Page 32

ZOYA

T he heat of the sauna was nothing compared to the tension radiating through the room.

Since agreeing to Roman’s proposal, or at least not fighting him when he informed me of our impending marriage, I’d been granted a little more freedom.

I still wasn’t allowed anywhere without a guard. The only place I could be alone was in my room, and I was locked in unless Roman was with me.

Which he usually was.

I was still very much a prisoner, but one afforded a little more leeway as I was soon going to be an Ivanov.

Gregor would no doubt have his accountants at the ceremony and right after I signed the marriage license and lost my last name, I’d be forced to sign other documents taking away my money, my empire, and my power.

The thought didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.

I was getting a lot in return.

The way Roman fucked me was earth shattering. He lit me on fire and then smiled while I burned.

I had feelings for him, intense feelings.

I wasn’t ready to call it love.

That was only for fairy tales, ads for cosmetic surgery, therapy, and small dogs that were inbred to the point of not being able to breathe properly. Or whatever else wealthy western women were self-medicating with.

But the life Roman was offering was far more than anything I ever thought I would have.

Today was the day before our wedding and he had things to do, business to attend to, so Samara came to get me for the Ivanov women’s weekly spa day.

I was actually enjoying the spa day, even though it was still inside Gregor’s house. Fortunately, he spared no expense in his lavish basement spa area and, despite leaving Russia, he had not abandoned its traditions. Which meant that things like saunas were a necessity.

The sauna itself was surprisingly spacious, and there was plenty of room for me, Samara, Marina, Yelena, Nadia, and Viktoria. Alina usually joined their group, but she wasn’t here yet.

Samara mentioned she was pregnant and might join us later.

The look Nadia and Marina shot each other told me it was doubtful.

I wondered if her pregnancy was the real reason she wasn’t with us. It could’ve been. I had no idea if saunas were allowed for people in that condition or not. I had never experienced being around pregnant women, so it was something I didn’t know about.

But there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind telling me it had nothing to do with the sauna; I was the reason she wasn’t here.

So I sat among them, wrapped in a towel, the steam curling around my skin and lifting most of the stress from my body.

I let the steam ease the deep ache between my thighs—the raw soreness from Roman's rough, unrelenting touch—as I tried, in vain, to ignore the weight of the other women’s eyes boring into my skin.

They were trying, at least.

They were not openly hostile at all, but they were wary, and a little standoffish.

After all, invited or not, I was an intruder.

The attempt at civility was there—a few forced smiles, a bottle of mineral water passed around, and hushed murmurs of conversation.

But beneath it all was an undercurrent of resentment.

I could feel it in the way they avoided my gaze, in the stiffness of their postures, the lingering of their eyes when I wasn’t looking. But mostly in the silence that settled like dark smoke around us.

These women were close.

They were family, and I was an outsider.

One they didn’t trust.

Their invitation for me to join them was not offered with enthusiasm, but from a place of obligation. These women were the Ivanov wives. And soon I would become one, too. They were with me now because they had to be.

Roman had commanded them to make nice, and this was their attempt.

Honestly, I wished he hadn’t done it.

There was too much history. They knew why I was being held; they knew what I did.

They knew I was the reason they were all trapped in their homes like prisoners. The threats they had been under for the last several months were all because of me.

Although none of these women were ever my target, they were still caught in the crossfire of my ambitious climb to independence and freedom, and my determination to restore my family name.

I wasn’t sure exactly how much they knew about Solovyov or the cartel, but they knew about my kidnapping of Pavel, and the accident I caused that Alina and her unborn child were caught in.

It didn’t matter whether or not I knew they were going to be there. I could’ve told them that Alina and the baby’s involvement was a line I never wanted to cross, but it didn’t matter.

My intentions were not the issue. My actions were.

I knew they knew I was responsible for the violence that had swept through their lives over the last few months.

I was used to hostility. I thrived in it. But this?

This wasn’t because of my name, my family, or even my gender.

The whispered comments, the side-eyed glances, and the thinly veiled hostility felt different. Personal. And it hit different coming in a group setting.

I could see it in the way Viktoria tightened her jaw every time she glanced my way, in Samara’s careful restraint, and in Nadia’s complete avoidance of me now.

She didn’t look over my shoulder, or above my head like the others.

Nadia didn’t look at me at all. It was like she was pretending I wasn’t even here. Maybe I had imagined her and Samara’s basic kindness the days they helped me. I wondered if they regretted it.

When we had spent enough time in the sauna, the women got up and filed out and I followed behind, keeping a careful distance.

Just outside the sauna was a massive cold plunge whirlpool. The women all dropped their towels and secured their hair above their heads and stepped into the cold water. I followed suit, sitting on the opposite edge.

If I wasn’t here, I would bet the women would be evenly spaced throughout the pool, taking up all of it with lively chatter and gossip.

Instead, they were all crowded to one side, whispering about nothing really. It was almost like they were talking in code, just in case I overheard.

I’d been beaten, tortured, hunted—but nothing compared to sitting in a pool surrounded by beautiful women who wished I didn’t exist.

And after growing up in my family, that was saying something. In my family I was forgotten. Here, I was ignored.

That was a big difference.

The door opened behind me, and everyone stiffened.

A few were visibly concerned.

Viktoria’s eyes went wide, and she stared behind me at the person who came in while Samara’s eyes flicked between me and whoever it was.

I didn’t have to look. I knew exactly who had just come in.

Alina.

I froze along with everyone else and didn’t even breathe as I waited for whatever judgment she was going to pass on me.

Alina, all long lines and ethereal confidence, walked past us to the lockers and dropped a bag and her robe.

“Thank god you’re all in here. I won’t be able to go in the sauna until after the baby is born, but I finally got the doctor to tell Pavel I could join you girls for the cold pools.”

She looked around at the other women, her brows furrowing, and then her eyes landed on me.

I waited with bated breath for the recognition and the hatred.

It never came.

She didn’t hesitate; she didn’t shrink from the awkwardness in the room.

Instead, she smiled at me. It was warm, welcoming, and a little conspiratorial, like we were old friends, like we had some secret bond no one else understood.

She glided across the room with a confidence and grace I didn’t know was possible outside of the ballet. Carefully, she stepped into the pool and moved to take a seat directly next to me.

She didn’t give a damn what anyone else in that pool thought about me or her.

“Finally,” she said, dramatically settling into the plastic seat and placing her hand on my arm. “A woman in this house who doesn’t pretend to be perfect.”

What? I didn’t understand what was happening.

The tension in the air was absolutely stifling, as a silence stretched between us.

There were a few wary glances exchanged between the others, but Alina just ignored them. She was so unaffected by the awkward tension, I had to wonder if she was immune to it. Or was she laying some kind of mean girl trap?

I braced myself, not trusting what she was going to say or do.

“Look, I know who you are. And I know everything you’ve done. And if you ever do anything to put my baby at risk again, you won’t see me coming.”

Message delivered. I had no trouble respecting her for saying it.

Her expression then grew soft with a serene honesty.

“I also know that we have all done things we’re not proud of to survive.” She shrugged, as if this was the simplest explanation in the entire world. “And every single one of us would do it again in a heartbeat.”

I blinked at her, completely dumbfounded.

Alina gestured lazily toward the others, her tone light but cutting. Telling the others that she was not to be fucked with on this.

She was setting the tone and laying down the law. Which under any other circumstances I was pretty sure would be up to Samara, or maybe Viktoria. The power structure between Gregor and Artem was still a little confusing.

But in this, at least, the others looked toward Alina.

“I—” I had absolutely no idea how to respond to any of that.

“Do you think you’re the first woman here to spill blood in this family? The first one of us who had to make a hard choice? Or was put in a position that you had to act violently to save yourself?” She smirked at me. “Honey, if you do, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

Her words hit like a well-aimed shot.

A shift rippled through the room—subtle, but it was there. Then all at once it was like the tension seized and then dissipated, like a breath held too long, or shoulders relaxing after a massage.

There was a flicker of something almost like acceptance. Just like that, all the hostility in the air melted.

“Excuse you, I do not pretend to be perfect,” Yelena said in mock outrage. “That’s just how I am.”