T W E L V E

~ ANASTASIA ~

I step deeper into the large household, mentally rolling my eyes as an old man in white and black butler outfit after speaking with Damien walks towards me.

“Good evening, Mrs Vicen–”

“Ms. Zhukov.” I correct.

He frowns in puzzlement.

“I'm keeping my maiden name.” I say, the words sounding like a lie even to my own ears.

He nods stiffly. “Very good ma'am. Shall I excort you to the–”

“Oh no, thanks a bunch, but I can manage.”

I wonder what that bastard was thinking. Does he think I need a babysitter or something? I watch as he stands stiffly before me. He spares Damien's retreating back a glance and turns back to me.

“Allow me to–”

“Where's the way to the bathroom?” I ask, cutting him off.

He nods in satisfaction and points to his left. “That way, then turn left and walk downwards, you will see the sign on the door.”

I nod, forcing a smile. At least, he won't follow me to the bathroom. I spare him one last glance before making my way to the direction he'd given, my head all buzzy from the vodka I'd taken at Damien's place — that place can never be my place.

At the last moment, I turn with a string in my step, feeling lightheaded with my veins buzzing with wine. I skip down the hall, my heels clicking against the black and white checkered tiles as I walk towards the elegant marble staircase with gold banisters that leads to the second floor.

For the first time in my fucked up life, I actually agreed with Damien on the choice of dress he'd chosen for me. It's black, sleeveless and long with a slit running down my thighs. It also has a cute corset. The black is a silky type, not that I'm picky or complaining since I love all blacks afterall, it's one of my best colors. I'd paired the dress with the Yves Saint Laurent heels Isabella bought for me on her path to make us twin by force.

I did one delighted twirl as I step on the second floor and casually strolls to the bar, desiring to feel more intoxicating liquid in my veins. I can feel eyes on me but somewhere in the depth of my mind, I know that it's my social anxiety at work.

I sit on the stool, my eyes fixed on the man sitting on a couch at the back. He's on his phone, dressed in a waiter clothes.

“Three cocktails please.”

He lifts his head, his eyes clashing with mine before something flashes in his eyes — recognition.

“The dinner is in ten minutes ma'am.”

“I'm not hungry.” I say, adjusting on the bar stool. “But give me the cocktails, I will join them soonest.” I add with a persuasive smile.

He shakes his head and stands up. Pocketing his phone, he strolls towards the back of the bar, and picks a glass. I watch as he fills it, adds some fruits and a straw. He places it on a tray and brings it to me.

I assess him with raised brows. “I remembered asking for three cocktails.”

“Mr Vicenzo said to only give out one.”

I hiss, placing my forehead in my hand, my back bent like a bow, forgetting the etiquette lessons while I curse Damien fucking Vicenzo in all the four languages I knew.

Fuck him! Even with his absence, he's still fucking with my already fucked up life! I hope he rots in hell… or, wait, that's his home. I hope he drowns in the ocean, tries to breathe and only breathes in water.

“Ma'am.”

“Ohh, yes. Thank you so much.” I grit out, grab the cup. Some of its content spills to my hand and I flinch at the chillness. I bring it closer to my mouth and suck on the straw.

I close my eyes, savoring the taste. I can't let Damien ruin this night for me. Never.

After finishing the content in the glass, I place it on the tray. I actually feel like I can fly and I feel soooooo happy. I place my head on the table and close my eyes, swallowing the aftertaste of the cocktail in the form of saliva.

I sit up and motion for the waiter to come closer.

“Can I have one more cup please? It can be our little secret.”

He shakes his head, looking fidgety. “But boss said–”

“And I'm the boss's wife.” I interrupt. “What do you think will happen if I tell Da… my husband, you made me sad.” I whisper.

I watch as his lips quiver. He dips his hands into his pocket. “I'm sorry, I will–”

“Ana?” I turn, squinting my eyes to get the face of the person who called me. They are three… or, no, they are four… or, wait, that's Isa’s voice.

“I knew it's you!” She screeches before hurrying towards me and squeezing my head against her bosom in a hug. I inhale her familiar cherry scent mixed with Chanel and try to hug her back but fail. My hands feel like jellies.

“Ana, you drunk?” She asks, grabbing my face and tilting it upwards. She presses my cheeks together, my lips turning into a pout as I try to swat her hands off me.

“Get your hands off me bitch.” I slur with a chuckle.

“Oh my gosh, she's really drunk.” She says, laughing. “The dinner's not even started.”

“You shouldn't have drank too much, Ana.”

That's Claud’s voice.

I turn to the direction of his voice and point back to the waiter who didn't give me my second glass of cocktail.

“He got me drunk.”

“Who?”

“Him.”

“There's no one there.” Isa says with a chuckle. She steps away and I suddenly feel cold, my cheeks bereft of the warmth from her palms.

“I've told you you should stop drinking all together, sissy. You knew you couldn't hold your alcohol.” She says, dragging me to my feet.

“You are not the only one that gets to drink like a sailor.”

“You want to be me so bad, huh?”

“Of course.” I say, and I'm not even lying. I want to be her. I want to be free, I want to go on vacations, I want to wear pink princess gowns and sleep with stuffed animals without being judged. I want to speak my mind without being told I'm not acting feminine. She's living. I'm not. But what can I do? I don't want to swap places with her either. If this is what I have to shoulder just so she could live, then I will. Gladly with some complaints.

Suddenly, Isabella pinches me. So hard that I gasp. I turn to her, glaring or as best as I can with the alcohol flooding my veins.

“Look at your —”

“This is an interesting game you've chosen to play.”

I shiver. Even though I've gotten intoxicated enough to feel numb, his voice still feels like liquid fire in my veins. I feel intoxicated and lucid at the same time. And even with all the pep talk at the bar and my imagination of the hundred ways to murder him, I still hold myself from clenching my thighs together.

When did I turn to a horny bitch fgs?