The meal unfolded in sterile, ringing silence. The clink of forks against porcelain sounded like gunshots. Viktor sat at the head of the table, his face once again a mask of flawless control, and only the dark red mark on his cheek reminded her of what had happened in the entryway.
He set down his utensils and laced his fingers, staring hard at Anya.
“I didn’t like that you hit me, Anya,” he said in a cold, even voice. “That was unacceptable. In the past, my mistakes have led to… undesirable outcomes. That’s why I’ve decided to talk to you now rather than take disciplinary measures immediately. But let’s be clear: I am the head of this house. I set the rules. And those rules are not up for discussion.”
Anya looked at him, and in her mind—behind her meek gaze—the Architect began sketching out his schemes again. She saw the trap. If she started repeating arguments about the “result,” “trust,” and the fact that she had come back on her own, he would sense the insincerity. That trick wouldn’t work twice in one day.
Anya lowered her head slowly. Her shoulders trembled slightly—just enough to show she knew she had erred.
“You’re right, Viktor. Forgive me.” Her voice was quiet and cracked. “My behavior was improper. It was a surge of irrational emotion I couldn’t control in the moment.”
She raised her eyes to him, and now they held only a cool, analytical sadness.
“I understand that completely suppressing emotions is harmful. It creates internal pressure, and sooner or later that leads to illogical actions. So I ask your forgiveness for that fleeting weakness. I still don’t have enough control to catch these impulses early and stop them before I act on them.”
She paused, letting the effect settle.
“When I’m alone, I spend a lot of time trying to correct it in myself. I try to root out those ugly impulses. I’m sorry I disappointed you with my imperfection.”
Viktor listened, and the tension in his shoulders began to melt. Her words were balm for his ego. She wasn’t burdening him with demands—she was “diagnosing” herself, admitting guilt. He looked satisfied. The hunter decided the prey was back in the cage.
Anya noticed the moment—when a shadow of triumph touched his lips. Now was the time. She tilted her head slightly to the side, keeping the expression of meek interest.
“Viktor… may I ask one question?”
“Ask.”
“What is the real purpose of your rules?”
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Viktor froze with his teacup halfway to his mouth. Anya saw the gears in his mind turning with a grind. He was trying to regain control through “rules,” but she had just knocked the foundation out from under the structure.
“Rules aren’t just instructions, Viktor,” she continued softly, looking at him over her plate. “If you order me to do something—that’s your will. And I carry it out. But if you introduce Rules, that means you’re building a System.”
Viktor frowned, feeling the ground shift beneath him, but not understanding why.
“The goal of my rules is order,” he finally forced out. “A family. Coziness in our home.”
Idiot, Anya thought.
“Coziness? Then tell me—am I part of that coziness?”
“Of course,” he answered without hesitation.
“Then should I protect that coziness?”
Viktor, for all his analytical mind, didn’t understand at all where she was going.
“Yes, Anya. Among other things.”
Anya straightened, and her voice turned cold, official.
“But, Viktor, those unpleasant episodes from the past… they weren’t part of coziness, were they?”
Viktor began to go pale; the mark of the slap on his cheek seemed to fill with blood again.
“It just happened…” he muttered. “Sometimes circumstances… emotions… and you were at fault yourself.”
“Exactly. Like today. I didn’t have time to weigh everything. I couldn’t rein in my emotions. I slipped up. But… forgive me—I’m afraid that… that you might not have time, either. That in a surge of emotion you’ll give an order that destroys everything we’ve been building. And then trust will collapse completely.”
He hesitated; his fingers began to drum nervously on the table.
“That shouldn’t happen. I control myself.”
“You’re an engineer, Viktor. If a system has to run flawlessly, it needs safeguards. Redundant circuits. What if something fails? Today you said things that frightened me, so I got scared and hit you. You took it as an attack. But how was I supposed to act?”
“That’s not…” he tried to object, but the words stuck in his throat.
“If it’s not,” she tilted her head gently, “then I’m asking you to establish a clear rulebook. A code. Something that clearly defines boundaries and responsibilities for both of us. How else could it work, if the goal of the System is coziness? We do not have equal power in this house, but if I’m part of it and I bear responsibility, then you must bear responsibility as well.”
She began to list examples, and each word landed like a hammer blow:
“Like a superior’s responsibility for a subordinate. Like a husband’s for his wife.”
She paused, looking straight into his pupils.
“Like a father’s for his daughter.”
Viktor’s jaw twitched. Anya caught the micro-signal. He swallowed, and in his eyes flashed a readiness to agree.
“All right,” he breathed out. “What do you propose? What rules?”
Anya smiled imperceptibly—just the edge of her lips.
No, sweetheart. I’m not going to propose anything. So you can’t accuse me later of forcing my will on you, she added to herself.
“No, Viktor. The rules are your prerogative. You are the head of the house. I have no right to dictate them. You must come up with them yourself.”
“All right…” he drew out uncertainly. “I’ll think it through.”
Viktor had wanted to control her through his rage, and in the end Anya made him put shackles on himself. Now he would have to create a law that forbade him to be a monster.
Anya knew: he would write those rules. He would create the perfect code, savoring his role as a lawgiver. And he would be the one to break it. Because monsters can’t live by their own laws. And when he broke his own “sacred” code of coziness, she would have more than a slap: she would have the instrument of his destruction.