“I just did.”
“You will answer for this.”
“I always do.”
“You will regret defying me.”
“Maybe.”
The line went dead, and I stared at the dark screen for several seconds, once again remembering that the fracture had happened. It had not been explosive or loud, but extremely real, and for the first time in years, I had not aligned completely with Kliment’s vision. For the first time, loyalty had bent even if it had not been broken.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and left the study, realizing that the penthouse felt different now. Heavier. Elisse stood by the windows in the living room, staring out at the city like she was measuring escape routes, and I onceagain remembered she was my wife. My gamble. The person that Kliment saw as my weakness. The one person who had dominated my thoughts since the moment she had removed her mask, and I had not been able to look away.
Chapter 11 - Elisse
Three days passed. I had counted them. Every single second. It was not because I had any hope for something that resembled freedom, but because it was the only way to measure the shape of my captivity. I waited for the morning to begin yet another day, which was followed by a quiet afternoon and a night. Again and again. My phone was gone, so that made things even harder.
I knew Fyodor had it, but every time I asked for it, his answer remained the same.
“Not yet.”
I stopped asking after the second day.
The penthouse was beautiful in the way cages sometimes were, with expansive glass walls, polished floors, muted colors that felt curated rather than lived in. It overlooked the water, the skyline, the illusion of choice, but the door remained locked. It was not visibly guarded or dramatically sealed but simply inaccessible. I knew I wouldn’t be able to open it even if I tried. And try I did. I tested it the first morning when he was in the shower.
But it did not open.
I also tested the elevator access panel, but it told me that a keycard was required, and I did not have one. I did not even know where Fyodor kept his. I walked the perimeter of the windows like a restless animal, counting the floors beneath me, but I knew we were too high and too exposed. I was sure my brothers would come eventually. I knew they had to. Iosif would not tolerate this silence from me much longer, and Avgust would not tolerate the insult. Timofey would burn the city before he tolerated humiliation, so I knew they would come.
And I repeated it to myself every day like a promise and a prayer, this being the only thing that was keeping me sane.
I would not become party to this stupidity. I would not adapt or soften, and through it all, I continued to ignore him. That one thing became my weapon. When he spoke, I answered with one word or sometimes not even that. When he asked if I had eaten, I shrugged, and when he attempted conversation, I walked away.
I noticed the way he did not react. That unsettled me more than anger would have. On the second evening, he tried again.
“We need to discuss how this will look publicly.”
I was sitting on the far end of the sofa, legs tucked beneath me, staring at nothing.
“I’m not in the mood to discuss anything with you.”
“This affects you just as much as it affects me, Elisse.”
“Everything affects me,” I replied coldly. “Apparently without my consent.”
He studied me for a moment but then simply nodded. I could sense that a part of him had accepted that reasoning with me was becoming even more pointless every day, yet he still continued trying. I almost wanted to applaud his patience. It was rather unexpected from someone like him.
“Dinner is in twenty minutes.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You still need to eat.”
“I don’t take advice from kidnappers.”
His jaw tightened faintly, but once again, he did not retaliate. Instead, he stood up and left the room. That wasthe general pattern, without any raised voices, punishment, or force. But even his patience infuriated me. Anya returned every morning and brought warmth into the penthouse like contraband. She would bake fresh bread and even make tea for me whenever I asked. I was becoming used to waking up to the faint scent of vanilla in the house.
“You must keep your strength,” she told me on the third day, placing a plate in front of me at the kitchen island. The plate was overflowing with maple syrup drizzled pancakes, bacon, an entire bowl of fruits, and toasted bread slathered with butter and jam.
