it wasn't my problem. If he has an issue with me looking like his missing wife, that's on him. Not me. He can just go fuck himself. And maybe, that's what he should do, get all that angst out of him. Maybe then, he would stop fucking with my head.
I took a deep breath, then lifted my gaze up onto the mirror. This was the first chance I had, ever since he kidnapped me, that I've gotten the chance to look at my reflection. I had expected it to be bad. But this...this was worse.
My eyes were hollowed out. There were shadows underneath that made me look like I hadn't slept in months. My wrists were an ugly mess of purple and raw red, the skin rubbed and bitten from the restraints. My hair hanging in damp, oily strands. My skin was pale, waxy. And the smell...God, I stank.
I looked like someone who had just crawled out of hell and back.
I tried to remember the last I've eaten, or even had water. It could've been days, weeks, or maybe just mere hours, I don't know. It all blurred together. And yet, I wasn't hungry, not even a little. I was just mildly thirsty.
Which could only mean one thing.
They must've been feeding me through tubes. IVs. Whatever kept a body functioning without properly waking me up for food.
It doesn't matter, I told myself, as I stripped and stepped into the shower. I cranked the heat as high as it would go until steam blurred the edges of the room, then walked straight into the spray. The water hit me like a scalding wall, rolling down my skin, washing away everything from the last few days. Or weeks. Months, perhaps, I don't know. I had no idea anymore.
For a moment, I wondered if Grandpa had already sent his men out to look for me. But the thought dissolved as quickly as it came. If Alexandre wanted make me disappear, he could do it flawlessly. The man excelled at deception from what I've studied about him. He could probably fool our best hacker into thinking I was still out there, still tracking him, breathing in some other corner of the world.
Which meant that I had no option but to try and survive, until I could kill him.
I shut off the shower, the last of the heat clinging to my skin as I reached for the towel hanging on the rack. It was clean, soft. Something twisted inside my chest at the small mercy, but I quickly shove it away before it could turn into something more.
Steam swallowed the mirror completely, blurring everything into white. Good. I wasn't ready to face whatever version of myself staring back at me now.
Wrapped in just the towel, I pushed the bathroom door open. I didn't care if he was still outside. If he saw me like this. He had already seen more anyway. Crossed lines no one had been able to in years. At least, from what I could remember.
A breath eased out of me when I stepped into an empty room. Relief first...then something else, something I refused to name, flickering low in my chest. Disappointment? No. I shoved it away before it could linger.
The room was dim. Clinical. The bed he handcuffed me to was unmistakably a hospital bed. The metal rails, crisp sheets, the kind meant for restraint as much as recovery. The ceiling was stark white, floors were wooden. Heated. No windows. Not a single one. Walls, covered in dark wooden panels that could swallow sound and light in equal measure.
If I didn't know better, I'd say he had tucked me away in some private, underground infirmary.
My gaze caught on the bed. A single dress lay draped across it. A maxi dress, falling to my ankles, in midnight blue with small rose patterns embroidered across the chest. Simple. Much too plain for me. I definitely wouldn't have worn something like that at home.
But it was beautiful. Quietly, deliberately beautiful. And that unsettled me more than anything. Because in another life, I might've actually worn something like this. Especially since it was, of course, exactly my size.
I stood there staring at it. The dress laid out neatly on the bed like a quiet accusation. Every instinct in my recoiled. I didn't want to touch it, much less wear it. It felt wrong. But what choice did I have? My only alternative was the clothes I had arrived in, still damp from when he had drenched me in the shower. That bastard.
I was still debating whether to burn the thing, stay naked in this towel or put it on when the door suddenly clicked open.
I stiffened on instinct. My hands tightened the hold on my towel.
An older woman stepped inside, dressed in a shirt and trousers that contrasted sharply with the sterile room. Her posture was rigid despite her old age, silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. She was holding a folded towel in her hands, and a small bag.
Her entire face froze when she saw me. Her breath caught, audibly. Something like shock rippling over her features, but there was something else too. Recognition. Or disbelief.
I turned fully toward her, towel knotted at my chest, drops of water sliding down my legs onto the heated floor.
We stared at each other for a moment that felt too long.
"Bohze moi..." she breathed, the words slipping out in a stunned gasp. "You're—"
"I'm not her," I cut in sharply, before she could finish. Before she could claim me to be someone I couldn't possibly be. Because I knew exactly who she thought she was looking at. And there was just no way. No way in hell.
She pressed her lips together, the wrinkles around her mouth tightening while her dark eyes shimmering with something that looked painfully close to sorrow. Then she gave a single, stiff nod and stepped father inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The lock slid in place automatically.
Fantastic.
So much for picking my way out.
"Who are you, may I ask?" I asked, watching as set a folded bundle of linens and a small tray of toiletries on the narrow table near the bathroom door. There was even a vanity tucked beside it, one I hadn't bothered to inspect earlier.
"I'm Olga," she said, her Russian accent warm but firm. "I am Mr.Barinov's head housekeeper. He told me to help you dress. You are to join him for breakfast."
I opened my mouth to tell her exactly where he could shove his offer, but my stomach betrayed me first. Growling loud enough to echo through these walls. Great, just great.
She continued before I could recover. "He also said to use force if you resist."
My brows rose. As far as I knew, we didn't usually train our housekeepers to break bones.
Her expression sharpened, and she wagged a finger at me like a mother scolding her child. "Fo not let my old age fool you. You would be surprised."
I shut my mouth. My hand tightened on the towel wrapped around me.
"Now sit," she said, her tone leaving me no argument. "Let me dry your hair."