Anastasiya Van Houten
My breaths came out in harsh, heavy pants as I shot upright, my chest burning as I gulped greedily for air. I was drowning. My hand immediately reached for my throat, rubbing it furiously, trying to ease the burning sensation. My skin felt clammy, and my hair was all over the place—wild strands clinging to my face and slipping into my mouth. I swiped them all away, taking a moment to steady myself before my eyes finally focused, and reality came flooding back. It was a dream. All of It. A horrible nightmare. My hands shook as I rubbed my temples in a bid to ease my throbbing head. Where was I? What was going on? Despite the worry etched on my face, my instincts kicked in, and I found myself glancing around the room, eager to identify where I was, to keep myself grounded. I was at a hospital. The strong smell of antiseptics lingered, just as potent as the loud and obnoxious beeping of the heart monitor beside me. A dreadful thought rushed through my head, and my palms flew to my body, patting for injuries. Beneath the blankets, I flexed my toes and knees to test for nerve responses. “Am I alright?” I voiced to myself, an edge of surprise lacing my tone. I remembered falling from a cliff and crashing into rocks before falling unconscious immediately. Why was I on a cliff? My memories seemed jumbled, and I was having problems discerning reality from dreams. I was on my way to kill someone… Who was it, exactly? Think, Anastasiya… After several minutes of tiresome effort, a sharp gasp escaped me as my memories crashed into my mind like a tidal wave, each fragment more vivid and horrifying until one name stood out more than the others. Malcolm Reece. I had been shot off a cliff by Malcolm Reece. I wasn’t supposed to be alive. My lungs had been pierced. I had felt the searing pain, the rush of air escaping me as I plummeted toward certain death. How was I still breathing, let alone conscious? Something didn’t add up. Before I could make a move to push myself off the bed, the door slammed open with a deafening crash, eliciting a startled yell from me that echoed around the room. The sound shot through me like an arrow, sending bolts of adrenaline through my entire body. My heart pounded erratically as I froze, sitting rigid on the bed, caught between the desire to fight or run. Shadows spilled across the room as numerous figures rushed in, their movements frantic and overwhelming. They were a blur of shapes and motion, their presence unfamiliar and discomforting. I felt my chest tighten, panic threatening to take over as my mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. Who were they? What did they want? Did Malcolm Reece send them? Instinct overrode reason. A surge of desperation coursed through me, and I threw myself off the bed. My legs wobbled unsteadily beneath me, a wave of dizziness crashing over me as I stumbled. My body felt weak, as if I were dragging heavy chains. My eyes darted around the room, scanning wildly for something—anything—that could serve as a weapon. They landed on the large decanter sitting on the side table, its glass glinting faintly in the dim light. Without hesitation, I lunged for it, my trembling fingers curling tightly around its narrow neck. The smooth, cold glass pressed against my palm as I brandished it in front of me, my grip firm despite the trembling in my arms. “Stay back!” I croaked, my voice raw and uneven but expressing my intention to hurt anyone who tried to come closer. My chest heaved with exertion as I pressed myself against the edge of the side table, using it for support. My legs felt like they might give out at any moment, the weakness in my body a cruel betrayal at a time like this. I tightened my grip on the decanter, raising it higher. It felt heavier with every passing second, but I refused to let it drop. My gaze darted between the figures, trying to gauge their intentions, their movements, their faces—anything. But I was so disoriented, I couldn’t make sense of anything. “Stay away!” I tried again, my voice breaking as I forced the words out. The figures didn’t stop. They kept moving, advancing cautiously yet purposefully. I stumbled back a step, my balance faltering as my legs quaked beneath me. A cold sweat slicked my skin, and my breath came in shallow, rapid gasps. The room felt like it was spinning, the oppressive weight of my fear and confusion bearing down on me. “W-what do you want?” I managed to rasp, my voice trembling as much as my body. My knuckles were white around the decanter, the only semblance of control I had in this terrifying moment. They didn’t answer. Instead, one figure stepped closer, their movements slow and deliberate. Their face was obscured by the dim light, and the silence that followed was deafening. My pulse thundered in my ears as I tightened my grip even further, the decanter shaking in my hand. “I said stay back!” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat with a raw desperation that echoed through the room. “Please drop the glass, miss,” a voice called out, almost pleading. “You could hurt yourself.” I stood still in my tracks, squinting as I tried to focus my vision, but I couldn’t see. Everything away from me was blurry. I held onto the decanter tightly as the figure moved closer, stepping into the light. I was ready to swing it right into his head when my eyes refocused, and a man clad in white came into view. My eyes darted from his face to the name written boldly on his chest. Dr. Yaxel Tyrol. His hands were raised above his head in surrender, a concerned expression adorning his face. “Please drop the glass, miss,” he repeated, imploring me with his gaze. The decanter lay limply in my hand before I slowly lowered it back onto the side table. It was just a doctor and a few nurses. A woman stepped forward, clad in a simple gown with a distressed look on her face, almost as if she was about to burst into tears. Well, not almost—the tears had already begun to leak down her reddened cheeks before she suddenly leapt forward, gathering me into her arms. I stood rigid with shock in her embrace, my fingers curling into fists as she sobbed into my chest. “I…I thought you were going to d-die, princess,” she croaked, pulling me closer. “You were bleeding so much, Valencia.” Valencia? Was she off her rocker? I pushed away from her embrace, totally sick of all the drama I had found myself in. She looked startled, her eyes widened with sadness. “Are you angry with me, princess?” Princess? “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not Valencia,” I stated bluntly. She stared at me blankly, as did the rest of the hospital staff. The doctor looked like he was trying to read through me. This wasn’t a soap opera, and I definitely wasn’t going to believe any of this nonsense. I rolled my eyes at their reactions, settling back onto the bed. She moved closer to me again, hesitantly, almost as if she were afraid to come any closer. “Then who are you?”Anastasiya Van HoutenMy vision blurred, the overlapping voices blending into a chaotic mess. I tried to latch onto one voice, but they all jumbled together into incoherence."It's me, Hannah.""What are you feeling, princess?""Could she have internal bleeding?""What's your full name?""Enough," I gritted out, my voice sharp with exasperation. The confusion was unbearable, my patience fraying by the second.The room fell silent. The expectant and curious looks on their faces dissolved into hesitation as if they could sense the frustrated energy radiating from me. I was seconds away from smashing something and forcing someone to explain why I was in this godforsaken hospital room."I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I just—" the crying woman began but was swiftly cut off by the doctor."Let's not overwhelm her with too much information," he said, stepping toward me with measured caution. "I understand what you're feeling, Miss Nightingale."I eyed him warily as he continued, "Do we have you
Anastasiya Van Houten"Come on Anastasiya" I growled, forcing my legs to take another step. How did someone like me, who leapt from crazy heights, who jumped meters in a single leap be reduced to this?? A bumbling and confused doofus who couldn't even take a fucking step toward a mirror that was less than ten steps away. The frustration and anger that I had been bottling up seemed to have found a way out of its lid and was now threatening to engulf me as a whole. My legs felt like jelly, the bandage around my head was constricting, I could barely see anything, Fuck. I was in the middle of nowhere. My fingers curled tightly around the bedpost as I leaned against it, taking a small breather. Beads of sweat dribbled down my face before falling silently onto the sleeves of this drab and dreary hospital gown. Where was Valencia? She is the only person that can clarify this misconception. Was she all right? I honestly didn't know why I was so worried about her, I didn't even know
Anastasiya Van Houten.Once again, i was lost. My reality sucked out of me and hurled into this nightmarish limbo, an eternal vortex of confusion...wonder, a grappling sense of loss of identity. I needed a line, a very broad one. One that explained where Valencia began and where i ended. I wasn’t a very religious person and i didn’t believe in miracles or special happenings that had no cause or explanation. Everything that happens around you, even down to the smallest detail was orchestrated by someone’s actions or words.Smart and Logical. It wasn’t until you were finally standing right infront of it, stuck in an endless road with zero possibilities, trying to make sense and put logic to words and try to create a plausible explanation that it finally hit you. Not everything has an answer or a cause. What ever you think you have figured out, that very answer you think you’ve found after years of searching.It’s always wrong.You’re always wrong.I stood rooted to the spot, my brea
Anastasiya Van Houten.Malcom Reece was holding me.Malcom Reece was holding me...His grip was firm but careful, as though he had caught me mid-fall and was still holding on.Why?How was he here? Why was I in his arms?My blood ran cold. Terror gripped me like a vice, tightening around my ribs, making it impossible to move. I couldn’t do anything but lay in his arms. I couldn't even breathe right without sounding like a dying and wheezing seagull.I should shove him away. I should run. But I couldn’t—not just because my body refused to cooperate, but because of the way he was looking at me.His expression was unreadable, but something flickered behind his gaze, something I couldn’t decipher.Softness.As if I were something precious to him.Hope. Care. Longing.The sheer audacity of it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.I was paralyzed, not just from the shock of waking up in his arms but from the creeping realization that I couldn’t move.I had lost all feeling in my lower li
Anastasiya Van Houten He stood at the far end of the room, like a predator watching his prey, his keen interest could have easily been mistaken as concern. Even when the doctors and nurses rushed in to check on me, he remained. Back against the wall, watching me with beady eyes. Stepping up multiple times to remind the nurses to be gentle. The old Anastasiya would never have settled for this. Within minutes, there would have been a bloodbath—either Malcolm died, or we both did. No time for pretense. That Anastasiya had never felt this vulnerable before. It wasn't every day you switched souls with the fiancée of a man you had every intention of killing. Every inhale, every twitch of my fingers, every flicker of emotion that crossed my face—it was all being analyzed, dissected, and tucked away for later. He was testing me. And I couldn’t fail. So I played my part. I kept my shoulders slack, my expression carefully blank, my eyes clouded with just the right amount of uncer
Anastasiya Van Houten His answer settled bitterly in the room like a dark and heavy cloud.Something ugly slithered between us like a living thing. We were both wearing air tight masks despite how constricting it was for us to breathe, despite the fact that the mask dug into our faces, scarring the flesh beneath."What do you mean?" I asked tentatively, a true part of me was really scared to hear his answer. Was he giving up his façade already? Had he found out?His taut and broad back twitched as he palmed the door. But he wasn't debating his next move—no, he was calculating. Weighing his options. Waiting for me to slip up, just as he had been since the moment I opened my eyes in this unfamiliar body.Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned fully to face me. His lips parted, and when he spoke, his voice was calm, measured, like a man retelling a story he had rehearsed a hundred times before."You were attacked," he said, his gaze locking onto mine as his fist tightened
Anastasiya Van Houten Dinner was another problem on its own.The nurses sauntered in with trays and trolleys of food, carefully selected to help with my recovery.They coaxed me to eat while I stared at them blankly, eyeing the dinner in front of me warily. The smell of it sickened me—the smell of everything did. The strong antiseptic and drugs were the worst. I hated hospitals so much that I had learned how to perform stitches on myself.I barely touched the food, pushing it around with my fork, wary of every bite. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe I was safe—not in this place, not around these people. Malcom had played his part well, but I knew better than to trust the man who had cornered his fiancée and shot her off a cliff.The only reason I ate at all was that starving myself would raise suspicion.So, I picked at the meal, taking small bites, waiting for any sign of bitterness or an odd aftertaste. Nothing. Not that it meant I was in the clear, but at least I wouldn’t be keelin
Anastasiya Van Houten Seven hours.That was all I had before my body—my real body—was turned to ash.A cold weight settled in my stomach. If my body got incinerated, I wouldn't just lose the chance to return to it—I would lose my identity completely. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. My fingers curled into tight fists, almost leaving painful imprints on my palm.Malcolm was backing me to the edge of the wall, and I had no choice but to fight back.I swallowed hard, shifting my gaze to the woman at the foot of my bed. Hannah was tidying up, returning the box back to the drawer she had brought it out from. She wasn't my enemy, but she wasn't my friend either. She was Valencia's attendant—loyal to the girl whose body I now inhabited. I had to tread carefully.Forcing my voice into something light, I called out, "Hannah?"She immediately looked up from where she crouched beneath the white cupboards at the far end of the room, her eyes widening slightly at the sound of her name.
Valencia Nightingale.Anatoly didn't speak as he dragged me back through the pristine, endless hallways of Vladislav's villa— he didn't need to.His silence was loud enough to send his message clearly.His fury was evident, so visible, i could cut through it with a butter knife. It was practically vibrating from his massive body, as if every step he took barely contained the storm building inside him.I almost pitied him.Key word—almost.But right now? I was too high on adrenaline.And victory.A small, triumphant grin played at the corner of my mouth as I allowed myself to be dragged along. My shoulder still ached and after my scruffle with those guards earlier, the ache had intensified, spreading down my arm, numbing my forearm.But none of that mattered.I had done it.I had gotten Vladislav's attention.Not just a passing glance.Not just idle curiosity.But genuine interest.I had forced him to see meAnd Anatoly? He hated it.I could practically hear his teeth grinding behind t
Valencia Nightingale True to his words, I had no choice but to take in every crap and piss they gave me and swallow it without complaining. I spent my night pressed against the door, counting the number of footsteps that echoed as someone walked by, trying to keep the memory of the twists and turns that led to Vladislav’s office fresh and clear in my head. I even stole a paper off the desk and mapped the entire area I walked through with that brute in case I forgot anything. You know what they say? Two times the charm. I was going to put in all my effort to convince Vladislav again. Maybe my argument wasn't solid enough the last time. By the time dawn rolled in, I'd already memorized every inch of the room. Every crack in the walls. Every angle of the windows. Every guard rotation that I could hear just beyond the thick mahogany door. There was no clear path to my destination. If I was planning on escaping, it would have been much easier, but escaping was the last thing on my
Valencia Nightingale A soundless gasp escaped my lips as my back hit the bed, knocking the wind right out of me. Pain bloomed instantly around my shoulder, numbing my arm. I groaned through gritted teeth, trying to steady myself as my shoulder burned with raging intensity, every nerve screaming in protest. "Fuck," I seethed, tears stinging my eyes before they shot up to the looming brute hovering over me at the edge of the bed. "I'm going to—" "No," he growled, cutting my words in half. "You know what you're going to do?" His tone was sharp and direct, meant to slice. The question was rhetorical, the kind that didn't require an answer, just submission. And I definitely wasn't submitting to no man. Anger rolled off him in thick waves, raising the temperature of the already suffocating room. It pressed against my skin and seemed to block my airways. I inhaled slowly, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood on the back of my tongue. My pulse hammered in my ears, each beat a remi
Valencia Nightingale"You didn’t think I saved you because I wanted to help you, did you?"His words replayed in my head, dull and throbbing like a pulsing migraine, words uttered so carelessly that one wouldn't be able to detect the cruel intent behind them. I could almost taste the smirk behind his stone-cold face.Every ounce of the previous warmth I had so desperately sought out, in an attempt to make him appear more humane, vanished before my eyes.A cold sensation settled in my stomach. I couldn’t stuff down the bitter emotion rising to the surface of my throat.Disappointment."Then why did you save me?"Vladislav exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across his face. He tilted his head slightly, studying me as if I were an interesting puzzle piece that had landed in his lap.“To use you as an exchange for something I want from him.”The words were spoken with such nonchalance that it took me a moment to fully register them.I stared at him, my mi
Valencia Nightingale. The aroma of dark, rich, traditional coffee wafted through my nostrils as I sat stiffly opposite Vladislav in his office. The scent of coffee, though quite mouthwatering, did nothing to distract me from the undeniably and unreasonably attractive man before me. In all my twenty-three years of living, I had never once looked at a man and thought, "Wow, this man is attractive". But sitting here, despite fuming with anger, that very single thought kept running through my mind. His face was undeniably carved from stone, his features sharp and intimidating, but as I stared longer, watching him through keen eyes as he combed through a bunch of files on his desk, he looked somewhat softer. Maybe it was the bold ray of sun that reflected through the glass windows or the fact that I might have sustained a brutal concussion from that humongousaur attack, but I found myself noticing the way freckles danced across the bridge of his nose—slightly crooked. Long, shoulder
Valencia Nightingale.My mind churned with plans.I knew Valencia had given me the chance to live my life in her name, but the guilt clawing at my chest wouldn’t subside until I destroyed everyone who had hurt her.And my pride as well—I would never let Malcom and Maxwell Richter get away with what they did to me.The pieces were aligning, but not fast enough. I needed a strategy, a foothold—something to ensure that when I made my move, it would be absolute. Vladislav was the key, but the lock was still uncertain. How could I manipulate a man who had built an empire without ever picking a side?I could tell he wasn't the type of man to be swayed by carnal desires; otherwise, I could have used femininity to sway him.Bargain? I didn't even own shit.My mind was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice the shift in the room’s atmosphere.Not until a shadow moved.A presence, silent and dominating, filled the space.My eyes snapped up, landing on the massive figure standing near the do
Valencia Nightingale.An almost inaudible groan left my lips as I turned my head to the side, my eyes fluttering open. A thick fog clung to my consciousness, heavy and uneven. My mind felt slow, buffering up my memories as i lay still.I blinked a few times, my vision sharpening finally as I glanced around before latching onto the faint glow of the morning sun filtering through the tiny space between the heavy curtains on the left side of the bed.Where the fuck am I?I lifted my arm, fingers moving sluggishly to rub at my eyes, willing away the lingering itch of exhaustion. The feeling of silk on my bare skin was soft—too soft. A luxury compared to the life I had always been living.My brows furrowed as I finally took in my surroundings.I was lying in a bed. A massive bed.Massive enough that I felt like a grain of sand lost in a desert.I turned my head, my gaze trailing across the endless expanse of dark sheets, the plush pillows, and the intricately carved headboard that loomed
Hi, Lovelies. This is Rahma, the author of Retribution, and if you find yourself here, skimming through this authors note, then I'm really happy and grateful that you read my story. Please tell me what you think, what you find confusing, and your general thoughts about my book and your favorite characters so far. Thank you. *VERY IMPORTANT. MUST READ* As of this stage in the book, Anastasiya has fully accepted her role and her new life as Valencia. Anastasiya Van Houten is dead, and as that, I will no longer be writing in her point of view. She will now be addressed as Valencia as I continue with this book. Forever. I hope this clears the air, and you won't be confused when you read the next chapter, and it's in Valencia Nightingale's point of view. I love you all, and thank you for reading my book. Don't forget to give me a review and tell me your honest thoughts. With much love. Rahma♡
Anastasiya Van Houten.Have you ever been on meth before?That creeping sensation when the drug seeps into your system, twisting reality at the edges. Your vision distorts, colors sharpen, and suddenly, you’re soaring through galaxies—spinning, weightless, untethered. The world bends, warps, shifts into something unnatural.And yet, somewhere deep inside, you accept it.That eerie, almost serene acceptance.That was exactly how it felt now.And as I found myself, laying in the middle of a field, the rays of the warm yet blinding sun casting a golden hue across my face, obscuring my vision for a moment. The scent of wet grass, clung to my nose, wafting up my senses, providing a vivid imagery to the world I found myself in this time.I didn’t struggle, jump into a whirlwind of questions as I had done before, I silently accepted that I was in another dimension, maybe in the middle of the milky way, A dimension that was neither a dream nor reality. Despite the sheer absurdity, I felt that