"Oh God," she whispered, sitting up too quickly and immediately regretting it when the room spun. "It wasn't a dream."
A soft knock interrupted her existential crisis. "Come in," she called, surprised by how normal her voice sounded.
The door opened to reveal a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a Russian fairytale. She was tall, blonde, and beautiful in the kind of way that seemed almost weaponized. She wore a designer dress that probably cost more than Aria's education, and her smile was as warm as an arctic winter.
"Good morning," the woman said in accented English. "I am Katya Kozlova. Viktor's sister."
"Sister." Aria pulled the sheet up to her chin, suddenly aware she was wearing nothing but the oversized t-shirt someone had left for her. "He didn't mention he had a sister."
"There are many things Viktor doesn't mention." Katya's smile never wavered, but something in her eyes made Aria's skin crawl. "I am here to help you prepare for your new life."
"Lucky me."
"Indeed." Katya moved into the room with the fluid grace of a predator, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. "We have much to discuss and very little time. The wedding is in three days."
"Three days?" Aria scrambled out of bed, wrapping the sheet around herself like armor. "Viktor said within the week."
"Viktor says many things. He rarely means them literally." Katya settled into a chair that probably cost more than a car, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. "Now, shall we discuss your... education?"
"My education?"
"You are about to become a Kozlova. That name carries weight, responsibility, and very specific expectations." Katya's smile sharpened. "You will need to learn how to meet them."
Aria sank back onto the bed, suddenly exhausted despite having just woken up. "What kind of expectations?"
"How to dress. How to speak. How to behave in public. How to be the perfect wife to a very dangerous man." Katya tilted her head, studying Aria like a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen. "You have three days to transform from a... what was it? A struggling artist? Into someone worthy of the Kozlov name."
"And if I can't?"
"Then you will embarrass Viktor. And he does not handle embarrassment well, as you have already discovered."
The threat was delivered in the same pleasant tone Katya might use to discuss the weather, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.
"What happens if I embarrass him?"
"That depends on the nature and severity of the embarrassment." Katya's expression didn't change, but something cold flickered in her eyes. "Viktor is not patient with disappointment."
Aria stood up, clutching the sheet tighter. "I want to see him."
"Viktor is conducting business. He will see you when he chooses to see you."
"I'm his fiancée, not his prisoner."
Katya laughed, a sound like crystal breaking. "Oh, my dear child. You are both."
The casual cruelty of the statement hit Aria like a physical blow. She'd known, of course, what she was getting into. But having it stated so matter-of-factly made it real in a way that her desperate signing of the contract hadn't.
"Now then," Katya continued, as if she hadn't just shattered what remained of Aria's illusions, "we should begin with the basics. How to walk, how to sit, how to speak without embarrassing yourself or your husband."
"I know how to walk."
"Do you? Show me."
"Show you what?"
"Walk to the window and back."
Aria stared at her. "You're serious."
"Completely."
Against her better judgment, Aria found herself padding across the room to the window and back, still wrapped in the sheet. Katya watched with the focused attention of a critic at an art opening.
"Terrible," she pronounced when Aria returned. "You slouch. You shuffle. You move like someone who expects to be ignored." Katya stood, demonstrating a walk that was pure liquid grace. "A Kozlova moves with purpose. With confidence. With the knowledge that she belongs wherever she chooses to be."
"I don't belong here."
"No, you don't. But you will learn to pretend you do, or you will not survive the year."
The casual way Katya discussed Aria's survival made her stomach clench. "Are you threatening me?"
"I am educating you. There is a difference." Katya moved to the closet, running her fingers over the wedding dress. "This was my grandmother's. She wore it when she married my grandfather in 1952."
"It's beautiful," Aria admitted reluctantly.
"She was beautiful. And intelligent. And utterly ruthless when the situation required it." Katya turned back to Aria. "She understood that to survive in our world, a woman must be more than decorative. She must be useful."
"Useful how?"
"That depends on the woman." Katya's smile was razor-sharp. "What are your skills, besides embarrassing my brother?"
"I'm an artist."
"Yes, Viktor mentioned that. What kind of artist?"
"Painter, mostly. Some sculpture. I was working on a series of—" Aria stopped herself. What was the point in discussing her work? That life was over now.
"Show me."
"What?"
"Your work. I want to see it."
Aria blinked. "Why?"
"Because understanding your talents will help me determine how best to... utilize them."
Something in Katya's tone made Aria's skin crawl, but she found herself nodding toward the corner where her rescued portfolio sat. "It's all in there. What's left of it, anyway."
Katya moved to the portfolio with predatory grace, opening it carefully. Her expression was unreadable as she examined each piece, but Aria caught glimpses of surprise, assessment, calculation.
"These are quite good," Katya said finally.
"Thank you?"
"You have a gift for capturing emotion. Pain, particularly." Katya held up a painting Aria had done during a particularly dark period, a woman's face twisted in anguish, but with something defiant burning in her eyes. "This one especially."
"I was going through a rough patch when I painted that."
"I can see." Katya set the painting aside carefully. "Viktor will be interested in this."
"Why?"
"Viktor collects art. Beautiful things. Broken things. Things that most people would overlook or discard." Katya's smile was sharp as broken glass. "You fit the pattern perfectly."
Aria felt heat rise in her cheeks. "I'm not a thing to be collected."
"Aren't you? You signed a contract making yourself Viktor's property for one year. You are literally part of his collection now."
The words hit like a slap, partly because they were true. Aria had signed away her freedom, her autonomy, her very self for the simple privilege of staying alive.
"However," Katya continued, "being part of Viktor's collection has its... advantages. He takes excellent care of his possessions. He protects them. Values them. Sometimes even treasures them." Her expression softened almost imperceptibly. "If you are wise, you will make yourself treasured rather than merely tolerated."
"And how do I do that?"
"By being useful. By being interesting. By giving him something he cannot get anywhere else." Katya moved closer, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "And by never, ever forgetting that his affection is conditional on your value to him."
A chill ran down Aria's spine. "What happens when I stop being valuable?"
Katya's smile was answer enough.
"Now," she said, clapping her hands together as if they'd been discussing the weather, "we must address your appearance. You cannot wear paint-stained clothes to your own wedding."
"I don't have anything else."
"Of course you don't. That's why I had a selection sent over." Katya gestured toward the walk-in closet. The double doors had been shut earlier, but now they stood wide open with a small, curated boutique revealed inside.
There were dresses. Dozens of them all hung in perfect formation. Aria walked over with her fingers brushing the fine fabrics. Silks and velvets in dark, jewel tones; dresses designed to dazzle, distract, and dominate. She felt like she was choosing costumes for a role she didn't audition for.
"And you just happened to have all of these in my size?" Aria asked dryly.
Katya's smile widened. "We had your measurements taken while you were asleep." Aria's stomach twisted.
They touched me while i was unconscious?
The realisation sent shivers down her spine,she unbearably held her head high, forcing her voice steady.
"How…thoughtful."
Three hours later, Aria stood before a full-length mirror, barely recognising herself. The woman staring back was polished to a high shine. She had sleek hair and flawless makeup. She could swear she hadn't looked this expensive in her twenty four years of existence.
You look presentable, "Katya allowed, adjusting a stray curl. "But posture is still a problem.
"Shoulders back, chin up. You're not a frightened rabbit. You are a predator."
Aria forced her spine straight. "I don't feel like a predator."
"That's why we practice." Katya's fingers dug into Aria's shoulders."Viktor's enemies will smell weakness. They'll circle like vultures if they think his new wife is…..disposable."
Aria met Katya's gaze in the mirror. "Is that what I am?"
"That depends entirely on you"
A knock at the door saved her from responding.
Kayla checked her watch "Right on time. Your first lesson in being a Kozlova begins now."