Dangerous Beginnings (The Beginnings Duet #1)

Playing with Fire

Chapter 55

Playing with Fire

Isabella

Days have passed.

Every dawn feels the same, a quiet stillness where the world outside the cabin seems to hold its breath. I wake before the sun has fully risen, the cold side of the bed a stark reminder of his absence. It’s almost cruel, the way his warmth lingers on the sheets but not on me. The faint scent of him—smoke, leather, and something distinctly him—clings to the air, taunting me with the promise of his return.

He’s always gone before I stir, and I’m left pacing the cabin, restless and aching with questions he refuses to answer. He keeps me in the dark, but I know better than to be ignorant.

He is gentle with me in ways I never expected, almost tender, as though I am something precious he is terrified of breaking. But beneath that tenderness, there is a storm, one that rages silently behind those piercing green eyes.

My feelings for him have grown in ways I can’t quite explain, impatiently and uncontrollably, like wild vines twisting around my heart. It terrifies me how deeply he’s gotten under my skin, how much I crave him—not just his touch, but his presence, his laugh, even the way he scowls when he’s frustrated. He’s become my gravity, pulling me in no matter how much I try to hold onto the remnants of the life I once knew.

But this isn’t the fairytale I imagined as a little girl. I’m no princess, and Aslanov is no prince. If anything, he’s the villain—the dangerous, unpredictable man I should have run from the moment I met him. And yet here I am, locked in this cabin of my own volition, waiting for him like Rapunzel in her tower. Only my tower isn’t made of stone, and my captor doesn’t keep me here by force. I tell myself it’s my choice, but deep down, I know I’m tied to him in ways I don’t fully understand.

The cabin has become a strange sanctuary, a world apart from whatever chaos he’s wrapped up in. I’ve found ways to occupy myself while he’s gone—reading the books scattered around the shelves, sketching by the window, wandering the woods around the lake. But no matter what I do, my thoughts always circle back to him. I find myself glancing at the clock, counting the hours until he returns. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly I’ve fallen into this rhythm, waiting for him like he’s the sun and I’m the earth, spinning in orbit around him.

It’s 4 p.m. as we sit at the table, Aslanov deep’s voice filling the cabin as he tries to teach me some more Russian words. He has been giving me lessons of some sort, and so far, I’ve been doing awfully.

Yet he’s been a patient teacher. I’m more focused on his lips rather than the sounds coming out of them. But he figured it would be better to learn some of the language since I’m here and since it’s his native tongue. I’m trying to mimic the sounds he’s teaching me and the simple words. I stumble over most words, my tongue struggling to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables.

Aslanov chuckles at my effort, “You’re doing well love , Russian is not an easy language, you’re still making progress.”

“Okay, let’s try again,” I mumble, irritated, not wanting to accept my defeat. Aslanov nods, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Good, repeat after me; privet .” I repeat after him, and a couple more words after that. Although these are just the most basic words, they already seem to confuse me. We haven’t had the time to start reading classes. Aslanov says he’ll teach me after I know how to speak more properly.

“Okay next; spasibo ,” the word hints something different in my brain. It’s the first word he had spoken to me, the first time I saw him, in prison.

I echo the word back to him, my voice quiet. “What does it mean?”

“It means thank you,” he replies, his gaze fixed on me, as though trying to read the thoughts slipping through my wandering mind. For a moment, his answer surprises me—so ordinary, so straightforward. I had expected something different, something layered with meaning only he could decipher.

At the time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it, something unsaid beneath his simple explanation.

An hour later, without warning, Aslanov slams the book shut, the sharp sound echoing through the room. He moves quickly, gathering my notes from the table.

“Thanks for trying to teach me,” I mutter while balancing on the back legs of the chair. Aslanov puts the book back in the bookcase and before I know it, he pushes my shoulder, making the chair collide with the floor. Now all the legs are positioned on the floor again.

“You’re going to fall like that, and you’re welcome.”

I purse my lips together. Aslanov’s lips come close to my temple and press a warm gentle kiss against it.

We haven’t had any other sexual encounters after our encounter; only kissing.

I’m starting to notice he wants to give me space and time. He’s calmer, gentler. However, I’ve not forgotten who I’m here with, and reminders linger everywhere.

Aslanov

Days blur together in a haze of chaos and control.

My empire is a firestorm, each flame demanding my attention, each one capable of burning everything I’ve built to ash if I falter for even a moment. My men grow restless, tension brewing in their ranks. Whispers of betrayal, weakness, and vulnerability trail in the shadows like venom. I feel it everywhere.

And yet, here I am—standing on the edge of a battlefield while my mind drifts back to her. To Isabella.

She’s changed something in me, pulled apart the pieces I’ve kept bolted down for years. It’s infuriating. I’ve spent my life building walls so high that no one could reach me, and now? One look from her, one soft word, and I feel the foundation cracking.

If I were smarter—stronger—I would have walked away. I would have never let her get this close, never let her see the man behind the mask. But I didn’t. And now it’s too late. She’s tangled in this mess, wrapped in the threads of my world, and there’s no way to untangle her without cutting us both apart.

She’s my weak link.

I swore I’d never have one.

It was a promise I made to myself years ago, back when I first understood what this world could take from me. Attachments make you vulnerable and give your enemies a target to aim for. I’ve seen it happen too many times. Men were reduced to nothing because someone they loved was ripped away, used as leverage, or turned against them.

But Isabella knows me now—knows parts of me no one else ever has. She sees the man I am, not just the monster my enemies fear or the leader my men follow. She knows more about me than anyone who isn’t in the grave. And that terrifies me because it means she could be taken from me, used against me, or worse—destroyed because of me.

And the worst part? I don’t think I’d survive it.

I can’t push her away. I’ve tried in my ways—being cruel, holding back pieces of myself—but it’s never enough. Every time I see her, every time she looks at me with those wide eyes filled with trust and something else I’m afraid to name, I’m pulled deeper into her orbit.

She’s become my gravity, and there’s no escaping it now.

My men would call me weak if they knew and would question my judgment if they saw how much she means to me. They wouldn’t understand. They’d think she’s just another woman, a distraction, something I’ll tire of. But she isn’t. She’s my weakness, yes, but she’s also the only thing keeping me grounded in a world that’s spiraling out of control.

I know she senses it—the tension in me, the secrets I’m keeping. She’s too perceptive not to. But what can I tell her when I barely know enough myself?

If I were a better man, I’d tell her to leave. I’d make her go somewhere far away, where my world couldn’t touch her. But I’m not a better man. I’m a selfish one, and it is too late now.

With every passing day, I fall deeper into this, and so does she.

I’ve made my choice, and now I must live with it. The only thing left to do is ensure that no one touches her, no matter what it costs me. Because if anyone so much as lays a finger on her, I will burn everything to the ground to keep her safe.

For now, all I can do is play my part, keep my empire from crumbling, and shield her from the storm I know is coming.

I step outside, the cool night air biting at my skin, and light a cigarette. The smoke swirls around me, a fleeting comfort in the chaos of my thoughts. I take a long drag, letting the burn settle in my chest, and close my eyes.

For a moment, I allow myself to think about a different life—a life where I’m not…me.

But fantasies like that don’t last.

With a sharp exhale, I crush the cigarette under my boot and turn back toward the house. The lights are still on in the cabin, a soft glow spilling through the windows. She’s waiting for me, just as she always does.

And as much as I hate myself for it, I can’t stay away.