Chapter 35 Ivy
IVY
Idrag myself up the stairs, each step feeling like I'm carrying lead weights on my ankles.
The events of tonight replay in my mind like a broken record—Mila's venomous words, the tension in Konstantin's jaw, the way everyone seemed to be watching me.
My hand grips the banister tighter than necessary as I reach the top landing.
All I want is to crawl into bed and forget this entire evening happened.
The silk dress that felt so elegant hours ago now clings uncomfortably to my skin, and my feet ache from the heels I'm not used to wearing for extended periods.
But it's not the physical exhaustion that's weighing me down.
It's something deeper, something that's been gnawing at me since Mila opened her perfectly painted mouth.
I push open the bedroom door and immediately kick off my heels, not caring where they land.
The relief is instant, but it does nothing for the turmoil churning in my chest. I move to the vanity and begin removing my jewelry with mechanical precision, watching my reflection in the mirror.
My face looks pale, drawn, and there's something in my eyes I don't recognize—a vulnerability that makes me uncomfortable.
Why did her words hurt so much?
The question has been haunting me since we left the hallway.
Mila had said what I already knew to be true, that Konstantin married me out of obligation, not love.
It was a way to fulfill the blood oath he'd made to my father.
I've known this from the beginning. I accepted it.
So why does hearing it spoken aloud feel like a knife twisting in my chest?
I unzip the dress and let it pool at my feet, then reach for my silk nightgown hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
The cool fabric slides over my skin like water, and I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Something's different about my body lately—subtle changes that I've been trying to ignore.
My breasts feel fuller, more sensitive. My waist seems slightly thicker, though it could just be all the rich food I've been eating since coming here.
The thought that's been lurking in the back of my mind for the past week surfaces again, and I push it away just as quickly. It's too soon to even consider that possibility. Too complicated.
I settle onto the edge of the bed and begin brushing my hair with long, methodical strokes.
The repetitive motion usually calms me, but tonight it only gives my mind more space to wander.
When Mila looked at me with such disdain and said I was nothing more than a charity case, something fierce and protective had risen in my chest. Not just for myself, but for Konstantin.
For this family that's slowly becoming mine.
That realization stops me mid-brush.
When did I start thinking of the Mikhailov family as mine?
When did their honor become something I felt compelled to defend?
I think about Viktor's dry humor and the way he's been watching over me with an almost paternal protectiveness.
About Denis and his gentle manner when he explains the restaurant's operations to me.
About Maksim and how he nods respectfully when I pass him in the hallway.
These men who were strangers not long ago now feel like… family. The word sits strangely in my mind, but I can't deny its truth. They've accepted me in a way I never expected, and somewhere along the line, I've accepted them too.
But it's more than that. It's the way my heart races when Konstantin walks into a room.
The way his rare smiles make my stomach flutter.
The way I find myself watching him when he's conducting business, admiring the quiet authority he commands without even trying.
The way his touch sets my skin on fire and makes me forget everything else exists.
I set the brush down with trembling fingers.
This isn't just about the blood oath anymore.
This isn't just about protection or convenience or fulfilling some ancient promise.
What I feel for Konstantin has grown into something deeper, something that terrifies me with its intensity.
When Mila suggested he might set me aside once the danger passes, the thought of losing him felt like losing a piece of myself.
I'm falling in love with my husband.
The admission hits me like a physical blow, and I have to grip the edge of the mattress to steady myself. How did this happen? When did the man who kidnapped me from FBI protection become the center of my world? When did his happiness become more important than my own safety?
I think about the way he looks at me sometimes, like I'm something precious he's afraid to break.
The way his voice softens when he says my name.
The way he holds me after we make love, like he's memorizing the feel of me in his arms. Could there be something real growing between us, or am I just projecting my own feelings onto his actions?
The uncertainty is maddening.
I stand and move to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain to look out at the snow-covered grounds.
The security lights cast long shadows across the pristine white landscape, and I can see the silhouettes of guards patrolling the perimeter.
Even here, in what should be the safety of our bedroom, I'm reminded of the danger that brought us together.
Vadim Antonov is still out there somewhere, still plotting my death.
The trial is still looming. The threat that made this marriage necessary hasn't disappeared just because my feelings have changed.
But for the first time since this all began, I find myself hoping that when the danger passes, we can turn this into a real marriage.
A wave of nausea hits me suddenly, and I press my hand to my stomach, breathing deeply until it passes. It's the third time this week I've felt queasy, usually in the evenings when I'm tired. Combined with the other changes I've been noticing…
I shake my head firmly. I can't think about that possibility right now. There's already too much uncertainty in my life, too many variables I can't control. Adding a potential pregnancy to the mix would be overwhelming.
But even as I try to dismiss the thought, my hand remains pressed against my stomach, and I wonder if there might already be a piece of Konstantin growing inside me. The idea should terrify me. Instead, I feel a flutter of something that might be hope.
I return to the bed and slip between the cool sheets, pulling the covers up to my chin.
The pillow still smells like Konstantin's cologne from this morning, and I breathe it in deeply, letting it comfort me.
He's downstairs dealing with the fallout from tonight's confrontation with Mila, probably strategizing with Viktor about how to handle Ivan Bocharov's inevitable reaction to his daughter's public humiliation.
Part of me wants to go to him, to stand by his side as he navigates these treacherous family politics. But I know he needs space to handle this his way, and I'm still too emotionally raw from tonight's revelations to be much help, anyway.
My eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion finally begins to overtake the churning thoughts in my mind.
Tomorrow, I'll have to face the consequences of tonight's drama.
Tomorrow, I'll have to figure out how to navigate my changing feelings for Konstantin while maintaining the careful balance we've established.
Tomorrow, I might have to confront the possibility that I'm carrying his child.
But right now, all I want is to sleep and forget, at least for a few hours, how complicated my life has become.
I'm just drifting off when I hear the soft click of the bedroom door opening.
My heart immediately warms, thinking Konstantin has finally come to bed.
I keep my eyes closed, a small smile playing at my lips as I listen to the quiet footsteps crossing the room.
Maybe he'll slide into bed beside me and pull me against his chest the way he does when he thinks I'm already asleep.
But something feels wrong. The footsteps are too light, too hesitant. Konstantin moves with confidence even when he's trying to be quiet.
My eyes snap open, and I turn toward the door.
The figure standing in the shadows isn't Konstantin.
I scream.