Page 60 of His Darkest Obsession

“Wouldn’t you be?” I retort. “She’s all I have left in this world, and she has no idea where I am or if I’m okay. Anatoly still has my phone so I can’t even reach out to her if I wanted to.”

“There you go again, silly girl, forgetting who and what you are now.” Svetlana nods.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your hand, please.”

Confused, I let go of the needle and reach out with my right.

“Your other hand.”

I extend my left, and that’s when I catch sight of the wedding ring shimmering in the morning light. “Oh…”

Svetlana smiles, and this time, it looks genuine. “You’re a pakhan’s wife now. So act like one.”

I sigh. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want me to say? It’s too early for me to try and figure out riddles.”

"I can check on your sister for you. From a distance, of course. And discreetly." Her lips curl slightly. "Far more discreet than any man that your husband might send."

I set the needle down slowly and consider her offer. Amara is all alone right now, probably frantic with worry. And I doubt that Anatoly would be willing to give me back my phone before the gala.

"But why would you do that for me?" I ask.

"Because you are the pakhan’s wife.” Svetlana shrugs. "And maybe I have a soft heart for someone who spends more time worrying about others than herself."

I study her face, looking for deception. But all I see is that same guarded competence I've come to recognize.

"And Anatoly wouldn't know?"

"I’m your personal guard, not his. What you choose to order me to do, so long as it does not interfere with the affairs of the Bratva, is your business and your business alone. Never forget that."

The thought of having someone watching over Amara, and making sure she's safe while I'm trapped here. It's tempting, alright. Too tempting to refuse.

"Okay," I say finally. "But just watch, okay? Don't approach her. Don't let her know she's being followed. And tell me if she needs something."

"I will, Indigo Malcolmovna." Svetlana nods. "I'll make sure she's safe. Nothing more."

I hesitate, then add, "Thank you."

Svetlana gives me one long, appraising look before standing. She says nothing else as she turns and walks toward the door. Before she leaves, she pauses, and glances back over her shoulder. Not at me, but at the mess of altered clothes spread across my bed, as a smile ghosts across her face again.

Then she's gone.

The door closes quietly behind her, and I’m left alone with nothing but a pile of expensive fabric and my defiance to keep me company.

I turn back to my little rebellion, and put on the final touches to my alterations before I put the dress on in front of the mirror.

The cream silk clings to every curve, leaving almost nothing to the imagination even as the skirt manages to hide the scars on my thigh. I turn slowly, assessing my handiwork.

It's technically still a dress, but only in the most generous interpretation of the word.

Will Anatoly’s jaw tighten when he sees me in this? Will those piercing blue eyes darken? Will he be furious? Turned on? Both?

Part of me—a dangerous, reckless part I should probably ignore, especially after last night—shivers at the thought of his reaction. That part of me is cackling in delight at the thought that I might able to incite that kind of a reaction from him.

I smooth my hands over the material, feeling powerful for the first time since I was brought to this mansion. This dress is a challenge.

A declaration that I won't be controlled, not even by the man who now calls me wife.