27. Barbed Cage Mila
I wake up tangled in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. There’s a small thrill at knowing he doesn’t spend his nights somewhere else, doing god knows what—or who . I’m getting used to falling asleep in his bed. I could take the cold, empty leather couch in the living room, but it’s never as warm as this. Instead, I end up here. I shove the thought away, carefully slipping out of his grasp. My feet hit the cool floor as I go to the bathroom and I shiver.
In the bathroom, I splash water on my face, scrubbing away the remnants of sleep. I brush my teeth with more force than necessary. When I step back into the bedroom, he’s still sprawled across the bed, his dark hair mussed against the pillow. I undress quickly, peeling off my tank top and shorts, reaching for a white blouse and my favorite skinny jeans. Yeah, skinny — outdated or not, they do things to my figure that no wide-leg trend ever could.
I’m tugging on a pair of knee-high boots when I feel him.
I spin around, startled, and there he is, leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on me.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, breathless.
“Long enough,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. Deep, gravelly—morning Rafael is dangerous. Heat pools low in my belly despite myself.
“Creep,” I snicker.
“Your husband,” he counters.
I swallow hard. Husband. It still feels strange. It’s a title I imagined so differently as a girl, and never tied to the web of complications he’s spun around me.
“Where are you going?” he asks, his tone deceptively casual as his gaze drifts over me.
“Out. Shopping with Katya, Yelena, and Sofiya,” I reply, pulling my coat over my shoulders.
“You were just going to leave without asking? Without telling me?”
“Rafael, this isn’t a cage, and you are not my father. I’m not asking for permission to step outside the damn mansion.”
He’s on me in seconds, his body heat overwhelming as he closes the distance between us. His voice is low, threatening in a way that makes my pulse jump. “You’re right. I’m not your father. I have more ownership over you than he ever did. You don’t need to ask permission, but you will inform me. Always. And you will never leave without guards.”
“Rafael—”
“And if I think where you’re going is dangerous, I’ll stop you.”
I clench my fists, frustration bubbling up. “This is ridiculous!”
“I’m compromising,” he says. “You don’t need permission. But you will inform me. Our world isn’t safe, Kroshka . You know that.”
I hate that he’s right. The compromise isn’t as suffocating as I expected. Still, I can’t resist poking the bear. “Are you… concerned about me, Rafael?”
There’s a beat of silence, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Concerned about someone holding you over the Bratva’s head? Yes.”
The words are a slap, the sting immediate. The bloom of hurt in my chest spreads like wildfire. But I push it down, burying it beneath the fortress I’ve built to survive him. That’s all I’ll ever be to him—revenge or a technicality.
I force myself to nod. “Fine. I’ll inform you of my whereabouts.”
“ Good girl .”
Fuck you, Rafael Ivanov.
I’m pulling my hair into a ponytail when he speaks again.
“Who put this together?”
I glance at him in the mirror, my fingers pausing mid-tie. “I did.”
“How did you get their numbers?”
“Nadia,” I say simply, securing the band and smoothing stray strands.
“Already getting close to my staff?”
“As long as they’re not like Irina.”
The smirk on his face falters just slightly. I press forward, unable to help myself. “Any more staff members I should worry about?” My voice is light, playful even, but my stomach knots. The question might sound like a joke, but god, it isn’t.
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve had all of them moved elsewhere after Irina.”
I don’t know if I should feel relieved or furious. My mind spins. How many were there? He really just worked his way through them like they were tissue paper. Irina had already been a disaster—turned me into someone even I couldn’t recognize, a bitter, spiteful mess. And now I know she wasn’t the only one.
“It was easy. Convenient. They all meant nothing.”
His words sting in a way I don’t want to examine too closely, and my eyes wander over him without permission. His body is a walking advertisement for sin. His arms are massive, thick with muscle, and his chest is hard and broad. He’s impossibly masculine. His forearms alone are the size of my thighs.
It would be easy for him. Of course it would. Every woman on the planet would fall at his feet, and clearly, plenty of them already have.
I finish applying my makeup, keeping my expression neutral as I stand. “Okay, I’m heading out now.”
“Oh, by the way,” I add with a grin, holding up his sleek black card. “Your card is with me.” I wiggle my brows for effect.
“Knock yourself out.”
I nod when Rafael tells me to take two guards with me. He introduces them as Ivan and Arkadi. Once I’m in the backseat of the car and they’re settled in the front, I roll the window down, catching Rafael’s arm before he can walk away.
Leaning out of the window, I press a quick kiss to his lips. It’s nothing deep, just enough for show. When I pull back, he looks dazed, and I take the opportunity to lean close to his ear.
“No one outside of us should know this wasn’t my choice,” I whisper.
He jerks back, his face twisting in anger. Without a word, he gives me his back and leaves.
I glance toward Ivan and Arkadi, trying to brush it off. With a tight smile, I say, “He doesn’t like me leaving him, even for a couple of hours.”
They don’t react, their faces blank. I swallow hard. “Should we go now?”
They don’t say anything, just start the car, and we’re off.
I lean back, staring out the window, trying to distract myself from the thoughts spiraling in my head. I don’t want to be seen as a damsel in distress. I don’t want people thinking Rafael bought me off my father like cattle. My pride can’t handle anyone knowing this wasn’t my choice.
By the time we pull up to the mall, I’ve shoved the thoughts down deep enough to function. I step out of the car and feel Ivan and Arkadi’s presence even though they keep their distance. It’s strange, knowing they’re there but not seeing them.
Yelena and Katya greet me with bright smiles, kissing my cheeks. I return their affection easily.
“Where’s Sofiya?” I ask as we grab coffee before diving into the shops.
“She and her husband have a ‘job’ to do,” Katya says, putting air quotes around the word.
“Why do you say job like that?” I ask, laughing softly.
Yelena grins mischievously. “Because that ‘job’ involves blood, guts, and definitely a few limbs.”
“What?” I blink.
They laugh, Katya shaking her head. “Her and her husband like taking on the rougher elements of the Bratva. They enjoy it, I think.”
“Oh.” I try to sound casual, but nausea rises in my throat. I shove it down, plastering a smile on my face.
We move on, hitting Chanel and Dior, and I’m sure no matter how much I shop, it won’t even dent this card.
Then it hits me—Rafael doesn’t have a wedding ring. I look down at my own, a massive diamond the size of Mount Everest. But him? Nothing. I hadn’t even thought about it before, and the realization sends a weird, possessive feeling rushing through me.
I glance at the girls. “Rafael’s wedding ring got lost. Can you help me pick out a new one for him?”
Yelena’s brows shoot up. “He lost his ring?”
I nod. I’m not about to admit he never had one.
“Men are terrible with jewelry,” Katya grumbles, rolling her eyes.
“Good thing we’re not,” Yelena quips, grabbing my arm and steering me toward the nearest jewelry store.
Inside, we’re greeted by glass cases filled with sparkling bands.
“What are we thinking?” Katya asks, running her finger along the edge of a case.
“Something simple,” I say.
Yelena picks up a silver band with a subtle texture. “How about this? Classic, but not boring.”
I take it, holding it up to the light. It’s perfect.
“I think this is the one,” I say.
Katya grins. “You’re so thoughtful, making sure your husband has a ring.”
“It’s only fair,” I mutter under my breath. “If I have to wear this rock, he should at least have something.”
As we step out of the store, the silver band tucked safely in its velvet box, my phone buzzes in my bag. I glance at the screen and feel a pang in my chest. It’s Layla.
“I need to take this,” I tell Yelena and Katya, already stepping away to find a quieter spot.
“Layla.” I breathe.
“Mila,” she says, the warmth of her voice wrapping around me like a hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you more,” I reply, leaning against a wall and closing my eyes for a moment. “How’s everything been?”
Layla sighs, and I can already tell it’s bad. “Father’s gone even further off the rails. He’s been… erratic these past few days.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, guilt tightening my chest. Layla was supposed to have what I have now. She was supposed to leave that mansion, escape his madness, find someone sane. And yes, Rafael is cruel, rough, a force to be reckoned with—but he isn’t abusive. At least with Rafael, I broke the cycle. I realized what our father does isn’t love.
“It’s okay,” Layla says quickly, though I know it’s not. “Don’t feel guilty.”
“Just… stay safe, Layla. Don’t agitate him. Leave him be if you can. Please.”
There’s a pause before Layla shifts the subject. “So, how’s everything on your end?”
“It’s… okay,” I say, hesitating.
“I’m still so pissed we didn’t get to have the Serbian wedding you deserve, and that I couldn’t be your kuma.”
I swallow hard, forcing a small laugh. “What can be done, Layla? This is our fate.”
Before she can respond, Yelena calls out, “Mila, come on! We’re starving!”
I lift a finger toward her, signaling for one more second.
“Who’s that?” Layla asks.
“Just some girls I’ve met in the Bratva,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light. “We’re out right now. Can I call you later?”
Layla’s quiet for a beat. “Of course,” she says finally. “Call me later, Mila. Please.”
“I will,” I promise before hanging up.
I return to the girls, pretending to be way more cheerful than I feel inside, and we continue our day.