My Husband Is A Psychopath

Anya POV — Somewhere in Europe The moment I opened my eyes, my skull was pounding like a f*****g marching band. Last night’s party was still echoing behind my eyelids—the liquor, the screaming crowds, me standing on a table pretending I was a world-class DJ. Pure chaos. Pure bliss. And now? Now my life was apparently over. My phone vibrated angrily under my pillow. Dad. Augustus Von Hemsworth. Shit. I answered, voice half-dead. “Dad, it’s—ugh—too early for your dictator voice.” His reply was sharp enough to slice through my hangover. “Anya, you have to come back to Moscow. Now.” I blinked at the hotel ceiling. “Dad, I’m in Vienna. Just so you know.” A long inhale. The disappointed kind. “Then what the hell are you doing there, young lady? Move your ass and come home quickly. Your mother and I will wait for you. You have two days. No excuses.” And he hung up. Just like that. I stared at my phone. “Great. Just f*****g great,” I muttered to absolutely no one. I pushed myself up, blanket sliding off my legs, and immediately regretted it. My head spun like a broken carousel. Then I looked down. Oh fantastic. Ava and Enzo—the two chaotic siblings-in-crime—were sprawled on the floor, half tangled in each other, clutching empty bottles like trophies. “Ava,” I whispered. She groaned in response, face half buried in a pillow. “Enzo,” I nudged him with my foot. He didn't move. Probably dead. Or pretending. I pushed my wavy hair back and let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, congratulations, Hemsworth. You had one night of happiness… and now you’re being exiled back to Mother Russia.” Ava peeked one eye open. “You’re loud. Stop existing.” “I can’t,” I said. “I have to go back. Dad just summoned me like I’m some f*****g military recruit.” Enzo finally lifted his head. “Did you get caught stealing a diplomat’s limo again?” “No,” I frowned. “Not this week.” Ava snorted. “So why does Big Daddy Hemsworth want you?” I grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table and chugged half of it. “I don’t know,” I said, wiping my mouth. “But whatever it is, I don’t like it. Because he used the Serious Voice.” The room fell silent. Ava sat up. “Oh shit.” Enzo nodded gravely. “The Serious Voice means marriage, politics, or a new bodyguard.” My eye twitched. “I swear if they’re making me marry another boring businessman—” Ava threw a pillow at me. “You’re dramatic. Get dressed. You’re going back to Moscow.” I grinned weakly. “Yeah. Looks like I’m going home. Back to Russia. Back to obligations. Back to… whatever the hell they’ve planned.” I dropped back onto the pillows and covered my face. “I hate my life.” *** **Nicholaus POV — Moscow, Russia Presidential Palace** The moment I stepped inside the marble hall, I already regretted answering their call. Marriage. I genuinely thought they were bluffing—some political joke, some old men losing their sense of humor. But no. They were serious. Serious enough to drag me from a classified briefing and force me into the “family” conversation. I hated it already. I ran a hand over my jaw, exhaling sharply. A wife. A stranger. An inconvenience. She would live in my manor. Sleep under my roof. Walk inside the same estate I use for other things. She was a liability I didn’t ask for. I lit a cigarette and let the smoke curl lazily upward. It calmed the irritation buzzing beneath my skin. “So,” I said, leaning against the long presidential window overlooking the frozen city, “when will my future bride arrive?” My father, Maxim Dimitri Vlatislov, smirked like he enjoyed watching me burn. “Well, son, as I confirmed with Augustus Von Hemsworth”—he clasped his hands behind his back like a king—“she will be here in two days. And your wedding is set next week. So you have to be nice to her.” There it was—that tone. Not a suggestion. A command. I turned my head slowly toward him. “Nice?” I echoed. “Is that what you expect me to be, Father? A docile, obedient husband to some woman I’ve never met?” His expression didn’t change. He simply stared, weighing me like a soldier he was about to discipline. “You will not frighten her,” he said. “You will not touch her carelessly. You will make this alliance work.” I blew out smoke, lips curling. “I will show her how nice I can be,” I muttered, and the corner of my father’s eye twitched—just enough to show he heard the threat beneath my tone. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he said casually, “Her name is Anya Frances Von Hemsworth.” I repeated the name in my mind. Anya Frances Von Hemsworth. A name belonging to a spoiled, reckless socialite. I read the reports. The girl was chaos personified. Loud. Wild. Uncontrollable. Just what I needed—an unpredictable firestorm inside my estate. But then again… Fire could be useful. And dangerous. And entertaining. My lips formed a slow, cold grin. “Well,” I said, flicking ash onto a crystal tray, “I wonder how long she’ll last before she breaks.” My father shot me a warning look. I ignored it. My thoughts were already drifting—toward the woman who would soon be mine on paper… and trapped in my world of shadows. Anya Frances Von Hemsworth. I’ve never met her. Never seen her. But she was about to become the biggest inconvenience of my life. And perhaps… My favorite one. *** Anya POV — Vienna, Schwechat Airport I rolled my luggage like it was a toddler on a leash, dragging it behind me as I crossed the terminal. The airport lights were too bright, the floor too shiny, and my hangover far too dramatic for this hour. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. “Why does Dad sound like the world is ending? I swear, if this is about some charity gala, I’m disowning myself.” Before I could drown in my own irritation, Ava’s voice pierced through the noise. “Hey! I hope talking to your prime-minister dad doesn’t make you insane when you get back here, babe.” She winked at me like she wasn’t the reason I woke up on a hotel bed with glitter on my face. I rolled my eyes. “Better be good news this time,” I said, forcing a grin. “Last time he ‘surprised’ me, he enrolled me in ballet and piano lessons. I almost cried blood.” Enzo—Ava’s brother, resident chaos fairy, proud disobedient gay icon—let out a laugh. He was literally smoking inside the airport. Inside. The airport. Security was glaring at him, and he glared right back like a diva ready to burn the whole building. “Protocol is for boring people,” he declared dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a badass,” I said, shoving him playfully. “If they arrest you, Ava and I are leaving you here.” Ava smirked. “We might even take pictures.” Enzo rolled his eyes. “Whatever, sluts.” I groaned and looked back at them. “Alright, I’ll see you next week.” I hugged Ava tightly. She squeezed me like she was sending me to war. Then Enzo pulled me into a hug too, whispering in my ear with his devilish grin. “Oh, I hope you get back next week, babe… but we both know you’ll probably call us crying from Moscow, begging us to fetch you.” He pulled back, smirking like a prophet of doom. I shoved him lightly. “Shut up.” But a weird chill crawled down my spine. Why did it suddenly feel like he was right? I turned, took a deep breath, and walked toward security. Vienna behind me. Moscow ahead. And absolutely no idea my whole damn life was about to implode. *** Nicholaus POV — Moscow, Military Headquarters My phone had been ringing every five minutes for the past hour. At this point, I was ready to crush it under my boot. I glanced at the screen— Father. Again. Of course. I exhaled sharply, irritation simmering beneath my ribs. Apparently today was the grand arrival of my so-called future bride. And tonight, I was expected to sit with her at dinner like a civilized man. Pathetic. I leaned back in my chair, eyes drifting toward the large monitor mounted on the wall. Live footage streamed in crystal clarity—my men handling the captured rebels in the interrogation room. Screaming. Pleading. Breaking. The sight calmed me far more than any phone call ever could. A slow smirk crawled across my lips. My phone rang again. I answered this time—mostly to stop the noise. “Yes, Father?” I said flatly. Maxim’s voice crackled through the line, stern and expectant. “Your fiancée has arrived in Moscow. You will be here for dinner. No delays.” I stared at the monitor, at the man on his knees, begging for mercy he would never get. “Yes, I will come to dinner tonight, Father.” My tone was ice. “Now stop calling my phone as if that woman is the most important person in Russia.” A heavy pause hummed through the line. “Be careful with your words, boy,” my father warned quietly. “This alliance is crucial.” I smirked again, watching the rebel collapse. “She’s not crucial,” I said. “She’s an inconvenience I have to tolerate.” “Nicholaus—” I hung up. The room fell silent except for the muffled agony playing on the screen. I lit a cigarette, inhaled slowly. So… The girl had arrived. The reckless little Hemsworth princess. And tonight, I would finally meet her. I blew out a thin stream of smoke, eyes locked on the trembling man on the floor. Poor thing. He had no idea what true fear looked like. But she would. Soon. *** Anya POV — Moscow Sheremetyevo Airport The cold of Moscow hit me like a b***h with no remorse. The second I stepped off the plane, the air was sharp, frozen, and offended that I existed. Typical Russia. Typical home. I dragged my luggage behind me, boots clicking against the polished airport floor. My sunglasses stayed on, despite the fact it looked like the sky was about to puke snow. Whatever. Looking hot is a lifestyle. And then… there it was. A special limousine. Black. Long. Expensive. Surrounded by four men in suits who looked like they ate emotions for breakfast. I groaned. “Dad, seriously? This is too much. I’m not a damn celebrity.” One of the guards stepped forward the moment I approached. “Miss Anya Frances Von Hemsworth. Welcome to Moscow.” I squinted. “Did my father send you?” “Yes, ma’am. He asked that you be escorted directly to the Prime Minister’s Residence.” Great. More politics. More formality. More boring s**t I didn’t sign up for. I tossed my hair back. “Fine, whatever. Lead the way.” The guard grabbed my luggage, and I slipped into the limo, sinking into leather that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. A folder sat on the seat with my name on it. I ignored it. If it was important, Dad could tell me himself. If it was boring, then I didn’t want to know. My phone buzzed. Ava: How’s Russia, babe? Snowy? Miserable? Full of men in big hats? Me: Arrived. Dad sent a whole presidential welcome committee for no reason. Ava: Maybe he’s making you join another charity event. Me: If he does, I’m faking my own death. I tossed my phone aside and looked out the window. Tall buildings. Cold light. Endless snow. Whatever Dad wanted, it better be quick so I could fly back to Vienna and go clubbing with my sanity. I yawned and stared at the ceiling. “I swear,” I muttered, “if this is about ballet lessons again, I’m leaving the country.” The limo turned into a restricted road. Military guards saluted. My brow furrowed. “Why the hell are we entering a military zone?” The driver didn’t answer. We approached a massive iron gate, guarded heavily. Way more security than my father’s usual place. Something wasn’t right. My stomach twisted — just a little. But I brushed it off. It was probably some political crap my father wanted to brag about. Maybe a new alliance. Maybe a new law. Maybe a breakfast meeting with some boring general. I had no idea that the “boring general”… Was the man I was being forced to marry. The man my father hid from me. The man waiting on the other side of that gate. And absolutely no idea… that he already knew everything about me. *** Nicholaus POV — Military Interrogation Chamber, Moscow The smell of blood was cleaner than perfume. It clung to the steel walls, soaked into the floor, and painted itself across the skin of the man tied to the chair in front of me. His breathing was uneven—weak, panicked, fading. Good. He should be afraid. I wiped the blood from my knuckles with a cloth, slow and deliberate. The man flinched at the movement. “Relax,” I said calmly, tossing the cloth aside. “I’m almost done with you.” He whimpered. “P-please, General Vlatislov—” “Don’t beg,” I interrupted, grabbing his chin and forcing his eyes up to mine. “It makes you look pathetic.” His pulse throbbed wildly against my fingers. I almost chuckled. Behind me, one of my officers cleared his throat. “Sir… President Maxim requests your presence at the palace in three hours. For the… dinner.” Ah yes. The dinner. The grand, formal, irritatingly unnecessary meeting arranged so that I could be introduced to a woman I did not choose. My future bride. How romantic. I didn’t bother turning around. “Tell my father I will arrive.” “Yes, sir.” When the officer left, I dragged a chair across the floor and sat across from the bleeding man. He trembled. I lit a cigarette and exhaled a slow cloud of smoke between us. “My father wants me at dinner,” I said, as if discussing the weather. “Apparently the princess of the Hemsworth family has arrived in Moscow.” The man blinked through swollen eyes. “A–Anya… Von Hemsworth?” he managed. My brows lifted faintly. “You know her?” “N-no, sir… I only recognize the name. Prime Minister’s daughter.” Of course he did. Everyone knew the Hemsworth heiress. Party girl. Socialite. A pretty distraction in expensive heels. And soon… legally mine. I tapped ash onto the floor. “She’s not my concern. Not yet.” The man swallowed hard. I leaned forward, voice dropping into a cold whisper. “You, however… still are.” His eyes widened right before I stood and picked up the tool I’d set aside earlier. He struggled. Pointless. “Relax,” I repeated, almost bored. “I’ll finish quickly. I have a dinner to attend.” I stepped closer, shadows swallowing the room. “And I hate being late.” His scream tore through the chamber. I didn’t stop until he couldn’t make a sound anymore. Only then did I look at the clock. Two hours before the grand dinner. Two hours before I would sit across a table from the girl who had no idea she was about to become the wife of a monster. I smirked, wiping my hands on a fresh cloth. “Well,” I murmured, heading for the exit, “let’s see what kind of little troublemaker Father has chosen for me.”