Page 3 of Sweet Deception (Savage Vow #2)

ANNA

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Two weeks since the blood, the ash, the truth.

I’d spent them fighting, pushing my legs against the floorboards, Zoya steadying me when they buckled.

My jaw still ached from that first fall, but each day, the twitch in my muscles grew stronger.

“Does he ever come back unannounced?” My voice was a quiet echo against the stone walls, and I hated how small it sounded.

Zoya’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Mr. Romanov does as he pleases. Best not to test his patience when he does.”

I paused, “What happens when someone does?”

Zoya hesitated, a flicker of something dark passing through her eyes before she murmured, “There was a gardener once. He touched something that wasn’t his. They found him in the river the next day, minus a few fingers.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke, each syllable colder than the next.

I forced a nervous laugh, trying to shrug it off as some grim joke, but Zoya didn’t smile.

She didn’t even flinch. “Your family should’ve warned you,” she added, her voice soft, almost regretful. “He’s still settling old scores.”

My stomach tightened, but I didn’t let it show. I shrugged, brushing it off. I had learned quickly, fear couldn’t control me here. Not yet.

Zoya was a constant, her presence like a shadow always just behind me. But I wasn’t naive. She was Gleb’s eyes and ears, not just my companion. I could feel the weight of her gaze every time I stepped out of line. Her constant presence didn’t fill the emptiness left by Gleb’s silence.

Two weeks without a single word. No calls. Nothing. And all I could think about was why. Why had he left me here? Why didn’t he care?

The thought of him not even caring enough to show his face made my stomach churn. I couldn’t decide if it was the betrayal or the isolation that gnawed at me the most.

My legs were still weak, still frail, but I could manage a few shaky steps. I owed that to Gleb. If not for him, I would have never had the chance to regain my strength. But with it, I had regained something else: the chance to live beyond these walls.

Dancing had become my lifeline, my only hope for a future I could call my own.

Zoya had arranged a private tutor for me, and since I already knew the basics of classical dance, I adapted quickly.

I paced the room now, testing my legs, forcing them to hold me steady through the motions.

Dancing was the only thing I could still do no matter how small it seemed, it was mine.

Normally, my tutor came twice a week, but I insisted on five sessions. What else was there to do in this house?

The internal telephone rang, breaking my concentration. “Mr. Ignat is here. Shall I let him in?” Zoya’s voice crackled through the receiver.

“Yes.”

A few seconds later, the door creaked open.

Ignat’s Russian name belied his Western features, sharp, calm, patient. I liked that about him; it made learning easier.

"Mrs. Anna, good day," he greeted, setting his bag on the long stool.

"Hey." I smiled and stood.

"I trust you’ve mastered our last lesson. Today, we’ll move on to something new." His voice was always polite, always steady. "It’s called the waltz, simple, yet elegant."

A soft tune drifted from the corner, filling the room as he prepared me for the waltz.

He demonstrated first. His movements were fluid, effortless. It was mesmerizing, the way he glided across the floor.

"Now, your turn." He extended a hand.

I hesitated before stepping forward. The moment I tried, my foot slipped, but I caught myself just in time.

"Relax, you can do it," he encouraged, taking my hand to guide me.

He was close. Closer than usual but it didn’t feel inappropriate. There was no other way for him to lead without maintaining this proximity. His scent was faintly masculine, but I ignored it, focusing instead on his instructions.

“Try again,” he said, releasing me after a while. I exhaled and moved, improving, until weakness crept into my legs. I usually rested when this happened, but I pushed for one more try. Then my body gave out. “Help!” I gasped, collapsing.

Ignat caught me, his grip firm. “You should’ve told me your legs were weakening,” he scolded gently.

I barely had a moment to react before a strange feeling settled over me. A shift in the air. The tiny hairs on my neck stood on end.

Then, footsteps. Slow. Measured.

A shadow darkened the doorway.

“What the fuck is happening here?”

Ignat stiffened instantly. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the weight of the voice pressing down on us like a storm cloud about to break.

Ignat carefully placed me on the chair before stepping back. Only then did I turn to face the man who had spoken.

My heart nearly stopped.

Gleb was here. My pulse stilled, my body frozen. He was unreadable, dressed sharp in a crisp white shirt and tie, black trousers clinging to his tall frame. Danger wrapped in elegance. A nightmare in a suit.

Gleb stood at the doorway. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was undeniable, and there was something different about the way his cold eyes swept over me.

His gaze flicked to Ignat’s hand still lightly resting on my arm, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Was that...annoyance? No. That would mean he cared. And he didn’t. Right?

And the way his cold eyes locked onto Ignat? A warning. A promise of pain.

"Who are you?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

Ignat, to his credit, didn’t falter. “Ignat by name. I’m Miss Anna’s dance tutor.”

A long, awful silence stretched between them.

Then Gleb smiled. It was a cold, humorless thing, sending a chill down my spine. "A dance tutor," he mused, stepping closer. "And you touch my wife?"

Ignat stiffened. “It was only to steady her. She...”

"I can walk now, thanks to you," I interjected, hoping to defuse whatever tension was building. "Dancing has always been my dream, so I asked Zoya to hire a tutor."

Gleb didn’t look at me.

"Mr. Ignat, You may go. I’ll have Zoya update you."

Ignat nodded quickly, stuffing his things into his bag. He was just about to step out when...

"Freeze."

Gleb’s command was quiet. Deadly.

Ignat halted. His eyes darted to mine, silently pleading.

My pulse raced. "Gleb, let him go, he’s just my tutor!” I snapped, voice trembling but firm.

He ignored me entirely, stalking toward Ignat.

"She’s my wife."

Ignat nodded sharply. "I know that, sir."

"But you touched her."

"Gleb, please!" I tried to rise, but my legs buckled.

"Sir..." Ignat began, his voice faltering. "Like Mrs. Anna said, I..."

Gleb tilted his head slightly, eyes glinting with something cruel. 'Call her that again.'

Ignat swallowed. “I... I meant no disrespect, sir.”

“No?” Gleb stepped closer, circling him like a predator toying with prey. Each movement is slow and calculated. “You put your hands on my wife. You called her by the wrong name. Tell me... why shouldn’t I break you for that?'

The color drained from Ignat’s face. I tried to stand, desperate to intervene, but my legs failed me.

Then, without warning, Gleb’s fist connected with his face. The sickening crack of bone filled the silence. Blood splattered onto the polished floor.

Ignat crumpled to the floor, blood streaming from his shattered nose.

Gleb loomed over him, his fist still clenched, knuckles red.

His breathing slowed, and for a moment, he went still, too still.

His cold eyes flicked to me, then back to Ignat, as if weighing something.

“You think you can touch her and walk away?” he said, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate growl.

He crouched beside Ignat, tilting his head like a hunter studying wounded prey. “No. That’s not how this works.”

Ignat whimpered, clutching his face.

“I swear, sir, I didn’t mean...” Gleb silenced him with a sharp glance, then stood, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a fleeting doubt.

"Gleb!" My heart slammed against my ribs. "You’re hurting an innocent man!"

His hand flexed, his knuckles already stained red.

"Mrs. Romanov." His voice was ice. "That’s what you’ll call her from now on."

Ignat clutched his bleeding nose. "Got it. Got it, sir."

He prefers that everyone calls me by his last name, a constant reminder that I belong solely to him. No other man could ever dare use my own name.

I managed to stand, my legs slightly trembling as I was still unable to stand properly, but at least I could move. I walked up to him with all my strength and held his solid, muscular arm. "Let him go!"

His gaze dropped to my hand on his arm before flicking up to meet mine, finally giving me his attention. I was leaning on him with my whole body since I didn’t have the strength to stand on my own.

Would he push me away?

"I'll just take my leave," Ignat cut in quickly, his voice tight with fear.

"If you take a step, I'll have my men shoot you dead!" Gleb snapped, turning on him sharply. "You touched her! You fucking touched her!" His voice thundered through the hall.

I could tell he wanted to do more, maybe break another bone but he was holding back. Because of me? I realized my grip on his arm was the only thing restraining him.

"I'll never touch her again, I swear," Ignat pleaded, his voice shaking.

"No." Gleb’s voice was ice. "I'll take your right hand as compensation."

What? My breath caught in my throat. "Don’t you dare hurt him!" I pulled on Gleb’s arm, but he refused to glance at me. Desperate, I forced myself in front of him, blocking his path. "Please..."

"Get out of my sight!" he roared. His jaw was tight, veins standing out along his forehead.

"No," I insisted, fear gripping me tighter than my own weak legs. I didn’t know my husband was a complete psychopath.

Then my legs gave out. But before the floor could catch me, he did.

Swiftly. Effortlessly.

To my shock, he lifted me like I weighed nothing and threw me over his shoulder.

"Stay here," he ordered Ignat.