Chapter 2 Fresh Start

A dagger. Stark and menacing, yet intricately detailed, the blade seemed to glint on the paper as though it were real.

Igor scoffed, there was a flicker of something unexpected, impressed curiosity. How could an eight-year-old girl conceive of such a thing, let alone draw it with such precision?

He folded the paper carefully and made his way back inside.

When he found Polina, she was surrounded by a group of children, her eyes sparkling with the joy he hadn't seen in years.

"I love these children, Igor. I wish I could take them all," she said, her voice filled with genuine emotion.

"Of course, you always desire what you can't have."

Polina's smile faltered, her joy evaporating in an instant. His words struck her like a physical blow, leaving her heart aching.

Igor's eyes locked onto the reverend sister as he held up the drawing. "I want the girl who drew this in the garden," he announced.

The sister hesitated, taking the paper from him and examining the intricate dagger drawn with such unsettling precision. There was no mistaking the artist.

"Anastasia?" she asked. "You want her?"

"I didn't stutter," Igor replied coldly.

The reverend's sister's mind raced. Normally, a man with Igor's demeanor would have been met with resistance, adopting a child wasn't a decision made lightly, especially with someone who exuded such darkness. But Anastasia was a special case, and not in a way that endeared her to the staff.

For two long years, Anastasia had been a thorn in their sides, her mischievous antics causing more trouble than good. She had a knack for getting even. Whenever she was reprimanded, she would find a way to exact her revenge.

There was the time she'd gone to the garden, collecting a swarm of soldier ants only to hide them in the reverend sister's gown. The aftermath was a disaster, her body was left swollen and itchy for days.

There was also a night when a little girl refused to share her toy with Jack, Anastasia's only friend. Later that night, Anastasia had quietly gathered every toy that the girl owned and burned them in hearth. The reverend sister caught her but it was too late.

Anastasia was a challenge, a child whose darkness seemed to mirror that of the man standing before her.

"Very well," the sister finally said, a faint, almost relieved smile. "I'll get her for you."

Igor was not the kind of man who would be easily manipulated or frightened. If anyone could handle Anastasia, it was him. And if not, well, the orphanage would finally be rid of the girl who had caused them so much trouble.

When Anastasia heard that she was going to be adopted, a rare smile spread across her face.

"But... I'll have to leave Jack," she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness. It was the first time she had expressed vulnerability in years. The reverend sister allowed her to say her goodbyes to Jack.

"We typically conduct follow-up visits after an adoption, to ensure the child is adjusting well," the sister began.

"But considering the distance... I suppose I can handle that over the phone." Her words were carefully chosen, her tone revealing a subtle relief.

Igor gave a curt nod, his focus already elsewhere, as if the conversation was merely a formality.

As soon as they left, the reverend sister wasted no time. She walked briskly to the records room, carrying Anastasia's file in her hands. It was a thick file, filled with years of documented mischief, warnings, and incidents that had caused endless headaches for the staff.

Without hesitation, she shoved the file into a dusty, forgotten corner of the reductant shelf, a place reserved for cases of children above eighteen and living on their own, and children that died.

There would be no follow-ups, no phone calls, no concern for what might become of Anastasia.

Anastasia's heart raced with excitement as the plane ascended into the skies, carrying her away from the familiar yet suffocating world of Tver City and toward the unknown life awaiting her in Yekaterinburg.

When they finally touched down and made their way to the mansion, Anastasia's breath caught in her throat.

The mansion was nothing short of a grand spectacle, a sight more magnificent than anything she had ever seen, even in the vivid stories she'd read or the images she had glimpsed on television. It loomed before her like a castle from a fairy tale.

The entrance was flanked by imposing security personnel. A line of uniformed maidens stood at attention, with white uniforms.

"Take her to the room allocated to her, and make sure she's properly cleaned up," Igor ordered.

One of the maidens, a woman with a gentle smile stepped forward and motioned for Anastasia to follow her. She followed, her small feet echoing softly on the polished marble floors.

They ascended a grand staircase that spiraled upward, each step taking her further into the heart of this majestic home. The walls were adorned with lavish tapestries and ornate paintings, each one telling stories of wealth and power that were far beyond her understanding.

Finally, they reached a large, double-door room. The maiden pushed the doors open.

"This is your room," the woman announced.

Anastasia stepped inside, her wide eyes taking in every detail. The ceiling seemed to stretch on forever, adorned with intricate designs that caught the light from a grand chandelier hanging overhead.

A plush, king-sized bed dominated the side of the room, its silk sheets a rich shade of deep crimson. The windows, draped in heavy velvet curtains, overlooked the sprawling gardens below.

It was more than a room, it was a realm of luxury and comfort she had never imagined in her wildest dreams. Everything was extravagant, tailored for someone who was meant to be more than ordinary.

The woman led her to an adjoining bathroom that was equally grand. The mansion's beauty was undeniable, but there was something else beneath it, something that made her uneasy.

"What's your name, little one, and how old are you?" the lady asked, her tone gentle.

"I'm Anastasia. I'm eight years old," she replied.

"That's a sweet name, Ana," the lady responded with a warm smile. "Call me Nana. While you're here, be sure to be respectful."

As she spoke, she began tending to Anastasia, carefully helping her to freshen up and changing her into a new outfit.

Anastasia's old belongings were discarded, her past life literally burned away. She took a small bracelet from her items, one of the few remnants from that tragic night when her parents had perished.

In the months that followed, Anastasia began adjusting to her new surroundings. The mansion was a world of abundance, food, clothes, toys, and so on. Yet, the fourth floor, where Igor's office was located, remained a forbidden zone, its access strictly off-limits.

Igor has been watching her closely but from afar, hoping she was exactly what he needed.

One evening, he summoned her from the garden. Anastasia, lost in her own world of games and television, took her time to respond.

Igor's anger was noticeable as she approached. "Why are you just coming?" he demanded.

Before she could even begin to explain, Igor's hand shot out in a swift, brutal motion. The back of his palm struck her cheek with a force that sent her sprawling to the ground. The impact was sharp and sudden, a searing pain that made her vision blur.

Anastasia rolled on the gravel path, clutching her stinging cheeks. The pain radiated through her face, and she whimpered, her small body trembling from the shock and hurt. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the dirt as she lay there.

Igor watched her from above, his expression cold and unfeeling. The punishment seemed less about discipline and more about asserting dominance, a reminder of the unyielding control he wielded over her new life.

As Anastasia lay on the ground, the reality of her situation settled in, this grand, beautiful prison came with its own set of harsh rules, and the line between comfort and cruelty was thin and easily crossed.