“Pasha’s parents took him, and everything went fine. I begged my father to let me try out too. It was a silly little girl thing. It wasn’t necessarily about me making it big or anything. Pasha was the only boy I had ever danced with, and if he was going, I wanted to go too.”
I paused at the nostalgic look on Marcel’s face. “What’s that look for?” I asked, stalling as I began thinking ahead to when I’d have to share the awful parts.
“I’m just imagining you following him around everywhere, is all. Bella used to do that with us.”
I nodded. “My father ended up relenting. We went to the audition, and there wasn’t anything abnormal about it. We had to travel to get there, but I was never separated from them. After the audition, my father decided he would rather drive through the night than wait until morning. Not that it would have made a difference.”
Immediately, my demeanor changed. Marcel leaned back, bracing himself, sensing that it was about to get serious. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I relived that night. My palms grew sweaty. I’d only ever told Owen the story of how they were killed before my eyes. “Dr. Marcel, can I tell you something that has been bothering me more and more?”
“Of course.” He flashed me a grin as we fell back into our perspective doctor/patient roles.
“I can’t remember what my parents looked like exactly. It’s fuzzy, and it bothers me deep inside. It’s such a dishonor. I’m their daughter and can’t recall their faces to save my life,” I sobbed.
“It’s not uncommon for children who lose a parent to forget what they look like. Don’t be upset with yourself. You’re in no way dishonoring them by any stretch of the imagination.”
“The very next thing I remember is waking up in a room. It was underground, like in a basement or something, and was cold and damp. It had an open bathroom in the same space, but there were no windows.”
My mind drifted to that horrible place, and a shudder ran through me.
“Do you want to take a break or pick up tomorrow? There’s no need to rush this,” he said after several minutes of me not speaking.
“No, I’d like to go on a bit more if I can.”
He nodded his approval, and I picked up the story. “There were two men, the one who took me and another. They introduced themselves as the Mask and the Collector.”
“Did you ever hear them address each other by names?”
Frowning, I shook my head. “The one man always wore a mask. Sometimes it would change, but it covered his entire face. He came to me that first night, told me I was no longer Mischa Natalya. My new name was Anna, like the ballerina Anna Pavlova. He told me I was his property now and that he would make me famous.”
I cringed a bit as my story began the complicated process of weaving in truth and lies. Going with a former famous ballerina seemed easier than saying Spring. That might prompt questions too tricky to answer. He was too smart. If there was a spring, where were the other seasons? Feeling like it was the right thing to do, I forged ahead.
“Make you famous?” he prodded.
“Yes, but not like Hollywood or star famous. More like someone who was highly sought after and wanted. By men.”
“Are you telling me that you were taken with the intent of selling you at some point?” A rush of emotions erupted across his face as he spoke. My short nod had his fists clenching.
“You were, what, eight years old? Eight fucking years old,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Pushing on, I said, “I was given a list of rules that first night. I wasn’t allowed to speak unless given permission. The men were to be referred to as Sir. The better I behaved, the more rewards I would earn. If I disobeyed, I’d be punished. The punishment ranged from privileges revoked to beatings and…worse.”
Chapter 9
Marcel
So Much Deeper
Swallowing hard, I knewwhere this was going, and a part of me wanted to stop her. This was why professional psychiatrists didn’t counsel their close friends or family members. By the very nature of the unconventional relationship she had with Ivan, Alek, and Nik, she had become more like family. Having knowledge of her outside of the professional realm, thanks to the guys, heightened my internal responses to her.
Hell, Sebastian had seen her naked and then some. Now she was sitting across from me in our drawing room and would be sleeping under our roof. We were responsible for her in every sense of the word. She was ours to protect. Even once the guys got home, I knew in my heart that Sebastian and I would bend over backward to help her.
Flashbacks of our previous conversations surrounding Mischa, her burial, and the rage whippings haunted me.Eight fucking years old. How did such evil exist? I wanted to scream at the injustice of it. Instead, I focused on the girl sitting across from me.
“The individuals intended to build an interest in me and later auction me off to the highest bidder. I was expected to dance and sing for my audience. One was supposed to become my owner when I turned fourteen.”
“Wait, what? The plan was to keep you that long?” I asked, overwhelmed. My professional mask was slipping, and I wanted to kick myself. Six fucking years. They planned to torture her that long? I stared in disbelief.
“The Mask orchestrated it all. Every detail was meticulously crafted in his game. The isolation was the first wave. I was honest with you when I told you I didn’t have a sense of time. I have no idea how long I was in that one room, but it felt like an eternity. At first, the Collector brought me my meals. Then eventually,a woman replaced him. She also wore a mask, but it was like one of those half ones.”
