Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Anastasia was mine, and I’d fucking kill anyone who tried to change that.
Starting with Ivan.
Chapter
Eight
Anastasia
I’d never felt the kind of anger before as I glared at the newspaper, at the entire page that announced my engagement to Ivan.
My hands were shaking as I braced them on my coffee table, sweat beading my brow, my throat tight and my mouth dry.
I blinked several times, my vision faded in and out, and I finally sat back on the couch, not sure what to do next.
God, I couldn’t even breathe as I lifted my hand and started rubbing the center of my chest.
Not only had my father sprung this engagement on me without my consent, but now he announced it to the entire world, expediting everything because he knew where I stood, probably assuming I wouldn’t cause problems.
Because women in our world didn’t. They submitted, conceded.
But telling him I was an adult and wouldn’t go through with this wasn’t causing problems. It was living my own life and being independent. And once again, he took that away from me.
I thought about calling him, but I had to do this in person. I wanted him to look into my eyes, to see the devastation he caused. He was quite literally ruining my life, making these life choices for me, pushing me on a man I didn’t want.
Did he not realize that forcing me to marry somebody, forcing me to not follow through with my dreams, to not be able to fall in love with who I wanted to, was like digging my heart out with a spoon?
My knees gave out and I sat back down on the couch, resting my elbows on my thighs. I wanted to cry, scream, and destroy the living room.
Distraction seemed like the most logical solution to make me feel better. But as the seconds ticked by, that faded and all I felt was detachment sucking the very life from me.
But I refused to let it weigh me down. I needed to hold on to that rage if I was going to face my father, and I sure as hell was going to. Right now.
I grabbed my keys and my purse and left my apartment, already knowing that I probably wasn’t going to get very far with my father. But I also refused to take this lying down.
Half an hour later, I was standing in the foyer of my parents’ home, my anger having risen tenfold as I waited for my father to make an appearance.
I was fixated on a family portrait that hung over the fireplace mantel. I’d been thirteen years old when it had been taken, just weeks before Kostya had left and everything toppled. When everything didn’t feel like it made any sense.
I heard my father approaching but didn’t turn around to face him. I needed to steel myself, to control my emotions. The last thing I wanted to do was break down and cry because I was so angry.
When he entered the room, I could feel the heavy weight of his stare on my back. I tightened my hand on the newspaper I’d brought with me. I closed my eyes for a moment and just breathed in and out three times before finally gathering my strength and turning to face him.
“You’re upset.”
I wanted to snap back that he was stating the obvious, but I bit my tongue. This conversation would be respectful. I’d make him see how in the wrong he was. When I didn’t respond, he exhaled through his nose and walked over to pour himself a glass of scotch from the crystal decanter.
“What were you thinking?” I whispered, meaning to say the words louder but I felt like I was in such shock. I lifted my hand and showed the newspaper, waving the damn thing between us before tossing it onto his desk.
My father lifted an eyebrow, then seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing as he poured himself a drink and turned to face me.
“I saw the newspaper article. A full spread of my engagement to Ivan.” I held my hands up, palms out in supplication, my mouth opening and closing a few times because I wasn’t sure what else to say. And his expression was absolutely bland, as if I weren’t his daughter standing before him on the verge of tears because of the actions he’d taken that would drastically affect my life.
“Anastasia.” He said my name calmly, evenly. “Do you understand the type of man I am?”
I let my hands fall to my sides and curled my fingers tightly into my palms until my nails dug into my skin. For a moment I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but I nodded slowly. “I know,” I whispered.
“Then why do you act so shocked about what’s happening?”
I glanced away, feeling my face heat. I knew who and what my father was, but I supposed I’d been living in a sheltered bubble where I didn’t see the type of man he really was.