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Fifty

Author: Chihiro
last update Last Updated: 2024-09-11 03:21:44

Maria

Something about Mikhail has changed.

There's something different in the way he looks—no, glares—at me. He seems to go out of his way not to be around, like I'm chasing him out of his own home. Ironic since I'm not allowed to leave. I feel him drifting away from me, and I don't know why. His reluctance to share what's happening in his head is frustrating, and it scares me.

Mikhail sits across from me in the living room, and his eyes focus on something outside the window. It's late afternoon, and he hasn't been out. He looks good in just a button-down shirt with no tie and gray pants. I stare at him until he looks, and then I quickly look away.

"Hey." My voice squeaks with doubt. "Is everything okay?"

Mikhail hesitates for a moment before turning to face me. His icy stare sends a nasty shock through my system, and I lean back hard against the couch. "Yes," he replies coolly.

"Are you sure?" I ask impatiently.

"Maria, it's fine," he insists, though I see blankness in his eyes.

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    MariaI look past Mikhail's head, and Mercy has positioned herself out of his line of sight. She holds a small pink smartphone to her ear, making sure I notice it, and then she walks off to the bathroom."I have to pee," I blurt out.Mikhail eyes me oddly as if I'm unwell. He nods as if I need his permission to go. I get up slowly, carefully making my way to the dim hallway that leads to the bathrooms. My knees threaten to buckle, but I make it inside the ladies' room.Oh God, why aren't I running out of here screaming?"What. The. Fuck," Mercy whispers as she pulls me inside. "Do you have any idea who that is?"I nod. "I already told you ..."She cuts me off. "Why did you bring him here? Y'know what? Never mind. Take this."Mercy tries to hand me the phone, but I don't take it. Right now, getting caught is more frightening than anything else. I've seen how Mikhail handles a knife."I can't ..." I whisper."Michael is freaking the fuck out all over the effing town," Mercy pants and pa

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   Fifty-Two

    MariaWe ride the elevator to the penthouse like strangers who haven't been introduced. Mikhail stands in one corner while I lean into the other. I don't dare look at him, but I can sense him glaring at me periodically.I could've introduced Mikhail to Mercy. But I sat there like a terrified lump and said nothing. The last time I saw Mercy, I told her I was in trouble. Now she finally saw why.Mercy is always fearless, with a sassy mouth. But not tonight.She looked scared out of her mind. But behind the fear, there was unmistakable hate. She kept glancing over at Mikhail the rest of the evening, but he ignored her.Like a coward without a spine, I kept the peace by staying silent. Why? I should've said something. I should've stood up for her. Why didn't I?I keep my eyes on the floor as the elevator continues moving.The truth is, I know if I had done anything other than staying quiet, Mikhail would've shot the bar to pieces to get me back. Mercy knew who Mikhail was. I remember her

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   Fifty-Three

    MariaThe warmth near the windows grows unbearably hot in the late afternoon, even with the central air blasting, when I descend the spiral staircase. The heavy drapes are pulled across the windows to block out the sun.I know that two people on staff—their routine dictated by the sun—are tasked with monitoring the indoor climate to preserve Mikhail's collection. I know that Mikhail won't be home for hours based on the position of the drapes in the living room. A creature of habit, he leaves at midday and doesn't return until dark when the drapes are pulled back again.But the warmth isn't why my palms are sweaty.I wipe them down the front of my T-shirt before opening the office door. I know what Mikhail will think if he catches me, but I have no intention of sitting around and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not anymore.While he's out causing chaos, I will find a phone to call my father.Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply to keep my hands from trembling when I grasp the doorknob.

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    MikhailWhen I return home, Maria lies across the couch on her stomach, reading a book on Matisse. Her bare feet stick up in the air from a ridiculous peacock-green dress.She doesn't wear dresses like that—dresses that make her look this sexy.It stops me from demanding to know why she's here, waiting for me again. She glances over at me but says nothing. Her chin is balanced on one hand as she turns another page. I loosen my tie, feeling the heat dissipate from my body. This time I didn't do the dirty work, letting Rurik dole out the lessons in his stoic, efficient style instead."What are you doing up?" I toss my tie onto the coffee table.Maria keeps her eyes on the book. "I lost track of time.""You should be asleep," I say severely.She ignores me and flips another page. Her delicate fingers glide over the glossy surface as she takes more interest in the colorful illustration than in me.I know she's still angry with me, and I'm glad we have nothing to say to one another. I don'

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   175

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   172

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   171

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   170

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   169

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   168

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  • Arranged To The Bravta King   167

    MariaCHRISTMAS EVEA few cards sit on the mantel among a twisty wire of bright lights. The Christmas tree stands in one corner, its branches covered in twinkling lights and ornaments from the attic. For the first time in a long while, the living room furniture is draped in cozy red-and-green throws, and a plush white rug adds to the holiday style. The scent of cinnamon and cloves fills the air downstairs, but none of this is enough to put me in the mood.The only thing that makes me smile is a sonogram of my baby propped up on the mantelpiece.Dad sits in the kitchen wrapping gifts. The sound of paper folding and the cut and the hiss of tape being pulled off the spool is calming, like white noise. I stare at the colorful presents crowded under the tree with big loopy bows.I want to care that Christmas is tomorrow, but I just don't.It's hard to care when I can only think about Mikhail."You don't mind that they're coming over?" Dad enters the room, picking at a roll of tape, trying

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