Page 89 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"I do believe you." I draw the weapon, the weight familiar and comforting in my hand. "But that doesn't change what happens next."

"Pakhan, please…"

I raise the pistol and fire. The shot echoes in the small room, deafening and final. Benedikt's body jerks once, then slumps forward in the chair, held upright only by the restraints. Blood spreads across his chest in a dark, widening stain.

A horrified cry echoes from the corridor outside. I turn slowly, already knowing what I'll see.

Ana stands frozen in the doorway, her face white as death, one hand pressed against her mouth. Her eyes are wide with shock and horror as she stares at Benedikt's lifeless body. Then her gaze shifts to me, to the gun still smoking in my hand.

45

ANA

Iwake slowly, consciousness returning in fragments like pieces of a shattered mirror. My body feels heavy and uncooperative, as though someone has filled my limbs with lead. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, painted white with exposed wooden beams crossing overhead. My stomach aches with a dull, persistent throb that makes me want to curl into myself and never move again. The air smells sterile and clinical, like antiseptic and clean linens, nothing like the warm vanilla and sandalwood scent of my bedroom.

Where am I? The question floats through my foggy mind as I try to piece together what happened. I remember dinner with my father and Samuil, the rich aromas making my stomach turn. I remember feeling nauseous and switching our plates because his simpler meal looked more appealing. Then pain, sharp and terrible, tearing through my abdomen. Everything after that is fragments and shadows, voices speaking urgently, hands lifting me, Samuil's face above mine looking terrified.

The physician's room. I must be in the physician's room. But why? And where is Samuil? He should be here, shouldn't he? Unless something happened. Unless the baby…

My hand flies to my stomach, pressing against the fabric of my dress. Please let the baby be okay. Please. The thought consumes me for several heartbeats before I can force myself to move.

I push myself upright slowly, my arms trembling with the effort. The room spins briefly before settling, and I have to close my eyes against the wave of dizziness. I'm still wearing the dress from dinner, though someone has removed my shoes and loosened the fastenings at my back. My mouth tastes like copper and something bitter.

Poison. I vaguely remember hearing the doctor say I'd been poisoned. The word echoes in my mind, bringing with it a fresh wave of fear. Someone poisoned me.

I need to find Samuil. The thought drives me to swing my legs over the side of the examination table, my bare feet touching cold tile that sends a shiver up my spine. Standing takes more effort than it should, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me. I grip the edge of the table until the weakness passes, breathing slowly through my nose until the room stops tilting. Then I force myself toward the door, each step requiring conscious effort.

The hallway outside is dimly lit, the overhead lights turned down for the late hour. My footsteps are silent on the polished floor as I move forward, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The estate is quiet except for distant voices, raised in what sounds like an argument. The sound carries through the empty corridors, harsh and angry.

I follow the sound, my heart beginning to pound harder with each step. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones. I can hear Samuil's voice, his tone cold and flat, and my skin prickles with unease.

The voices grow louder as I approach a doorway at the end of the hall. Light spills out into the corridor, harsh and unforgiving fluorescent brightness that hurts my eyes. I move closer, my breath catching in my throat as I reach the threshold and peer inside.

Samuil stands in the center of a small room, his back partially to me. His shoulders are rigid, his entire body radiating controlled violence like a predator about to strike. In front of him, strapped to a metal chair bolted to the floor, is Benedikt.

My childhood protector looks broken, tears streaming down his face. His face is bruised and bloodied, one eye swollen shut, his lip split and bleeding. He's saying something, pleading, his voice raw and desperate, but I can't make out the words over the roaring in my ears.

Samuil raises his arm slowly, deliberately. The pistol in his hand catches the light, the metal gleaming cold and deadly.

"No," I try to say, but the word dies in my throat, coming out as nothing more than a strangled gasp.

The gunshot is deafening in the confined space, so loud it feels like the sound physically strikes me. Benedikt's body jerks violently, his head snapping back, then slumps forward against the restraints. Blood blooms across his chest, dark and spreading, soaking into his shirt in an ever-widening stain. The metallic smell hits me a second later, sharp and nauseating, mixing with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

A scream tears from my throat before I can stop it, high and anguished and full of horror. Samuil turns, his expression cold and empty, the gun still raised. His eyes meet mine, and for a terrible moment, I don't recognize the man standing before me. This isn't my husband. This is the Pakhan, the killer, the man who dispenses brutal justice without hesitation or mercy.

I turn and run. My legs are weak and unsteady, but terror drives me forward. I stumble down the hallway, my vision blurring with tears, my breath coming in ragged gasps that burn my throat. I don't know where I'm going, only that I need to get away from that room, from the sight of Benedikt's lifeless body and the man who killed him without a moment's hesitation.

I nearly collide with my father as I round a corner. His hands catch my shoulders, steadying me before I can fall. "Ana, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Take me home." The words tumble out between sobs, my voice breaking on every syllable. "Please, Papa, take me home. I can't stay here. I can't be here. I can't…"

"Ana." Samuil's voice cuts through my panic. I look up to find him standing at the end of the hallway, his expression unreadable. The gun is no longer in his hand, but I can still see it, still see the way he raised it without hesitation, and still see Benedikt's body jerking as the bullet struck.

"You murdered him," I choke out, my voice breaking. "You murdered Benedikt. He was like a brother to me. He was family. He's been part of my life since I was a child, and you just… you just killed him."

"He tried to kill me," Samuil says flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "He almost killed you! He poisoned my dinner, the dinner you ate."

"I don't care!" The words are a shriek, raw and desperate, torn from somewhere deep inside me. "He was mine. He was part of my life since I was a child. You had no right. You had no right to take him from me."