Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
He also doesn’t have a permanent scowl like the rest of them. His expression isn’t welcoming either, just neutral. All those combined make Yan the one person I think I could get the closest to here. For some reason, I feel like I need allies aside from the angel sitting beside me.
“Do you watch over Jeremy all the time?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Yan plays with me sometimes,” Jeremy informs me. “It’s okay, Yan. I have Mommy now.”
I smile at that, and even though Yan doesn’t return it, his expression softens.
“Have you been here long?” I ask Yan.
“Since I was three.” I notice that as he speaks, Yan doesn’t make eye contact with me, choosing to focus on Jeremy, so I do the same while picking up a couple of his toys, no clue why.
“That’s a long time.”
“You could say that.”
“Did you…know Lia?” I murmur, not wanting Jeremy to hear. “I mean, me before I…you know…”
“Kolya and I got you from that parking garage, Mrs. Volkov. We know.”
Right. They did. So along with Adrian, Kolya and Yan also know I’m an imposter. That makes me feel closer and more at ease with Yan. “Please don’t call me Mrs. Volkov.”
“You are.”
“You know I’m not.”
He widens his stance but says nothing, so I repeat, “So did you know her?”
“Yes.” His answer is short but not clipped, which means he’s not opposed to other questions.
“How old was she?”
“It hasn’t been long since she turned thirty.”
“How long was she married to Adrian?”
“Since she was twenty-four.”
That’s six years—a long time to spend in the devil’s company. I’ve been here for just two days and they feel like an eternity.
“How old is Adrian?”
“Thirty-six—and that’s the only question I’ll answer about him.”
His meaning is obvious. Yan will satisfy my curiosity about Lia, but not Adrian. It’s an admirable type of loyalty, even if that leaves me in the dark about my fake husband.
I should start calling him my captor and dehumanize him a little.
“Were you close with Lia?”
“I was her guard when the boss didn’t need me.”
“Let me guess. Now, you’re stuck with me?”
“It’s my duty.” His voice is quiet with a hint of hesitation, as if he wants to say something else.
My gaze slides to him so that I can read his expression, but he shakes his head the slightest bit, still staring at Jeremy.
I lower my eyes and brush my fingers through the boy’s hair as he struggles with an endless Lego-like game.
“How did she die?” I murmur.
“She just died.” Now his voice is clipped, closed off, not offering any room for more.
The message is clear—question time is over.
But a multitude of them keep multiplying in my head. Like what type of woman was she? Mother? Wife? Did Adrian love her?
I scoff internally at that question. That devil isn’t capable of emotions, let alone something that requires giving more than taking.
But he went to great lengths to replace her with me, so maybe he felt something for her.
Or maybe he was merely obsessed with her and he’ll inflict that on me. He called me his thing, and people like Adrian don’t like their property taken away.
It’s not that they like them, but more that they crave the sense of power that comes with owning those things.
The things being Lia—and now, me.
Ghostly fingers scratch down my spine at that thought and I quickly shoo the feeling away, choosing to focus on Jeremy.
Apparently, he’s trying to build a war zone for his toy soldiers by using Lego-like plastic thingies. Seems easy enough.
Wrong.
Assembling them is a lot harder than I anticipated and I have to cheat using YouTube. Yan catches me searching on my phone behind Jeremy’s back, but says nothing, his attention quickly returning to stare into nowhere.
I want to ask him for help, but my pride stops me. Surely I can do it, no matter how complicated it is. What the hell are they selling to kids these days?
After unsuccessfully attempting to jam two incompatible parts together, Jeremy scowls at me as if I’ve kicked his puppy. “Not like that, Mommy.”
“I’m trying, Jer.” Even with YouTube, this thing is sophisticated as hell to assemble.
“You never do them right, Mommy.” His little eyes judge me just like his father’s. Jesus. Adrian gets an A+ for cloning himself.
I ruffle his hair. “Hey, are you saying I suck?”
“No, but Papa does them better.”
“He plays with you?” I sound as unbelieving as I feel. I had the impression that Adrian barely pays attention to his son.
My focus slides to Yan, searching for some sort of confirmation. But he shows no reaction, continuing to stand there like a pillar.
Jeremy lifts a shoulder. “Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry, Jer.”
“It’s okay.” He grins, showing me his teeth. “Papa is busy.”
God. This little boy was brought up to be a man at a young age. No child should feel it’s okay that his father spends more time with his work than with him. No child should be happy that he plays with him only sometimes.