Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

66. Zoya

66

ZOYA

M y groggy eyes slowly open when I hear car doors slamming shut and footsteps. Waking up in a strange environment sucks. It takes me a moment to gather my bearings, and when I do, it adds a ton of pressure onto my chest instead of alleviating it.

I didn’t catch the name of the middle-aged man who drove me here after farewelling Nikita and Maksim in the empty reception area. The guests piled out soon after Andrik, and I’ve been left to navigate my new title and surroundings by myself.

I didn’t recognize the names of the towns we drove through during our long journey to Andrik’s new home base. They ranged in sizes and wealth status, but Andrik’s home can only be described one way—cold.

There is no love in his house, no joy, and the conditions worsen when I discover the reason I was jolted awake. Andrik has returned home. He isn’t alone. The little boy I assume is his son is cradled in his arms. He’s as white as a bed sheet and looks deathly sick.

“Should he be out of bed already?” I follow Andrik through his palatial mansion when he pffts at my question before he storms away. “Why isn’t he still in the hospital?”

I assumed that was why I was brought to this location, because it was closer to the hospital doing Zakhar’s heart transplant.

After Andrik places Zakhar on a bed and gestures for a doctor in the corner of his room to move closer to his bedside, he mutters, “Because you were not their pick, my son has to suffer until you have proven yourself worthy of their selection.”

“What?” A better response is above me. I didn’t realize this was a popularity contest. I thought the only requirement was for Andrik to marry. That’s why I took Aleena’s place.

When I say that to Andrik, he storms up close to me. More than alcohol bounds off his breath when he shouts in my face. Death is there too. “He had a heart! It was right there, in the operating room, waiting for him! But they got word to the surgeon first, and he stupidly believed their wrath would be worse than mine.” When he flexes and unflexes his hands, I notice droplets of blood on the cuffs of his dress shirt he hasn’t changed since we exchanged vows. “It wasn’t.”

A chill runs down my spine, shocked he can speak about murder without the slightest bit of remorse. It only lingers as long as it takes for me to lock eyes with Zakhar. He isn’t my child, but I would still burn down the world for him. Every adult should do the same.

“Tell me what to do to fix this. I’ll do anything you ask.”

Andrik’s laugh is as painful as it is sadistic. “The only way you can fix this is by going back twenty-eight years and praying your philandering absentee father keeps his dick in his pants.”

I slap him before I can consider the consequences of my actions. Andrik’s reaction is just as reckless. He pins me to the wall by my throat quicker than my lungs can be replenished with what I am confident will be my last breath.

It isn’t a sexy hold this time around, nor lusty. It is the grip of a killer who was on the brink of breaking before I pushed him over the edge.

When my nostrils flare, my body too eager to live to surrender without a fight, Andrik’s massively dilated eyes lower to my nose before they drop half an inch lower.

He stares at my lips for what feels like an eternity before his hold eventually loosens enough for me to suck in some miniscule breaths. He isn’t pulling back. He just can’t maintain the hold he needs to kill me and run his thumb over my lips at the same time. Hurting me while caressing me simultaneously isn’t a skill he seems to hold.

The gentleness of his embrace doesn’t match the fury beaming from him. His body is shaking enough for its shudder to be felt from a distance, but the way he strokes my lips is almost nurturing. Loving.

His actions don’t make any sense.

He hates me as much as I am growing to hate him, doesn’t he?

Too bewildered not to seek answers, I murmur, “Andrik?—"

One mutter of his name snaps him out of his trance as quickly as his anger swamped him with it. His pupils enlarge to the size of saucers before they’re stolen from my view by him throwing his fist into the drywall at the side of my head before he quickly exits the room.

I take off after him, too angry and confused to let this go.

“Your original contract said you wanted an heir!” I thrust my hand at the room we just left. “You have one, so I assumed the only requirement today was a wife. Any wife.”

“You assumed wrong!” he roars, spinning to face me.

“As did you when you picked my sister.” My wild eyes bounce between his equally furious pair. “Did you know she was my sister when you were fingering me in the driveway of your shared home?” My anger catapults when he looks disgusted by my line of questioning, which means I’ll only push him harder. “Did you know she was my sister when you were on your knees pledging that she would never have you like I was about to have you!” I storm up to him to bang my fists on his chest. “Did you know she was my sister when you had her sign on a dotted line that would end her life in five years if she was fortunate enough to birth you a son!”

“No!” he screams, snatching up my hands. “I didn’t know anything because she lied!” His grip on my wrists turns painful. “I went to their home for you , but they made out they didn’t know who you were. That they had never heard of a Zoya Galdean before.”

“You’re lying! Aleena wouldn’t do that to me. She loves me.”

When he laughs as if the idea of my sister loving me is ludicrous, I snap. I yank my wrists out of his hold before directing my hands toward his face. This time, I close my fists.

“You’re the lying, cheating piece of shit. Don’t try to put that on my sister.”

I get in two solid hits before he spins me away from him. “Calm the fuck down before I’m forced to retaliate.”

Too furious to see sense through the madness, I stomp my foot and throw my head back like I was taught during boxing classes.

Andrik grunts through the pain of his toes being stomped, but he dodges my headbutt by a cat’s whisker.

“For fuck’s sake, милая ,” he growls out when I continue to fight.

“Don’t call me darling. I fucking hate when you call me that. You only ever say it when you’re trying to lie your way into my panties.”

Faster than I can click my fingers together, he arches me over the sofa in the den, tugs up my nightwear until it bands around my waist, rips off my panties without the slightest bit of protest from the stiff material, and then narrows his hand toward my ass.

“No,” I scream, squirming so hard that he has to pin me to the sofa cushion by splaying his hand across my lower back. “You do not get to spank me. Lying, cheating pieces of shit don’t get to spank?—”

He silences me with a firm crack on my right butt cheek.

“I have never cheated.”

He spanks me hard on the ass again, this strike more disciplinary based than for pleasure.

“I have no reason to lie.”

Another two whacks augment the fire in my gut. They send it from raging with anger to scalding with need.

“And I am not the one who snuck around in the cloak of darkness with no care for who they were taking down in the process.” Almost every word he yells occurs with a spank, leaving my ass raw, red, and in desperate need of some TLC, which Andrik immediately commences undertaking while muttering, “That was my father.” His hand freezes halfway across my burning cheek, his fingertips mere inches from the soaked seam of my pussy. “ Our father.”

As quickly as he bent me over the sofa, he steps away from it.

When he races for a bar at the side of the den, I stand on a pair of wobbly legs. He fills a whiskey glass to the rim with a clear liquid that he downs with one gulp. He drags his hand along his wet lips to gather the leftover liquid on his mouth, its rattle undeniable.

I realize its shake is clattering through his entire body when he spins to face me. He looks as unhinged now as he did while announcing why his son was refused his heart transplant.

There’s so much shame in his eyes, so much hurt, I fold on my campaign to burn him at the stake as he was planning to do to Aleena in an instant.

This is about more than a sibling defending a sibling. I’m certain of it.

It isn’t even about a father protecting a son.

The fight is completely different when it comes to soulmates.

I only make it halfway across the den before Andrik slices his hand through the air, freezing my steps. “Don’t.”

The way he looks at me is more painful than his short rejection. He looks at me as if I am disgusting and that I will never be his first choice to mother his children or take on his last name.

His next statement proves my theories. “I went through with the ceremony today because I was hoping they’d keep their word. That they would give my son a new heart. They didn’t, so I no longer need to keep my side of our deal either.” His eyes fall to the floor. “We will take care of that ”—he jerks his hand at my stomach—“then file for an annulment shortly after.”

My voice cracks when I ask, “My sister?” It wasn’t solely Andrik’s son’s health on my mind when I made my decision earlier today. Aleena’s unborn child was right there next to him.

I sigh in relief when Andrik answers, “Will be free to live her life how she sees fit.” I wonder just how closely this man has been watching proceedings this weekend when he says, “It came to light recently that she may not be the most suitable candidate for a future First Lady. Integrity is a big part of the role. Conceiving another man’s child is not exactly honorable.”

Too heartbroken to fight, I nod like I’m not as blindsided by his revelation now as I was when he announced that Aleena made out to him that I didn’t exist.

It also confirms my earlier assumption that her unborn child isn’t Andrik’s.

You only use gimmicks when you have nothing solid to tie you to them.

That was the first trick our mother taught us.

When Andrik commences walking away, I slow his steps by asking, “Will you ever tell me what I did wrong?” I could leave it there, but I’m too hormonal to act pleasant. “Then I can ensure I don’t make the same mistake with the next man whose name I want to notch on my bedpost.”

He almost bites at the bait I’m dangling in front of him. His hands ball into fists, and I can hear the crunch of his back molars as he grinds them together. But as quickly as my hope rises that the punishment he instigated earlier was just the start, it is flattened.

“There are twelve bedrooms in the east wing. Pick any of them you want.”

After releasing his balled hands, he heads in the opposite direction of the way he suggested.