05

Lia

The day had started with a weight I’d been carrying for months finally lifting. That morning, I had paid off the last installment of my mother’s treatment. It was an indescribable relief. Seeing her smile — still tired, but genuine — as I said goodbye at the hospital had been the highlight of my day. For weeks, I had worried about how I’d handle it. But now, thanks to the deal with Petrik, at least that battle was won.

However, victories always came at a cost.

The silence of my apartment that evening was a welcome relief after the carefully orchestrated chaos of the event. The city lights sparkled beyond the high-rise windows, but their cold glow did nothing to warm the void inside me. The driver had dropped me off at the entrance, polite and formal as always. “Good evening, Mrs. Ivanov.” The words still echoed in my mind, heavy with a weight that didn’t belong to me.

Mrs. Ivanov. What a joke.

I let out a breath as I unlocked the door. The apartment, minimalist and functional, felt empty and soulless, an extension of Petrik himself. He didn’t live here with me, of course. That was part of our arrangement: two separate lives bound by a fake alliance. He had his impeccable mansion, and I had… this.

As soon as I stepped inside, I kicked off my shoes, leaving them abandoned in the corner of the room. The high heels had punished my feet all night, but the physical pain was a welcome distraction from the weight of playing the perfect wife.

The event had been exhausting, but not for the obvious reasons. The elegant clothes, the fake smiles, the curious stares — all of it was part of the game. What truly bothered me, however, was the role Petrik expected me to play. He wanted me to be flawless but invisible. Elegant yet untouchable. A silent ornament by his side, impressive without stealing the spotlight.

And yet, there was something almost contradictory in the way he looked at me. As if he didn’t just want me to fulfill my role but wanted me to challenge it. He would never say it, of course. Petrik Ivanov would never admit to something so human. But I could see it in his eyes, in the moments when his calculated words faltered for just a second.

I felt like a chess piece in his game, but unlike what he might believe, I wasn’t interested in following all the rules.

I walked to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter, watching the city’s reflection in the windowpane. The dress still clung to my body, a reminder that everything about tonight had been meticulously planned by him. Petrik Ivanov left nothing to chance.

I should have felt used, but all I felt was exhaustion. Exhaustion and, if I were honest, a twinge of irritation. Not because he saw me as a piece on the board but because, somehow, he managed to unsettle me.

The buzzing of my phone interrupted my thoughts. The screen lit up with his name, and a chill ran down my spine.

I sighed, swiped to answer, and raised the phone to my ear. “Ivanov.”

“I trust you got home safely,” his voice came through, deep and cold, as always.

“I did. Any other orders, Mr. Ivanov?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care.

There was a brief pause, and then he continued, completely ignoring my tone. “Tomorrow night, you’ll be ready by eight. The driver will pick you up. We’ll have dinner at my mansion.”

My eyebrows shot up automatically, though he couldn’t see me. “Another event?”

“This time, something more private. Just the two of us.”

His words made my stomach twist, but I kept my voice calm. “Of course. Should I wear something you’ve chosen, or do I have freedom this time?”

His response was quick and cutting. “Wear something appropriate. You know what that means.”

Before I could reply, he hung up. Typical. Petrik Ivanov didn’t bother with formalities or goodbyes.

I placed the phone on the counter and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw something at the wall. He had this unique ability to turn every conversation into a reminder of who was in control. But the worst part was that, deep down, I knew he had no real control over me.

Or at least, that’s what I wanted to believe.

I walked to the mirror in the hallway, peeling off the dress with tired fingers. The reflection in the glass showed a woman with messy hair and exhausted eyes, but there was still something there — a spark of determination. I had signed this contract with him knowing exactly what was at stake. This wasn’t personal. It was a trade, a matter of survival.

But sometimes, he made it feel like it was more than that.

I returned to the kitchen, finished the water, and left the glass in the sink. The idea of a private dinner unsettled me more than any public event. In public, he was the cold, ruthless businessman, and I was the trophy wife, playing my part. In private, he was something else. Something darker, more enigmatic.

And if I were honest with myself, that’s what scared me.

I lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket over me, but sleep didn’t come easily. Instead, my mind was occupied with thoughts of the dinner. Of him. Of the strange, uncomfortable feeling that, somehow, Petrik Ivanov was beginning to affect me in ways I couldn’t control.

And I hated losing control.