Chapter 27 #2
She lets out a quiet laugh, relief softening her features. “Alright, then. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
Then she slips away, darting into the kitchen.
“She likes you,” I tell him.
“She doesn’t know me, and she doesn’t want to.”
“Doesn’t matter. She still likes you.”
Kirill says nothing.
When we’re done and getting ready to leave, he stalks toward the counter, stops beside her, and pulls a folded stack of cash from his wallet.
“This is for you.” He grabs her hand and presses the bills into her palm.
She looks down at it, eyes widening. “Wait, this is too much…”
But he’s already walking away.
FIONA
By the time I walk through the front doors after work, all I want is a hot cup of tea and maybe a quiet hour with a book by the fireplace in his den.
I kick off my shoes and leave them by the bench in the foyer, then hang my bag on the hook in the hallway, phone still in hand.
The staff moves around me in practiced silence, wiping down surfaces that already gleam.
The guards posted throughout the house do little to hide their presence, and the weight of their stares makes the place feel less like a home and more like a beautifully furnished prison.
“Aleksei here?” I ask, turning toward the nearest guard.
He meets my eyes while standing with his arms crossed, expression unreadable as he answers in a clipped tone. “Boss is at work.”
The disappointment creeps in so fast, I barely catch it. It settles somewhere low and uninvited, curling in my stomach before I have a chance to reason it away.
His absence should come as a relief. A break from his madness, from the intensity that slithers around him like he’s one with me. I should be grateful for the space.
But…I’m not.
Some stupid part of me imagined walking in and finding him waiting. Maybe not smiling or warm, but present. A nod. A look. A question about my day. Anything.
But why? Why do I care? Why do I want that? Am I that desperate to find someone who gives a shit? Who wants to burn the earth down just to have me?
Or have I somehow stepped into the dark side without realizing I was there to begin with?
My God, this is a nightmare.
Keep your shit together, Clark.
I shove the thoughts away and start toward the den, not bothering to change yet.
“Boss said your clothes coming soon,” the same guard adds, as if that’s supposed to mean something.
I pause and glance over my shoulder. “What clothes?”
“Don’t know.”
Well, that’s great, because neither do I.
“Thanks,” I mutter, already pulling my phone from my bag, my thumbs moving quickly.
Fiona
Did you buy me clothes? Because I have my own.
The reply comes faster than it should, like he’d already been waiting for it.
Aleksei
You are my wife now. That means you represent me, so you will dress the part.
I snicker.
Fiona
I’m not showing up to work looking like a walking luxury brand ad.
Aleksei
Wear what you want to court. But when you’re with me, you will wear what I give you.
Frustration flares in my gut, but I don’t bother replying. What’s the point? There’s nothing left to say. But one thing’s for damn sure: he’s not going to tell me what to wear. Not ever.
I type the message, then hesitate, my thumb frozen over the screen.
Fiona
Are you going to be home for dinner?
Is this normal? Too much? It’s just a question. One anyone would ask. Right?
It feels strange. Too domestic. But not entirely unreasonable.
And just like that, I start imagining it. Him as some powerful CEO, me doing what I love. Both of us coming home, collapsing on the couch, and laughing at something stupid before I crawl into his lap, look into his eyes, and whisper how much I missed him. How much I love him.
A sigh slips out before I can stop it.
That life doesn’t belong to us. It never will.
When I peer down at the phone, dots appear before they disappear, then blink back to life again. My pulse ticks up.
Just say it already. What the hell are you doing?
Finally, his reply lands.
Aleksei
No. Eat without me. I have business.
The words land with more weight than I want to admit.
They shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t owe me anything—not his time, not his attention, not even a damn dinner.
This marriage was never about love or a partnership, and it sure as hell wasn’t built on mutual respect.
So if he wants to stay gone and let work take priority over me, that’s fine.
I can’t be upset about something that was never real to begin with.
I press my lips together, pulse tight in my throat, and close my hand around the phone until my knuckles ache. Then I toss it onto the couch with a bit too much enthusiasm.
Seconds later, one of the maids appears. “Would you like some tea?”
Just what I need.
“Green tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course.”
I drift into the den and curl onto the far corner of the sectional, tucking a throw blanket over my lap. The floors gleam, the artwork is museum-worthy, and every surface whispers wealth.
The home is beautiful and immaculate. But it doesn’t feel like mine.
When the tea arrives, I cradle the mug between my palms, letting the warmth soak into my skin while my thoughts circle the one man I shouldn’t want, but do anyway. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
What I could use right now is something as simple as a friend. Someone to talk to, to tell about my day, about the notes I’ve been getting, about how exhausting it is wanting something real with someone who lives in a world so completely opposite of mine.
I finish the rest in slow sips, the tea lukewarm now but still decent. Heavy footsteps approach, and I glance up to find another guard.
“They’re here,” he says. “The clothes. They are in your room.”
“Thanks.”
I set the mug on the end table and head upstairs to my bedroom, where clothes hang from portable stands and more wait in bags on the floor.
I let my fingers glide over silk and satin, tailored seams and sculpted waistlines, wondering what Aleksei will see when he looks at me in these. A possession? A prize? A placeholder?
The clothes fit beautifully. Too beautifully. Pencil dresses, evening gowns, tops, skirts, blouses and high-waisted slacks, blazers that sharpen my shape.
I look in the mirror and barely recognize myself. Like I’m playing dress-up in a world that isn’t mine.
Once I’m done, I peel the clothes off like I’m shedding a costume. Like if I move quickly enough, I can shake off whatever version of myself was starting to believe I belonged in them.
I hang the pieces I’m keeping and leave the rest on the rack, telling the guard to return them or have whoever brought them come collect them.
When dinner rolls around, I hesitate. The thought of sitting alone at the far end of that ridiculously long dining table makes my stomach turn.
I’ve eaten alone more times than I can count. I’ve spent years by myself, when the silence didn’t bother me, when solitude was a choice, not a consequence. But tonight, it feels different.
Tonight, it feels like punishment.
Maybe it’s the size of this house. The way the quiet stretches too far and echoes too loud.
Or maybe it’s him. The way Aleksei has wormed his way into places I didn’t think anyone could reach, his absence somehow heavier than his presence ever was.
I shouldn’t crave the company of a man who married me out of vengeance, out of some twisted game of power. But I do.
And no matter how hard I try to fight it, I’m not even sure I want to be free of him anymore.
ALEKSEI
It’s after midnight when I step through the door, removing my boots and leaving them by the door. I tell myself I’m heading for one of the guest rooms. That’s the plan. Sleep alone. Keep my distance.
But my feet don’t turn right. They carry me left and down the hall, toward the master suite.
Toward her.
I should make some attempt to stop, but it’s the last thing I want. The last thing I need. I want to feel the way she breathes beside me, her warm skin on mine. All the things I never imagined myself wanting, especially from her.
The door’s already cracked open, the faintest sliver of light spilling across the hallway floor. She must’ve forgotten to close it all the way. Or maybe she did it on purpose, hoping I’d join her.
The room is dark except for the moonlight painting pale shadows across the bed. And there she is.
Fiona.
I can see her hair, the way it spills across the pillow. Her body snuggled beneath the blanket. And I envy that thing because I want her wrapped around me like that.
Everything in me says to turn around, go back downstairs, and pour a drink. Pass out on the leather couch in my office if I have to. Anything to keep these unwanted feelings from growing.
Instead, my hand presses against the door, easing it open without a sound, and I step inside.
I tell myself one last time to walk away and be smart. To protect what little control I have left, because this feels like stepping into a war I’ve already lost. The odds are stacked. The cost is too high.
But I would trade every weapon in my arsenal just to feel her body next to mine.
Slowly, I move toward her, each step a surrender I swore I would never make.
And then I’m standing over her, watching the only woman who has ever gotten under my skin, who challenges me in ways no one else ever has.
Her stubbornness, her fire, the mouth that never holds back. I crave every last piece of her.
I reach out before I even know what I’m doing. My knuckles barely graze the curve of her cheek. Warm. Smooth. Too goddamn soft for a world like mine.
And then…she whispers my name. So quiet I almost don’t hear it.
“Aleksei…”
My hand freezes.
Say it again, detka.
And she does, like she heard me. For a second, I almost believe she’s awake. That she knows I’m here, standing over her like some pathetic fool who can’t sleep without looking at the woman who’s wrecked him.
But she’s not. She’s out cold, saying my name in a nightmare—or worse, a dream.
I don’t belong there. I’m not the man you dream about. I’m the one you survive.
I step back, every muscle pulled tight. My father’s voice slams into me, echoing through the hollow spaces he carved out long ago.
Caring is weakness.
Women are distractions at best, poison at worst.
Your only job is to protect this family.
Affection is nothing more than a liability.
You don’t want what you can’t control.
Every lesson he taught me replays on a loop as I keep staring at her, knowing he was right. I watch her for a few more seconds, like maybe standing here long enough will make the urge pass.
But it doesn’t. It just grows and presses harder. Right now, the only thing I want, the only pull I can’t seem to resist, is to get into this bed, wrap my arms around her, and pretend for one fucking night that nothing else matters.
Instead, I force myself to turn around and close the door behind me.
But even as I walk away, that throbbing in my chest is there, reminding me that in all the noise and blood, the only quiet I crave lives in that room.
And I hate how much I need it. How much I need her.