CLAIMED BY THE RUSSIAN TYRANT

17

So Yelena was one of those people who despised Svetlana Sokolov. So what? Anastasia wasn’t particularly fond of her mother either.

Svetlana was known throughout Russia as the billionaire tycoon’s trophy wife—a trendsetter, a collector of jewels, and Maximo’s obedient shadow. It was common knowledge that her mother had been betrothed to her father at sixteen, young and untouched. Calling Svetlana a w***e was so blatantly absurd it could only come from a place of deep-seated, bitter jealousy.

“I will let that statement slide, because of your age. And the fact that I expect you to know better.”

Yelena shrugged, unbothered. “By all means, my dear. Run along and report me to Kegan. I practically raised the man. You think he'll listen to you? A Morozov? Besides, it's not as if what I said isn't common knowledge.”

“My mother is not a w***e, and neither am I. And you're a hypocrite if you and everyone else here worship a man who slaughters innocent people for sport.”

“Your father is not a saint either. He sold you to kegan, am I correct?”

Anastasia's jaw tightened, and she clenched her fist to prevent herself from striking Yelena.

The walk continued. They passed through a last hallway with animal skin hanging on the walls. “I’m sure you know of my sister. Where is she? I must speak to her.”

“She's out with the young master.”

Anastasia paused. “I don’t suppose you’re planning on letting me near her?”

Yelena shot her a warning glance. “Are you planning to tell her anything that will make her crash out?”

“Make her crash out?”

“Anything that triggers her memory could break her mind completely.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Anastasia’s voice rose. “I’m her sister. She’ll remember me.”

“And I've been her caretaker for the past six years. Trust me, you don't want to jog her memories by force. I suggest you stay away from the other part of the mansion. That office you rattled—don't go there again.”

Anastasia said nothing, silently plotting her next course of action.

As they passed to the end of the hall, a large floor-to-ceiling glass photo frame caught her attention.

The man in it stood in furs, a rifle slung across one shoulder, snow-dusted forest bleeding into the background. Broad through the chest and jaw, his blonde beard as thick and untamed as Alexei's had once been.

It was his eyes that made Anastasia's stomach drop. Not blue, like Alexei's. Brown. Sharp, predatory.

She didn't ask who he was.

She didn't need to.

A small brass plate was fixed to the bottom of the frame.

‘Sergi Morozov of the Morozov Mining Corporation.’

In the car ride here, Anastasia recalled Alexei saying something about his stepfather. He didn't mention a name, but he didn't have to.

Anastasia herself had read an article about this man once. The former Siberian Wolf, who disappeared and was replaced by Alexei. Who some believed had come out of nowhere.

They didn't look anything alike, but that ruthless look in the eyes—they both had it.

Something dark tightened in Anastasia's chest, and she looked away.

“What about the baby.”

“What baby.”

“My sister's baby? The one in her womb?” Anastasia asked, wondering why Yelena was acting like she didn't understand what she was saying. Anastasia had very well seen that bump from a mile away before Marina came flinging herself against Alexei.

Yelena turned to her then. They were in front of a door now, her expression confused. “Kegan didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what? And for the love of God, can you stop calling him Kegan in my presence?” It made her feel strange, like he was someone with a heart. Which he wasn't.

Yelena opened the door and gestured for her to follow.

Inside, the room was large and warm, the bed piled with a fluffy cream comforter, and to her surprise, a pile of designer bags filled with clothes sat on top of it.

“Ah, I see Kegan—Alexei—brought your things from Moscow.”

Anastasia didn't understand until she picked up a bra, still with its tag on, and realized these were the clothes she'd bought on that stupid shopping trip with Alexei's goons.

“He did,” she murmured, before rounding on Yelena, her patience finally snapping. “Now tell me—what didn't he tell me?”

Yelena looked away, her expression unreadable. “It's not my place to tell you anything.”

“Ha!” Anastasia laughed bitterly, looking up at the ceiling. It was too beautiful. She hated it. “You had no issue calling my mother and me a w***e to my face, but this is where you draw the line? Telling me something vital about my sister's health?”

“I don't wish ill toward you, child. I called your mother a w***e—not you. In fact, I quite pity you, actually.”

“I don't need your pity!”

“No, you don’t,” Yelena agreed softly. “But it’s a sad thing, isn’t it? To be so blind, and so consumed by hatred for the wrong people.”

“The wrong people being your precious Alexei?”

“Not quite.”

“Then make me understand why I shouldn't hate him. He's a powerful man who was no doubt spoiled by his stepfather or whatever. He hates my father, hates us all, and he got my sister pregnant. A woman who lost her memory. He should be behind bars.”

“Kegan was never a spoiled child. He grew up in the mines like most of us here in Yakutsk. And he never hated your father. It was always the other way around.”

Anastasia rolled her eyes. “Nothing you ever say will make me not hate him.”

“I never wanted Kegan to bring you here. But oh well—you can take a cake away from a boy, but never a boy away from the cake. Especially when it's too sugary.”

Before Anastasia could ask what Yelena meant, she was moving to the door. “A maid will see to it that you’re well fed and rested.” The door slammed shut then.

A few seconds passed with Anastasia staring at the door.

It suddenly occurred to her that yelena never actually answered her question.

Did Alexei impregnate her sister? And if he didn’t, who did?

Who was the father of her sister’s unborn child?

One thing was certain. She was trapped here. She couldn’t run without Marina, and Alexei knew it. That was why he could afford to let her roam free in this place.

She threw the nearest vase at the door and watched it smash to bits.