It was not comforting. It was suffocating, as if an invisible hand were tightening around Anna’s chest. She stood by the window, staring at the dark garden, where only a few dim lights glimmered in the distance.

Somewhere far away, a dog barked. Leaves whispered in the wind. Everything felt foreign, cold, and unwelcoming.

Ivan Sergeyevich slowly removed his jacket, carefully placed it over the back of an armchair, and sat down across from the bed. His gaze was sharp and observant, as though he were examining a precious object he had just acquired.

“Sit down,” he said calmly.

Anna flinched. His voice was gentle, yet filled with quiet authority. She walked toward him hesitantly and sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes lowered.

A long silence followed.

“Do you know why I married you?” Ivan finally asked.

Anna said nothing.

“Your parents think it was for money. You may believe it was for your youth and beauty. But the truth is far more complicated,” he continued.

Anna looked up.

“I… I don’t understand,” she whispered.

He gave a bitter smile.

“I don’t have much time left. The doctors warned me long ago. My health will never return. I refuse to die alone.”

He paused, then asked the question that made Anna’s blood run cold:

“Can you stay with me until the very end, even if you learn the whole truth about me?”

Her heart began to race.

“What truth?” she asked softly.

Ivan stood up and stepped closer.

“I am not a good man, Anna. Because of me, people lost their homes, their jobs, their families. I built my empire without mercy or compassion.”

He looked straight into her eyes.

“Now you are part of this story — with all its shadows and pain.”

Fear and despair flooded Anna’s chest. She realized she had not simply married a wealthy man. She had been bound to a world of secrets and moral compromises.

“Why me?” she cried. “Why not a woman your own age? Why not someone who truly loves you?”

Ivan sighed.

“They are gone. Some couldn’t endure it. Others left me behind. You still believe in people.”

Anna clenched her fists.

“I never wanted this marriage… I had dreams. To study. To travel. To be free.”

“I know,” he replied quietly. “I’ve read your writing. I’ve seen your talent. You could have gone very far.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“Then why?”

“Because I was afraid of loneliness,” he admitted. “Money cannot fill the emptiness of the heart.”

Tears rolled down Anna’s cheeks.

“And my parents? Do they know what they’ve done to me?”

“They see only the numbers in my accounts,” Ivan answered coldly. “And that is enough for them.”

Those words hurt the most.

That night, Anna did not sleep. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how her life had been rewritten in a single day.

Weeks passed.

She lived in luxury: expensive clothes, a private driver, endless trips. Yet she felt like an actress playing a role in someone else’s story.

Ivan kept his promise. He never pressured her. He never humiliated her. Often, they simply talked — about books, dreams, and missed opportunities.

One evening, he said:

“You remind me of myself when I was young. I wanted to be different… but I chose power over my heart.”

Slowly, Anna grew stronger. She enrolled in university, began writing again, and learned to believe in herself. She was no longer a silent doll. She had found her voice.

But the wound left by her parents’ betrayal never fully healed.

And sometimes, when she looked into the mirror, she asked herself the same question:

“Who would I be today if I had dared to say no?”

And the answer never came.