Beautiful Revenge (A Good Wife #1) - Sienna Blake Page 0,19

the surface. “Lovely Emily. Alena and I were just…catching up.”

Emily hurries to my side and slings her arm through mine. “Father’s expecting you. He’s gone into the drawing room. You shouldn’t keep him waiting.” She drags me up the stairs.

“Thank you,” I whisper to her.

“He’s so fucking creepy,” she whispers back. “Sleep in my room tonight?”

I nod with relief. Terrance often stays here the night if he and my husband have business together. I’m not sure whether he’d ever “accidentally” find himself in my room in the middle of the night. I don’t want to find out.

“Good night, Mr Haggard,” Emily calls back down the stairs, deliberately saying his name wrong.

I muffle a giggle. God, I love her.

I can feel his eyes burning into my back. When I chance a glance back, Terrance is standing at the base of the stairs, watching us leave. He has a look on his face that says: One day. I’ll get you alone. One day soon.

15

____________

Alena

Five years ago…

The cream lace dress I wear is flawless. It’s the girl inside that is torn. My palms are sweaty as I press them to my stomach, trying to hold my pieces in. Edgar Worthington, my soon-to-be husband looks down at me out of the corner of his eye as we stand in front of the celebrant at St Petersburg City Hall. He is not as tall as Dimitri but tall enough that I have to look up at him. I see grey eyes and a soft, thin-lipped smile before his face blurs in my vision.

This feels wrong. It is wrong. What choice do I have?

After I picked myself up off the floor of our ruined apartment, I ran to the factory where Dimitri worked. He’s quit, they said, gone to America, they said. I spent the last of my money on a taxi to the airport. I raced up and down the terminal screaming his name until two security guards came and dragged me to a back office. Through my tears I explained my situation, I begged for their help. They went away. After what felt like an eternity, they came back with a piece of paper. A passenger’s list. Dimitri Volkov was on a plane to New York, left twenty-three minutes ago. He was gone. I had lost him.

With winter coming, no place to live and no money to support me, I had no choice.

Marry this stranger or die.

I don’t want to die. It would be easier if I did. My heart may be shattered, but my cursed survival instincts are still functioning. They’re overriding everything else for now. Even the coiling instinct to run!

Isabelle is guarding my other side. As always, she is impeccably dressed in a powder blue pantsuit, her white mink coat flung over one gloved arm, large pearls around her neck. Natassia kept her word and said nothing to Isabelle about Dimitri. Isabelle smiles sweetly at me, but I can see the truth in her eyes. She is here to ensure the wedding goes through and the contracts are signed. She is here to protect her investment.

I barely remember hearing the vows or the translator repeating in English what the priest says in Russian. I don’t remember saying “I do.” I must have. Because suddenly I’m bending over and my fingers are trembling as I sign the marriage contract. My pen makes black loops around me, tying me up nice and tight, my signature right in between my husband’s and Isabelle’s.

My only way out is to produce a child. A bitter foreign seed sprouts in my gut, the poison tips breaking through the numbness. Before I can grab the contract and tear it to pieces, it is snatched from me. Isabelle slips it into a slim briefcase before handing it to one of her bodyguards, her lips pursed with satisfaction. I open my mouth to scream. Nothing comes out.

Marry him or die.

Another piece of paper is thrust in front of me. Someone stabs a black line with their finger. The marriage license. They want me to sign the marriage license now.

With a final slash of my pen, leaving a trail of bleeding black ink, I kill Alena Ivanova.

Standing in her place is a woman I don’t know.

Mrs Edgar Worthington.

I will mourn Alena Ivanova. Soon. But not now. Not right now.

Under the numbness shrouding me is the pain howling underneath, sharpening its claws. It’s waiting for me. It’s coming.

Marry him or die.

Isabelle is hugging me, her expensive perfume like a gas clogging up