Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
Lily
T he car slowed as we approached the gates of the Volkov mansion, the towering iron bars parting slowly, as if to deliberately prolong my anticipation. Or dread. As the massive gates opened, I couldn't help but feel like I was being swallowed whole by the life I had agreed to step into. This was my new reality—living in Nikita Volkov's world.
The marriage had been rushed, a quiet, private affair, conducted behind closed doors with only a handful of witnesses. No fanfare, no celebration. Just a legal contract signed, sealed, and delivered. It had been nothing like the romantic weddings I'd imagined for myself growing up—no flowers, no vows spoken with love. Just a cold exchange of signatures, as if I were signing away my freedom.
And in a way, I had.
As the car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. The driver opened my door, and I stepped out. My heels clicked on the marble steps that led up to the massive entrance. Nikita stood there, waiting, as composed as ever. His face was unreadable, as if the events of the past few days had meant nothing to him. Just another deal made. Another piece in his empire.
I tried to match his calm demeanor, but the unease I felt was impossible to hide. This wasn't just a house. It was a fortress, a reminder of how out of place I was in his world.
When I reached him, he didn't offer a hand, didn't say a word. Just a cold nod of acknowledgment. That was Nikita—calculated, distant, as if I was merely another part of his grand strategy. His eyes swept me up and down, then he turned and walked through the double doors, no doubt expecting me to follow.
There he was, my new husband. No, that wasn't true. Alexei had been my husband. Our wedding had been beautiful, the real thing. My father had been there, grinning broadly, happy to give me away to a good man.
I pushed those thoughts away before they could make me tear up. Instead, I recalled how my father set me on the path I found myself on. He was the one who pointed me in Nikita's direction after Alexei's death. I had no idea what Alexei's business affairs were like—I trusted him to handle it all. But I had no idea what he was getting mixed up with.
Maybe if I had known, I could have stopped Nikita from killing him.
I bit painfully into my lip, trying to temper the rage I felt. Now that I was here in Nikita's home, I could carry out my plan. I just needed to sneak the poison in here and slip it into his drink—when the right time came. For now, his thugs were still inspecting my things.
"You need to do better," Nikita suddenly spoke up, making me flinch.
"What are you talking about?" I barked, masking my sudden sense of dread with annoyance. There was no way he could have heard my thoughts.
"At the ceremony, you were supposed to be my blushing bride, not my prisoner. Fix your fucking face."
His words hit me like a blow to the gut, and he didn't even turn around to deliver them. I faltered behind him, which made him stop and turn around. My lips parted at the sight of his face—unbothered, uncaring.
"You know what you agreed to. I told you not to disappoint me. If you keep up this lackluster performance, I'll get rid of you."
"Are you kidding?" I blurted out incredulously, my voice rising. "You call that business meeting a ceremony? How would that inspire anyone to put on the act of their life?"
Nikita made me regret my words with one look. His dark eyes flashed like obsidian as he crept closer to me, his jaw tight. Suddenly, I noticed that the entourage of security and staff that surrounded us earlier had dispersed.
I was left alone with Nikita's simmering anger.
"I own you now," he started, his tone measured. "I'll do what I want with you, and you'll do what I tell you. If I told you to marry me in a shitty hole-in-the-wall bar, you'd do it. Do you know why?"
Nikita reached out toward me and ran his fingers through my loose hair. The ghost of his touch made my scalp tingle. My eyelids fluttered against my will as I held his hard gaze. He continued to stroke my hair, the gentle gesture underlining the threat in his tone.
"Because this is what you agreed to. Don't test my patience, Lily. And don't talk like that to me ever again."
Before his fingers withdrew from my hair, he made a fist, slowly gathering my hair in his hold. I gasped, but not from any pain. He was demonstrating what he was capable of, just letting me have a little taste. I already knew. But experiencing it was a different matter entirely.
After a tense silence, Nikita turned away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hall. "Follow me," he said over his shoulder, his voice colder than ever. "You'll need to see your new home."
I followed him through the mansion, my eyes scanning the opulent surroundings as he gave me a brief, emotionless tour. Every room was immaculate, from the grand dining hall to the library filled with leather-bound books that looked as though they had never been touched. Everything in this place was designed to show off his power, his control.
"This is where you'll entertain guests," he said, gesturing toward a lavish sitting room. "Keep it formal. Polite. Say little and listen more."
I nodded, biting back my frustration. He wasn't showing me a home—he was showing me the stage where I would have to perform. Every part of this mansion felt cold, distant, like Nikita himself.
When the tour finally ended, we stopped in front of a large, imposing door at the end of a hallway. "This is your room," Nikita said. His tone left no doubt that he would not be sharing it with me.
I glanced at the door, then back at him. "And yours?"
"You think I'll be letting you into my bed?" He smirked, openly eyeing my body, but when his eyes returned to mine, he didn't seem impressed.
Nikita walked away before I could reply, leaving me fuming, my cheeks hot. This was what my life would be now—living in his world, following his rules, and trying to survive in a marriage of lies.
I didn't know how long I could subject myself to his whims, struggling under his thumb and mocking eyes. It was like he wanted me to hate him.
And I did.
I needed to get my hands on that poison as soon as possible.
I stared out of the window into the endless night, the cold glass grounding me in the sea of unrest that I had been floating in since I'd arrived. The mansion was too quiet, too still. It felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for me to make a move.
I needed to do something—anything to shake off the suffocating silence that clung to me in every room. With a sigh, I pushed away from the window and walked back into the hallway, starting to aimlessly wander through the corridors, my footsteps barely audible on the marble floors.
As I passed the grand staircase, the faint sound of clattering dishes caught my attention. I paused, my ears straining to catch the noise again. The sound was muffled, but it was unmistakable—someone was in the kitchen.
Curiosity piqued, I followed the sound, making my way toward the back of the mansion where the staff quarters were located. The kitchen was large and well-equipped, as opulent as the rest of the house, but it was a working space, warm from the heat of the stoves and filled with the rich smell of food—a stark contrast to the cold, pristine rooms I'd seen so far.
Inside, a woman was scrubbing dishes, her back to me. She hadn't noticed me yet, too focused on her task. Her movements were quick and efficient, the kind of practiced routine that comes from years of doing the same thing. I hesitated at the entrance, unsure if I should disturb her.
But then she turned, spotting me in the doorway. Her face softened into a warm smile, so out of place in this house that it almost took me by surprise.
"Mrs. Volkov," she said, wiping her hands on her apron before stepping forward. "You're up late."
"I couldn't sleep," I admitted, my voice sounding small in the vastness of the kitchen.
She nodded sympathetically, motioning toward the table in the corner. "Would you like some tea? I was just about to make a pot."
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Tea sounds good, thank you."
The woman moved gracefully through the kitchen, her demeanor calm and composed. She seemed comfortable in the chill of the mansion. She set a kettle on the stove and gestured for me to sit. I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down at the small table while she moved around the kitchen with ease.
"You must still be adjusting to all of this," she said as she poured the tea. "It's not an easy life, living in a place like this."
I looked up at her, surprised by the frankness of her tone. Most of the staff I had encountered had been distant, formal. This woman, however, seemed different. Warmer. More human.
"I suppose I'll get used to it," I replied, though I wasn't planning on staying for long.
She smiled gently as she set the teapot down in front of me. "You know, Mr. Volkov isn't as cold as he seems."
I nearly scoffed, but I caught myself. Instead, I raised an eyebrow, curious about where this conversation was going. "He certainly knows how to make an impression," I said carefully.
The woman's smile softened as she sat down across from me. "I've worked for the Volkov family for many years. Nikita... he's not like his father. He may seem distant, but he has a heart. He saved my family, you know."
I blinked, caught off guard. This wasn't what I had expected to hear. "Saved your family?"
She nodded, her expression growing serious. "My husband worked for someone... bad. Dangerous people. We didn't know how to get out. And then Nikita stepped in. He didn't have to, but he did. He took care of everything, cleared the debts, made sure no one would come after us. He gave us our lives back."
The warmth in her voice was genuine, and I could see the gratitude in her eyes. She truly believed in the goodness of the man who now controlled my life.
"Why would he do that?" I asked quietly, trying to reconcile the ruthless man I knew with the version she was describing.
The woman smiled again, this time a little sadly. "He's not the monster people think he is. Yes, he has power, but he uses it to protect those who can't protect themselves. He's done that for many people."
Her words hung in the air between us, a stark contrast to everything I had seen so far. Nikita, the man who ruled with fear and control, was also capable of kindness? Of protection?
It didn't fit. It didn't make sense.
I thanked the woman for the tea, excusing myself as politely as I could. My thoughts swirled as I walked back through the mansion. The more I watched Nikita, the more I realized just how much control he wielded—not just over his men, but over everything. It was in the way they sat, the way they waited for his approval, the way their eyes darted toward him whenever a decision was being made. He was in charge, and there was no question about it.
But what struck me the most wasn't his control over them—it was the coldness in his eyes. There was no warmth, no softness. Everything about him was calculated, deliberate.
The woman's story about Nikita was so different from the man I had come to know. Could it be true? Could he really have saved her family out of the goodness of his heart? Was there another side to this I didn't see yet?
I couldn't help but think back to the bar, when I saw something more in his eyes and felt that pull toward him. I didn't just feel it at the bar, either. When his hand was in my hair, I felt something then, too, a stirring deep inside me.
A yearning.
The more I thought about it, the more conflicted I became. I had come here with a plan, with a purpose—to take down the man who had destroyed my life. But now... now I wasn't so sure I even understood who Nikita really was. Could I live with myself if I killed a man I was wrong about?
The power he wielded, the way he controlled everyone around him—it should have been enough to keep me focused on my mission. Right?
As I climbed back into bed, my thoughts drifted to that moment between us in the hall, the way his fingers felt tightening in my hair. I had gasped in anticipation. I had wanted him to pull my hair, and I didn't want him to stop there.
I groaned and burrowed into my bed. I couldn't afford to be distracted by the way Nikita—his strength, his body, his presence—called to me.
I had to stay focused. I had to remember why I was here.
But could I resist him long enough to kill him?