A Man Without Love Cannot Live
Chapter 45
A Man Without Love Cannot Live
Isabella
Aslanov’s smirk widens at my response, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. It’s as if he’s relishing the power he holds over me, reveling in my vulnerability.
“Is that so?” he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the fear that threatens to overwhelm me. I’m just acting. And he can see right through me. Aslanov’s presence is suffocating, his words like a weight pressing down on my chest. A wolf is a wolf, even in a cage, and even dressed in a black suit. Yet my body moves for me. Settling down the terms I have. Making a deal with the Devil.
“First term is to stop intimidating me,” I say while trying to sound brave. Yet the uncertainty drips off me, and I hope it’s not obvious to him.
I open the contract and lower my gaze towards the paper. I swallow before speaking.
“Second thing is I want my freedom back. I want to leave the house whenever I want to and explore some of the city. Next, I want to sleep in my room, and if I want to stay anywhere else that’s my own decision. I also want to be treated with respect, no more manipulation. Also, your honesty. If you can’t be honest then please say nothing at all. No more lies.” I look at Aslanov to see if he’s still listening.
“I want boundaries unless I give permission myself. No more forcing yourself on me and lastly, stop with that stupid nickname.” An oh-so-evil yet handsome smile creeps itself on his lips.
“As you wish.”
But as I meet his gaze, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—vulnerability, perhaps, or maybe even a hint of desperation. It’s enough to give me pause, to make me question whether I can truly trust him.
His smile falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing with an intense, almost pained curiosity. “Stupid nickname?” he repeats, a dark edge to his voice. The chain rattles in the air, his gaze locking onto mine with a penetrating intensity.
“Do you even know what ‘Solnyshko’ means?” he asks, his tone suddenly serious. “It means ‘Sunshine’ in Russian. It’s not a trivial term—it’s a designation of something precious, something that stands out in the dark. It was my way of acknowledging something rare in you.”
I take a breath, feeling a surge of confidence. “Well, if I’m your sunshine, you’ve managed to make it pretty damn hard to see the light.”
Aslanov’s gaze sharpens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He licks his lips, his voice lowering to a raw edge. “I didn’t mean to cage the light, Isabella. Sometimes, what we cherish the most, we end up harming the most, even when that wasn’t the intention.”
His confession hangs in the air, a heavy, raw admission that settles between us. I’m momentarily stunned, the truth of his words striking a chord deep within me. Aslanov, usually so guarded, has let a sliver of vulnerability slip through, and it leaves me feeling conflicted.
I stand there, processing the weight of his admission. Cherishing what we harm most. It’s a sentiment I can understand, a reflection of the complexity of human emotions and relationships. Yet, in his case, it feels like a double-edged sword. I want to believe that his actions stemmed from a place of deep, if misguided, affection. But how can I reconcile that with the pain he’s caused?
His gaze is intense, almost pleading, and for a brief second, I see a glimpse of the man behind the walls he’s built around himself. It’s disarming, this rare display of honesty. It’s a side of him I haven’t seen before, and it tugs at something within me—a flicker of hope, mingled with a lingering fear.
“Okay,” I state as I get a hold of the pen. I sit down on the floor of the cell and place the contract in front of me, taking another deep breath while signing it. I swallow down the doubt as I pass the contract and pen over to Aslanov.
“If you want to do this, you’ll have to trust me without restraints,” he says, his voice firm but tinged with uncertainty. “I’m not sitting here for a month, ‘solnyshko’ .”
“Besides, I can’t sign it like this.” He nods at the cuffs.
His words echo in my mind, and I find myself torn between the desire to trust him and the fear of what might happen if I do. But deep down, I know that if I want any chance of making this work, I’ll have to take a leap of faith.
With slightly trembling hands, I reach for the handcuff key, my heart pounding in my chest. I move towards him and place the key in the hole. As I unlock the restraints, I can feel the weight of the decision settling over me like a heavy cloak.
Aslanov rubs his wrists, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, But as I turn to hand him the contract, my thoughts are interrupted by a sudden, piercing scream that echoes through the room. My heart leaps into my throat, panic coursing through me as I spin around to see what’s caused the disturbance.
And there, sitting before me, is Aslanov, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a devilish grin on his lips.
“Boo!” he shouts, his voice booming in the silence of the room.
The suddenness of his outburst sends me reeling, my heart pounding in my chest as I fall backward, nearly losing my balance. A startled scream escapes my lips, echoing off the walls of the cell. I glare at Aslanov, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration.
“That wasn’t funny!” I snap, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and indignation. Aslanov’s laughter fills the room, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberates off the walls. A sound I could listen to all day. He holds up his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling to himself.
“Sorry, that was just too tempting,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.
With a resigned sigh, I shake my head, trying to suppress the smile that threatens to betray me. “You’re an impossible asshole, you know that?”
Aslanov’s grin widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Guilty as charged,” he replies, his tone playful.
Without another word, he reaches for the pen, his hand steady as he signs his name with a flourish. His signature is just almost as pretty as him.
The sound of the pen scratching against the paper fills the room, a stark reminder of the weight of our agreement. Aslanov’s signature glides smoothly across the page, sealing our fate in ink. Once he’s finished, he sets the pen down and slides the contract back towards me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the weight of our decision hanging heavy in the air between us.
“And now?” I asked while grabbing a hold of the contract. Making sure to keep that somewhere safe and secure. The question lingers between us like a silent plea for guidance.
“Weren’t you the woman in charge?”
My cheeks turn even redder, my body pulsing with embarrassment.
He stands up and before I can stand up both his hands wrap under my armpits, lifting me off the ground with one swift motion.
I’m reminded of our height difference again as he reaches for the keycard and pushes the door open. After that, he picks his gun back up. I rush out of the cell, not wanting to spend another second in there. The hallway is dark now with some dim lights. No one else is in the house except Sasha, but she stays in another wing of the house. Never interfering with him.
His presence behind me lets me know he’s stepped out of the cell now. It’s very late, way past midnight. But I’ve overcome my sleep by now. My stomach growls as I rub my eyes, the house is eerie silent and I wonder how long he has been living in silence here, alone.
Aslanov has gathered all his stuff and now walks down the hallway, I stand there. Not sure what to do.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks while turning the corner. And before I lose him out of sight, I am quick to sprint behind him. We end up in the dark wooden kitchen. He must have heard my stomach, because he begins to gather ingredients on the counter. The scent of spices and herbs wafts through the air as he begins to prepare a midnight snack. As he moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, I can’t help but admire the fluidity of his movements. Despite his rough exterior, there’s a gracefulness to his actions, a precision that speaks to his skill in the culinary arts.
“So, you’re a man of many talents,” I comment, leaning against the counter as I watch him work. “Who knew you were such a whiz in the kitchen?”
Aslanov chuckles, a hint of pride in his voice as he flips a pancake with expert precision. “You’d be surprised,” he replies, flashing me a grin over his shoulder. “I’ve had to learn a few tricks myself.”
I raise an eyebrow in amusement, a smile playing on my lips as I take in the sight of him cooking.
My eyes suddenly make their way down to the red hair elastic around his wrist again. I stare at it.
“Why are you wearing that?” I ask, a little hesitantly. Aslanov’s eyes narrow slightly as he gazes at the red hair elastic on his wrist, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. He twirls it between his fingers thoughtfully, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“It’s yours,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “Do you want it back?”
As I stare at Aslanov’s tattooed wrist, my gaze lingers on the band wrapped around it. It’s a simple accessory, but seeing it there fills me with a strange sense of warmth.
I shake my head, not because I don’t want it back, but because the sight of it brings a rush of unexpected emotions. It feels good knowing that he has something of mine.
“It’s my new lucky charm then.”
“Your new lucky charm?” I echo, a hint of confusion. He nods, a playful glint in his eyes.
“That’s right,” he replies with a smirk. “It seems to have brought me some good fortune already.”
Aslanov’s playful response catches me off guard, and a shy smile tugs at the corners of my lips. His words, delivered with a hint of mischief, send a flutter of warmth through me, and I can feel my cheeks flush with a rosy hue.
It’s ten minutes into our agreement and I must admit I’m swooning too much.
Aslanov turns towards me, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and before I can react, he effortlessly scoops me up in his arms. I let out a surprised yelp as he lifted me onto the counter, his strength evident in the ease with which he handled me.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment as he settles me on the smooth surface of the counter.
He grins down at me, his gaze filled with amusement as he leans in close.
“Just making sure you have the best seat in the house,” he replies, his voice low. He’s flirting with me.
The scent of the food makes my stomach rumble. “Does the infamous Aslanov really have a hidden talent for cooking?”
He shoots me a mocking glare, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he places a plate of steaming noodles next to me on the counter.
Aslanov’s smirk softens into a genuine smile as he watches me take a bite of the food. I can’t help but let out a satisfied hum as I savor the taste.
“See, not so bad, huh?” Aslanov teases, leaning against the counter opposite me. I roll my eyes playfully while devouring the whole plate.