Chapter Two — Cursed From the Cradle
954 Words
The cold didn’t bother her anymore.
Alina stared out the frost-laced window of the moving car, the city lights a blur of white and steel as they sped through Moscow’s midnight silence. Her reflection stared back — hollow eyes, lips drawn tight, dressed in velvet like a doll being packaged and sold.
She wondered if Viktor Kuznetsov knew he wasn’t the first to break her.
No, that crown belonged to the man who gave her life… and then let everyone else take it from her.
She had been just six when her mother died — a car crash, they’d said. Quick. Painless. But the hole it left inside her never closed. Within months, her father remarried. Alina remembered the way the new woman moved into their home like it had always been hers. Polished, polite, perfect — to everyone but Alina.
Then came Evelina. Her half-sister. Just one year younger, but lightyears ahead in the game of cruelty. Where Alina was quiet, Evelina was loud. Where Alina was shadow, Evelina was spotlight. And their mother made sure it stayed that way.
“Stand up straight, don’t slouch like a maid.”
“Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
“Your hair is a mess. Do you want to embarrass us again?”
Slaps came with smiles. Insults came with perfume.
And her father… her father stood silent through it all.
It didn’t matter how many nights Alina cried, or how many bruises were hidden behind long sleeves. She learned early: no one was coming to save her.
So when she overheard them — her stepmother’s hushed voice, Evelina’s laughter, her father’s reluctant sigh — planning to hand her over to the wolves in exchange for peace, it didn’t surprise her.
It just confirmed what she already knew.
She wasn’t a daughter.
She was a burden.
A pawn.
A sacrifice to cover a betrayal she didn’t even make.
Now, sitting in the car beside Viktor, whose silence was heavier than the snow outside, she realized something.
She had nothing left to lose.
And that made her dangerous
The iron gates creaked open with a shudder that echoed in her bones.
Alina’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of her coat as the car pulled into the estate. Snow blanketed the ground in quiet defiance, untouched and pure — unlike the place she was about to enter.
The Kuznetsov mansion loomed like something pulled out of a forgotten legend — tall, ancient, and cruel in its beauty. Stone gargoyles lined the roof. Lanterns cast golden halos over the sharp architecture, but nothing about the estate felt warm.
It was the kind of place where kings bled behind velvet curtains… and no one ever heard their screams.
The car stopped.
Her heart did too.
“Out,” Viktor said coldly, already stepping out into the snow.
She followed, heels crunching against gravel. Her breath fogged in the air as she took in the towering entrance, the armed guards at the corners, the sharp glances tossed her way like daggers wrapped in curiosity.
She straightened her spine. They wouldn’t see her break.
The front doors opened, revealing a man in his forties — sharp features, silver-streaked hair, eyes like cracked ice. He didn’t smile.
“Welcome,” he said. “I am Dimitri Kuznetsov. Head of this family. Viktor’s father.”
So this was the man her father betrayed. The man who now owned her.
Alina gave a polite nod, her voice steady despite the chill slithering down her spine. “Thank you.”
He studied her like one studies the quality of silk before a trade. “You’re smaller than expected.”
Expected?
So they’d been talking about her — weighing her worth, perhaps measuring how long she’d last.
“Looks are deceiving,” she said quietly.
Viktor’s jaw twitched. Dimitri gave a dry smirk and turned away, waving them in.
Inside, the house smelled like cold marble and old money. Chandeliers glittered above like stars she couldn’t reach. Men in suits stood by doors. Women’s eyes flicked up and down her body — some pitying, some cruel.
But none of it hurt more than the silence beside her.
Viktor hadn’t looked at her once since they arrived. Not a word. Not a glance. Just his presence — tall, dangerous, and indifferent.
Until she stumbled slightly on the stair. Only then did his hand shoot out — catching her by the waist, firm and fast.
Their eyes met. His were darker than nightfall.
“I told you to wear boots,” he muttered.
She pulled away. “I didn’t know I was being marched into a tundra.”
The corner of his lip twitched — not quite a smile, not quite mockery. He turned and kept walking.
And Alina?
She followed.
Not because she wanted to.
But because fate had already locked the doors behind her.
Up the stairs, past corridors that whispered with wealth and secrets, Viktor finally stopped at a door.
“This is yours,” he said, pushing it open.
The room was… beautiful. Lavish, even. Cream walls. A velvet settee. A view of the frost-covered gardens. But none of it felt like hers. It felt like a cage draped in luxury.
“And yours?” she asked, her voice barely above a breath.
He pointed across the hall. Directly opposite.
“I don’t like noise,” he said coldly. “Don’t knock unless it’s necessary.”
She nodded slowly. “Understood.”
He didn’t linger. Didn’t ask if she needed anything. Just turned, stepped into his room, and closed the door without a word.
She stood in the quiet for a while, alone with her reflection in the gold-framed mirror.
- Writer
