Chapter 17 - Irina
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed three in the morning, its deep resonance echoing through the mansion’s empty corridors.
Irina pulled the silk robe tighter around her body and paced the length of the living room for what felt like the hundredth time.
The Persian rug beneath her bare feet had become as familiar as her own heartbeat over the past few hours.
Where was he?
Matvei had been acting strange for days now.
Distant. Preoccupied. She’d catch him staring into space during dinner, his golden brown eyes clouded with something she couldn’t decipher.
Phone calls ended abruptly when she entered the room.
Meetings ran impossibly late. And tonight, he’d simply vanished without a word.
She shouldn’t care this much. The rational part of her brain, the part that sounded suspiciously like Ilya’s voice, reminded her that this man had bought her at an auction.
That their marriage was a farce built on power plays and manipulation.
But her heart, treacherous thing that it was, had stopped listening to reason weeks ago.
The soft click of the front door barely registered before she heard his footsteps. Careful. Measured. Like he was trying not to wake anyone.
Irina positioned herself in the archway between the foyer and living room, arms crossed. When Matvei appeared, silhouetted against the dim security lighting, her breath caught in her throat.
He looked like hell.
His usually immaculate suit was wrinkled, the tie long gone.
Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and there was something in his posture that screamed exhaustion.
But it was his eyes that made her chest tighten.
They held a weight she’d never seen before, a bone-deep weariness that made her forget all about her prepared lecture.
“Jesus, Matvei.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
He froze, his head snapping up. For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his features before the mask slammed back into place. “You should be sleeping.”
“So should you. About five hours ago.” She stepped closer, studying the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like he might collapse at any second. “What happened?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” But his voice lacked its usual commanding edge. He sounded hollow.
Irina tilted her head, ice blue eyes narrowing. “Try again.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Stubborn little thing.”
“You say that like it’s news.” She moved closer still, close enough to smell the lingering scent of smoke and something metallic that made her stomach clench. She didn’t ask about it. Some things were better left unknown. “Come on.”
She took his hand, surprised by how easily he let her lead him toward the stairs. His fingers were cold, and she could feel the slight tremor running through them. Whatever had kept him out all night had taken a toll.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they climbed.
“Somewhere you can sit down before you fall down.”
His laugh was dry, but real. “I’m not that fragile.”
“No,” she agreed, glancing back at him. “You’re just running on fumes and too proud to admit it.”
The master bathroom was a study in masculine luxury, all dark marble and brushed gold. Irina turned on the shower, steam beginning to fog the mirror, before turning back to find Matvei leaning against the doorframe, watching her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Taking care of you.” The words came out more tender than she’d intended. “Someone has to.”
Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or gratitude. “I can manage.”
“I know you can.” She reached for his jacket, her fingers working the buttons with practiced ease. “But you don’t have to.”
He let her undress him without protest, standing perfectly still as she peeled away the layers of his armor.
The expensive fabric. The shoulder holster she’d grown accustomed to seeing.
The watch that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
When she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, her fingertips traced over a fresh bruise blooming across his ribs.
“Irina.” His voice was low, warning.
“I’m not asking questions,” she said simply. “I’m just looking.”
The shower was big enough for both of them, though she stayed mostly clothed in her silk slip. She washed his hair with gentle fingers, worked the tension from his shoulders, let the hot water do what words couldn’t. He leaned into her touch like a man dying of thirst.
Afterward, she wrapped him in a towel and led him to bed. He tried to protest when she disappeared into the kitchen, but she ignored him, returning with a sandwich and a glass of whiskey.
“Eat,” she commanded, settling cross-legged beside him on the massive bed.
“I’m not hungry.”
“When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee?”
He considered this, frowning. “Tuesday?”
“It’s Thursday night. Well, Friday morning now.” She pushed the plate toward him. “Eat.”
He took a bite, then another, and she watched some of the gray pallor leave his skin. The whiskey helped too, the amber liquid seeming to warm him from the inside out.
“Better?” she asked.
“Better.” He set the empty glass aside and looked at her, really looked at her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? Taking care of me.”
The question hung between them, heavy with implications. Irina pulled her knees to her chest, suddenly feeling exposed despite being the one still clothed.
“Because you look like you need it,” she said finally. “And because I want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the grandfather clock downstairs marking the passage of time. Matvei’s breathing had evened out, his body finally relaxing into the mattress.
“My sister used to do this,” he said suddenly, voice soft in the darkness.
“Which one?”
“Anka. When I was younger and came home beaten to hell from some fight or another.” His laugh was rough around the edges. “She’d patch me up and lecture me about picking battles I could actually win.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest.” He turned his head to look at her. “She’d like you.”
Something warm unfurled in Irina’s chest at the words. “You think?”
“I know.” His hand found hers in the darkness, fingers intertwining. “She has a thing for stubborn women who don’t know when to back down.”
“I wonder where I picked that up,” Irina said dryly.
“Definitely not from your brothers.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “God, no. They’d have me wrapped in bubble wrap if they could manage it.”
“Can’t say I blame them.” His thumb traced over her knuckles. “You’re precious cargo.”
The words should have annoyed her. Should have triggered her usual rant about being treated like a delicate flower. Instead, they sent warmth spiraling through her chest.
“So are you,” she said quietly.
He went very still. “Irina.”
“What? You are. To your family. To...” She caught herself before the words could spill out: To me.
But he heard them anyway. She could see it in the way his eyes darkened, the way his grip on her hand tightened.
“Get some sleep,” he said finally. “It’s late.”
She wanted to argue, to push for more, but exhaustion was finally catching up with both of them. She curled up beside him, still in her slip, and let herself drift off to the sound of his steady breathing.
Over the next few days, the preoccupation returned. Matvei would disappear into his office for hours, emerging only for meals he barely touched. Phone calls that ended the moment she walked into a room. The easy intimacy of that night seemed like a distant memory.
It was driving her crazy.
“That’s it,” she announced to the empty living room on Thursday afternoon, pushing herself up from the couch where she’d been pretending to read. “We’re going out.”
She found herself outside his office door, hand raised to knock, when she heard his voice through the thick wood. He was on the phone, his tone sharp with anger.
“I don’t give a damn about your timeline,” he was saying. “The situation has changed.”
Irina lowered her hand, curiosity overriding politeness. Something in his voice made her stomach clench.
“She’s not just some pawn anymore,” Matvei continued, and there was something raw in his voice now. “I won’t... No. Listen to me carefully. If you touch one hair on her head, I’ll burn your entire operation to the ground.”
Her blood turned to ice.
“The Nikolai princess was always the endgame,” came a voice she didn’t recognize, tinny through the speakerphone. “You agreed to this, Volkov. You bought her specifically to destroy her family.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. Irina pressed her back against the wall, hand over her mouth to muffle any sound that might escape.
“That was before,” Matvei growled.
“Before what? Before you started thinking with your dick instead of your brain?” The other man’s laugh was cruel. “She’s a means to an end. Nothing more. And if you can’t see that through, maybe we need to reconsider our partnership.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“I’m not threatening. I’m stating facts. The auction was just the beginning. Phase one. Now we move to phase two, and if you’re too pussy-whipped to follow through, I’ll find someone who isn’t.”
Irina’s vision blurred at the edges. The auction. The kidnapping. The terror and humiliation and fear. It had all been planned. Orchestrated. And Matvei...
Matvei had been part of it from the beginning.
“We had a deal,” the voice continued. “You wanted the Nikolais brought to their knees, and I delivered their precious little princess right into your hands. Don’t tell me you’re growing a conscience now.”
“The plan has changed,” Matvei said again, but there was something different in his voice now. Something that sounded almost like defeat.
“Plans don’t change, Volkov. People do. And right now, you’re becoming a liability.”
Irina didn’t wait to hear more. She backed away from the door on silent feet, her heart hammering so hard she was sure the entire mansion could hear it.
By the time she reached her room, she was shaking. Great, violent tremors that she couldn’t control. She sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.
It had all been a lie. Every moment, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness. He’d planned it. The kidnapping. The auction. The marriage. All of it had been orchestrated to destroy her family.
And she’d fallen for it. Fallen for him.
The betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound could have. She’d trusted him. She had started to love him, if she was being honest with herself. And all the while, he’d been planning her family’s destruction.
She thought of her brothers, of how frantic they must have been when she disappeared, of Azriel, who’d been through something similar at the hands of these same people. Of all the nights she’d lain in Matvei’s arms, believing she was safe.
Believing she was wanted for herself, not as a weapon against the people she loved most.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway made her freeze. His voice, calling her name. Getting closer.
Irina wiped her eyes quickly and stood, smoothing her dress with trembling hands. She needed time to think. To process. To figure out what the hell she was going to do with this information.
But first, she needed to get away from him before she fell apart completely.
Because despite everything, despite the lies and the manipulation and the cold calculation behind every moment they’d shared, her traitorous heart still ached at the thought of losing him.
And that, perhaps, was the cruelest betrayal of all.