The Drognov estate must be hours away, probably on the outskirts of the capital or buried deep in its center, because the drive takes nearly two hours. The farther we go, the louder the suspicion grows in my chest. This whole marriage feels off. Too fast. I remind myself what Aleksei said: that he’d be too busy soon, that he wanted to get it over with before work consumed him. But was that even true?
When he talks, everything makes sense. But the longer I sit alone with my thoughts in this car, the more I begin to question my sanity.
Then we arrive.
To call it a house would be insulting, grievous, even. It’s an estate.
Other buildings dot the distance, and a vast green field stretches wide with horses galloping across it. I blink twice to make sure they’re real. Beyond that, I swear I
