The Monster In My Nightmare…

Anya.

My hands trembled as I glanced from Don Tariq to my father and back. Yet my question hung unanswered in the air.

Don Tariq was still staring at me, his gaze unflinching, while my father… I hadn’t even seen him move.

My throat tightened when his fingers closed tightly around my hand.

Pain shot up my arm as his signet ring bit into my knuckles and my fingers ground together until I gasped.

I drew back, trying to pull my hand back, but Papa held on even tighter.

“Yelena,” he called, pinning me with a tight, hard smile. “my daughter is overwhelmed, Don Tariq. Naturally. Say something to our guest, darling.”

Yelena?

My name was Anya!

I stared at him. In twenty-three years, he had never called me by her name. He leaned toward me, smiling, and spoke through his teeth so softly that only I could hear.

“Not one word about being Anya. For now, you are Yelena. Now smile, or I will break this hand.”

My lips parted shakily, and I managed a smile. “I… I’m sorry. I’m just surprised.”

“Of course you are.” The Don’s voice was deep and calm, like a fox’s, yet his icy blue eyes had not left my face. “Yelena. A pretty name.”

My throat tightened. Yelena was a pretty name, but it wasn’t mine. I felt my father’s hot stare burrowing into my skin, and I swallowed slightly before forcing two words out. “Thank you.”

“Everyone out,” Tariq said. “I would like a word with my future wife.”

Blood rushed to my ears as I glanced around. My father hesitated. His grip tightened one last, brutal time, then he leaned in again.

“Behave,” he breathed, and finally let go.

The doors closed behind him and his men with a soft click, and I found my heart pounding furiously against my chest.

I had never been alone in a room with a man like this. Not even with Dmitri. Yelena was always with us, but now…

Don Tariq did not move at first. He only looked at me, and I felt the gaze like a feather against my skin, tracing my pulse, the pearl comb pinned over the left side of my face, and finally, my eyes.

I blinked.

Up close, he was larger than I had thought. Ink curled up in intricate runes across the tanned skin beneath his collar and along his neck. The black lines reminded me of roots. A heavy black and gold ring glinted on his right hand. He smelled of wood and cold air and something darker, like smoke after a fire.

“You are squeezing that dog,” he said.

I looked down. My fingers had gone white against Pushok’s fur, and the puppy squirmed. I loosened my hold, my face burning.

“Who are you?” I asked, although I had a slight suspicion of who he might be. He was strong and powerful enough to make my father cower in front of him, but no matter who he was, there were limits to certain things. My chest tightened. “Why would you say that in front of my father? You can’t just walk into a house and talk about marrying someone. Do you even know me? Do I know you?”

“No.” He seemed almost amused. “I have heard stories of Yelena Sorokina. She is gracious, polished, and perfectly dull. But you, Yelena. You interest me. You didn’t strike me as a girl who would crawl across a marble floor for a dog… and try to challenge me.” His lips curled up.

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I enjoy it. Immensely.”

My heart gave an ugly, traitorous jolt.

“I don’t need love,” he went on, as though reading my mind. “Love is for people with nothing else to trade. I’m of the opinion that business and status keep the world running. Anything other than that… is bullshit.”

My brows furrowed. “That’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard.” I heaved a deep sigh and tried to steady my voice.

“I can’t marry you,” I said firmly.

Tariq lifted a brow. “No?”

“I have a fiance.” The word came out fiercely. “He is a good man. He’s coming tonight. He’s waiting for me, and I can’t just…”

“Then he must be a very useless man.”

I blinked.

“If your father is willing to hand you over to a stranger like me,” Tariq said, taking one step closer to me, “instead of to the man he promised you to, then your fiance has failed woefully. A man who is worth anything is not so easily replaced.”

The room seemed to shrink as his words hit me hard in the chest, and my fingers tightened around Pushok even more. Why would he say that about Dmitri? That was harsh and certainly none of his business to assume!

“You don’t know anything about him,” I whispered, my lips pressed tight.

“No.” Tariq shrugged. “But I know your father.”

He stood close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. They were not cold up close. They were the gray of a river just before it freezes, and something inside them moved.

He lifted his hand.

I stopped breathing.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away from my right cheek and tucked it gently behind my ear. His knuckles were warm and rough. The touch lasted barely a second, yet my skin burned. Oh God.

His fingers moved to the left, and a panicked voice cried out in my head. Don’t touch the left. Please don’t…

“Don’t,” I choked, stumbling back until my shoulders hit the cold edge of the table.

His hand froze midair. Something flickered over his face, then he reached out again, not toward my face this time, but to the puppy.

His knuckle grazed my wrist as he stroked Pushok’s head, and a spark ran straight up my arm and lodged in my chest. I snatched my hand away.

The doors opened.

“Don Tariq.” My father stood framed in the doorway, smiling like a man who had just run up three flights of stairs. “I trust you two are getting acquainted.”

The Don did not take his eyes off me.

“It seems,” he said, “that your daughter and I are not on the same page, Viktor.”

My father laughed. It was a high, nervous sound that did not quite suit him. “Girls! You know how it is. Must be the nerves. She is very modest and very sheltered. She will come around, I promise you.”

“Will she?” Tariq asked, his eyes still on me, and my brows furrowed.

“Of course. Yelena is a good girl. She is exactly the kind of wife you need by your side. Docile and good enough to fuck and look pretty, but submissive enough not to cause any trouble.”

Tariq’s lips twitched at the mention of the word “submissive.” Then finally, he turned away from me and straightened his cuffs.

“Twenty-four hours,” he said. “Bring me her answer. Her real one.”

At the door, he paused and looked back at me one last time.

“Yelena,” he said, a cold smirk on his lips.

Then he was gone, and so were his men, and the great doors shut with a sound like a coffin lid.

My father’s smile fell off his face.

“You idiot girl!” He crossed the room in three strides, seized my arm, and dragged me close until I was trembling against him. Pushok let out a wail and jumped off my arm, clinging tightly to my leg.

“You have no idea what you almost cost me. Not on the same page?! You nearly ruined everything!”

“Papa, I don’t understand! Why did you call me Yel—”

“Because the Don deserves nobody but Yelena. And Yelena is who he will receive. You are useless with that hideous scar on your face!” He shoved me away. “Where is your sister? Get her here. Now! This is not the time for games.”

“She’s resting,” I said. “Mama said she’s in her room.”

He was already moving. I followed him up the staircase, down the corridor, past the portraits, my slippers making small sounds against the carpet.

“Stay out of my way,” he snapped over his shoulder, and flung her door open.

“Yelena!”

My brows furrowed as I stared into Yelena’s room.

The curtains were drawn and the bed was perfectly made.

Yet, my twin sister wasn’t there.

Her wardrobe doors hung open, and where there should have been rows of silk and designer clothing, there were only empty hangers rattling softly in the draft. The jewelry box was open and empty, as if she had been robbed.

My heart skipped a tiny beat as my hands flew to my mouth.

The vanity table was bare of her perfumes and brushes, not even the little silver frame that held our photographs remained.

On the pillow, I noticed a neatly sealed cream envelope. Papa noticed it too, and he moved before I could make a sound.

Papa ripped it open. His hands were shaking, and he looked furious as he read the words in disbelief.

Papa,

I’m sorry. I will not marry a man like that for your port, your debts, or even your pride. I have never asked you for anything. I have been the perfect daughter, but I am asking you now. Please let me go.

Dmitri and I are leaving Moscow tonight. We are in love. We have been for a long time. We’ll find a nice town and get married quietly.

His fingers trembled, and fury rattled his voice as he continued.

Please don’t look for us. Anya was always kind to him, but she was never the one he wanted. I hope someday she will forgive me.

Yelena

My ears rang. My blood, turning to ice as my legs trembled.

The paper slipped from my father’s fingers.

I could not hear anything. The words “Dmitri and I” rang in my ears and resounded in my mind like a broken soundtrack.

Dmitri… Dmitri and Yelena….

How could… How did I miss it?

A memory hit me hard.

The letters Yelena had written lately. And how she’d flinch each time I mentioned Dmitri and me... The whispering and the glances he’d give her… How she’d offer to meet with him on my behalf while I was locked in that room.

“I’ll give myself to him tonight,” Yelena had said two months ago. Her words echoed clearly in my head. She’d held my hand that night, her voice so warm as she spoke about a stranger she had a crush on.

Oh God.

I had… I had smiled at him like a fool. I had confessed to Yelena, telling her how much I loved Dmitri and couldn’t wait to marry him.

My fingers grabbed the doorknob as my knees weakened.

“She would never,” I whispered. “She wouldn’t. She…”

I couldn’t finish.

My father turned. His face was purple with rage, but behind it was something worse… a cold, calculating look.

“Well,” he said. “Well.”

“Papa—”

“Look at me,” he ordered.

His hand clamped around my chin, and I forced myself not to flinch as his eyes travelled slowly over my face, taking in the powder and rouge I’d applied to conceal my scar.

“Your sister has ruined us,” he said. “That stupid boy has ruined everything, but you… you are still standing here!”

My eyes narrowed, and my lips trembled as I shook my head slowly.

“No.”

“No?” My father snorted angrily, shaking me hard.

“Nobody in Moscow knows you exist! The Don has heard stories of my daughter, and he said himself that he did not expect her to be so beautiful in person.” His grip tightened. “You will be Yelena. You will marry Don Tariq, no matter how long it takes! In every room, in every place, you will be your sister.”

“Why?” The word tore out of me. Tears ran down my face as I glared at my father. “Why should I replace her? You told me all my life that I was a shame. You said that I should hide. Papa, you told me that nobody wanted me.” My voice choked on the last words. “And now, you want me to be her?”

“You will be Yelena! Did I stutter? For once in your useless life, you can be of some use to this family, Anya. You should be glad I am putting you to work!”

Glad? Why would I be? Yelena and Dmitri had crushed me. My life was ruined. Why would I marry him?

“I won’t marry him,” my voice cracked. “Did you see him? The tattoos, the scars, and all the scary stories about him. Men like that are dangerous, Papa. They’re ruthless, they’re cruel, and you’d send me to him like a parcel? That marriage was Yelena’s to run from, not mine!”

“And what did you expect?” he sneered. “That I’d planned a quiet life for you? I had. With Dmitri. A husband who would have let you live peacefully in some far corner of the world where nobody could see you. But the boy never even liked you. You were merely a convenience to him. Even now, he has run off with your sister without a second glance at you!”

The words stabbed me bitterly.

“Even if I cover my face,” I whispered, “he will see it someday. And he will be repulsed. He will be disgusted, like everyone else, and then—”

“Then you will make sure he never does.”

His fingers dug into my hand as they had in that room, hard enough to leave bruises.

“You have always covered everything so well. So make sure that mask of yours does not slip. If the Don discovers what you are before the contract is signed, then the deal is cancelled. And trust me, Anya Sorokin,” his grip tightened, his words grew more vicious as he glared at me. “I will make your life more miserable than anything you have ever known.”

He let go.

My knees weakened, and sank to the floor. For the first time in a long while, I knew I was truly doomed.

How could I ever marry a man like Tariq? And worse, how could I hide my scar from him for the rest of my life?!