Page 25 of Black Ledger

I supposed it was a relief that at least I wouldn’t get pregnant. I laughed when I remembered how terrified I had been that I might be pregnant after the first few times Severin and I had sex.

The fear. The not knowing. The way I couldn’t get a full inhale despite trying so desperately hard and the pure panic attack I’d had.

All of that felt meaningless now.

When Dr. Hayes finished inserting the IUD, she also inserted a tracker into my upper right arm. I could feel it beneath my fingertips when I ran them over the spot. Then she finished the exam by taking thirteen vials of blood. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why they needed so much. But then, nothing made sense anymore.

It was just another horrible reminder that my body no longer belonged to me—and that I would have to prepare myself for far, far worse things to happen.

After all, the Headmaster had all but promised to rape me tonight.

Chapter Thirteen

Xeniya Morozova

Age 35

Present

Istared at Gemma—Dr. Hayes—my gut churning. I pressed a hand to my head.

“Are you okay, Xeniya?” she asked, deep concern in her voice.

No. I was breaking wide open, and everything—everything—was flooding back in. And I was unstable. Just because I wanted to forget my past didn’t mean I was capable of doing it. Because it was a flood, and all I could think about now was Severin—what he had once meant to me. Every memory we’d ever shared stormed into my mind, hitting me like a hurricane. Moment after moment after moment, until my memory settled on one in particular.

Severin Volkov was my first punch and my first kiss… and I got in trouble for both.

Twenty-Eight Years Ago

Age 7

I was sulking and getting my cute little sky-blue dress dirty. Momma always told me not to play in the dirt or roll around in fields, that I needed to be a good little princess and stay clean. But I liked dirt and fields. I liked grass, flowers, and even weeds, though the grass hated me.

As evidenced by the hives climbing up my legs and arms. Apparently, I was very allergic. I was also allergic to strawberries. Why would God make me so allergic to something I loved so much? It seemed mean.

A lot of things seemed mean.

Like Momma collapsing again in front of me. My momma was sick. She always had tubes hanging out of her, a pale-ash complexion, and she never played with us.

Papa said I wasn’t allowed to be angry about that, but I was. I was always angry.

But grass made me happy, and picking dandelions made me happy. So while he was forced to bring me to the Pakhan’s house again, I decided to pick flowers and sulk in the fields.

Yes, I had a nanny and a full staff of maids, guards, cooks, and other weird men who did something for Daddy, and any of them could have watched me. But Mamma didn’t trust them. So she made Papa bring my younger sister, my brother, and me here, which was weird because my nanny, Olga, was far nicer than the Pakhan.

The Pakhan was scary. Like scary, scary. He was always yelling and punishing people. Even Papa was afraid of him… and Papa wasn’t afraid of anyone.

“What are you doing all the way out here, Zaya?” Severin Volkov called, running up to me.

I wrinkled my nose and glared at him. “I am not a bunny.”

“Then why are you always in the fields?” he asked, plopping down beside me.

Severin was my closest friend in the world. We’d known each other since birth. Well, my birth, because he was technically nine months and fifteen days older than me.

And he always rubbed it in.

“Because I can be. I never get to be outside at my house.”