Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
Nikita
T he morning after the gala, it was unmistakable that something was up. The city outside my office was deceptively calm, the skyline serene, but inside me, there was a growing storm. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, that danger was closer than I wanted to admit.
I had spent the night trying to forget the way Lily had felt in my arms, trying to convince myself that our little session together meant nothing. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her, the way she had looked at me, the way her lips had trembled when I pulled away. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.
I had to focus. There were bigger things at play. And yet, the unease lingered.
The knock on my office door was sharp, cutting through the silence. I didn't turn around, already sensing the urgency in Vadim's approach.
"Come in," I called, bracing myself for the worst.
Vadim entered, and with him came a shift in the atmosphere—something had gone wrong.
"We have a problem," Vadim said, his voice low, but the grim edge in it was unmistakable.
I turned then, narrowing my eyes as I faced him. "What kind of problem?"
Vadim stepped forward, handing me a small folded note. "It came in this morning. From Petrov."
The second I heard that name, the storm inside me broke loose. Petrov. The bastard had been circling like a vulture for months now, waiting for a moment of weakness, a slip, something he could use to make a move against me. But there had been no opening—until now.
I opened the note, my eyes scanning the brief threatening words:
"Getting a new wife doesn't serve you in the way you think it does. She's not from our world. She's a liability. How long do you think you can keep her safe?"
The words set my blood on fire, and I crumpled the note in my hand, rage simmering just beneath the surface. "He thinks he can touch her?" I growled, my voice tight with barely controlled fury.
Vadim's eyes darkened as he nodded. "It's a warning. He's testing you."
The room seemed to grow smaller, the walls closing in as the implications settled in my mind. Petrov wanted to push me. He thought Lily was my weakness, and that meant he thought he could use her. The idea of anyone seeing her as leverage, as a pawn in their game, made something savage rise up in me.
"No one touches her," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "No one."
Vadim's gaze didn't waver. He knew what the note meant. He had been by my side long enough to understand the shift, to know that it wasn't just a threat to my power. Things had become personal.
"What do you want to do?" Vadim asked, though I could already see the plan forming in his eyes. He wanted blood. So did I.
"Get Mikhail and the others," I said, my voice cold and decisive. "Petrov doesn't know who the fuck he's messing with."
Vadim nodded once, then left the room without another word. The moment the door closed behind him, I allowed myself to feel the full weight of my anger, my fists clenching at my sides. I had kept my distance from Lily for a reason. I had convinced myself that she was nothing more than a piece of this arrangement, a part of the game. But now, with her life hanging in the balance, I couldn't deny the truth.
She was more than just a tool. She was mine. And no one—no one—would use her against me.
Minutes later, Vadim returned with Mikhail and Yuri, both of them looking as grim as I felt. They knew the situation was serious the moment they walked in. Mikhail, always the strategist, wasted no time.
"What's the play?" Mikhail asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall.
I met his gaze. "Petrov is trying to push me by threatening Lily. He thinks she's an easy target."
Yuri scoffed, shaking his head. "He must be insane if he thinks that's going to work."
"He's not insane," I corrected, my voice hard. "He's desperate. He sees Lily as a way to get to me, and that puts her in danger."
Mikhail's eyes narrowed, considering the situation. "We could send a message—make it clear that she's untouchable."
"A message isn't enough," I said sharply. "We need to make an example."
Yuri's grin widened, the glint in his eyes dark. "I like the sound of that."
I stepped closer, and my men watched my every move, ready to pounce. "Find Petrov's men. Any of them. And when you do, make sure the message is clear: If anyone so much as looks at Lily the wrong way, they'll wish death finds them before I do."
Yuri nodded eagerly, already itching for action. But Mikhail, ever the more cautious of the two, raised a hand. "We should be careful, Nikita. If we go after Petrov's men too aggressively, it could start a war."
I didn't care. Not at that moment. All I could think about was the threat hanging over Lily's head, the danger she was in—because of me.
"Let them try," I said coldly. "If they want war, I'll give it to them."
Mikhail studied me for a moment, his eyes calculating. He could hear the edge in my voice, the personal stake I had in this. "This isn't just about power anymore, is it?" he asked quietly.
I met his gaze, my expression hard. "No, it isn't."
There was a moment of silence before Mikhail nodded. "I'll send the men."
He and Yuri left, the door closing behind them with finality. I stood there, staring at the space they had vacated, my thoughts racing. The rational part of me knew Mikhail was right—escalating this situation could lead to something bigger. But I didn't care.
Not when it came to Lily.
The very idea of her being vulnerable, of her being hurt because of me, was enough to drive me to the brink. I had made the mistake of thinking the marriage was just a transaction, but after reading that note, I knew better.
His message was a personal attack. And I was going to make damn sure that everyone would fear trying me again.
The room was too quiet after Mikhail and Yuri left. The air felt thick, the weight of what I was about to do settling over me. I walked to the window, staring out at the New York skyline, my thoughts racing. I had built my empire on control—control over myself, over my men, over my enemies. But Lily... her very existence tested the bounds of what I was capable of.
I couldn't lose control, not over anything.
The door creaked open behind me, and I didn't need to turn around to know it was Vadim.
"They're ready to make the move," he said quietly.
"Good," I replied, not taking my eyes off the city. "No hesitation. Make sure Petrov knows the consequences of testing me."
Vadim hesitated for a moment, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. "Is this... about her?" he asked carefully.
I turned then, my expression hard. "This is about sending a message. No one touches what's mine."
Vadim nodded, understanding. There was no more to say. He left me alone again, the door clicking shut, and I let out a slow breath, trying to rein in the anger that had been brewing inside me since the note arrived.
But I couldn't stop thinking about her—about Lily. She didn't know the danger she was in. She didn't understand the world she had been pulled into, and the fact that she thought she could handle it on her own only made things worse. She was stubborn, strong-willed, but that wasn't enough to protect her from men like Petrov. That wasn't enough to survive in this world.
I needed to tell her. She had to understand the severity of the situation. I wouldn't let her walk around blind to the danger that lurked around every corner. She needed to know what was at stake.
I found her later that evening, sitting in one of the smaller sitting rooms, a book in her hands. She looked up when I entered, her expression as guarded as it always was when we were alone. There was something about the way she looked at me, like she was constantly trying to figure me out, trying to understand the man behind the mask. It made me uneasy, and I hated it.
"We need to talk," I said, my voice harsher than I intended.
She raised an eyebrow, closing the book with a soft thud. "About what?"
"About the fact that your life is in danger," I replied, crossing the room in a few quick strides. I could see her tense, but she didn't back down. She hardly ever did.
"Whose life isn't in danger around you?" she shot back, her tone sharp, but there was an edge of fear in her eyes, one she was trying to hide.
"This is different," I said, stopping in front of her. "Someone is trying to get to me through you. A rival. He thinks you're vulnerable."
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't respond immediately. I watched as the realization dawned on her, the fear she had been trying so hard to suppress flickering across her face.
"Who?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
"Petrov," I answered. "He sent me a message this morning. A warning. He knows you're not from our world. He thinks you're a weakness."
Her jaw clenched, and she stood up, squaring her shoulders. "I'm not weak."
I couldn't help the surge of frustration that rose up in me. "I didn't say you were weak," I snapped sharply, then ran a hand over my face. "You don't understand how dangerous this is. You don't know what these people are capable of."
"I can handle myself," she insisted, her eyes flashing with defiance. "I don't need your protection."
I stepped closer, my hands balling into fists at my sides as I fought to keep my temper in check. She had no idea what she was talking about. She had no idea how close she was to being used, to being hurt. And the thought of her in Petrov's hands, of anyone even thinking about laying a hand on her, made something inside me snap.
"Who's giving you a choice?" I growled, my voice low and dangerous. "You're under my protection, whether you want it or not. No one touches you."
Her breath hitched, her eyes widening as she stared up at me. There it was again—that spark, that unspoken electricity that had been building between us since the moment we met. I could feel it, like a live wire humming between us, threatening to explode.
"Nikita..." she started, but her voice faltered.
"No," I cut her off, stepping closer until there was barely any space between us. My hand shot out, gripping her elbow, pulling her against me. "No one touches you. Ever. Not while you're mine."
Her eyes flashed with something—fear, anger, confusion—but she didn't pull away. I could see the effect I was having on her, could see the way her breath came faster, her chest rising and falling with every word.
"This isn't about you protecting me," she said, her voice trembling. "This is about control."
"Yes," I admitted, my grip tightening slightly. "But it's also about survival."
She stared at me, her eyes searching mine for something—answers, maybe, or some kind of explanation for why I was doing this. But I didn't have answers. Not the ones she wanted, anyway. All I knew was that the idea of losing control, the idea of anyone seeing her as a weakness, was something I couldn't allow.
"You don't get it," she whispered, her voice breaking just slightly. "I don't want to be saved. I don't want to be a pawn in your war."
My hand loosened, my grip softening as I stared down at her. For a moment, I almost let go. I almost walked away. But then I remembered the note, the threat, and the cold hard truth settled over me like a weight.
"It's too late for that, Lily," I said, my voice rough. "You're already in this. And whether you like it or not, I'll protect you."
The silence that followed was heavy—thick and suffocating. I could feel her breathing, her chest pressed against mine, her body so close that it was impossible not to think about that night at the gala, when my lips were all over her body.
"You can't keep me locked up," she said, her voice soft but defiant.
"I can," I replied, my voice low. "And I will."
Her eyes flashed, but before she could argue, I leaned in, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered, "You're mine, Lily. And I don't let anyone take what's mine."
Lily's breath hitched at my words, her body stiffening against mine. I could feel the conflict warring inside her—the push and pull between the strength she clung to and the magnetic force drawing her toward me. As I pulled back, my eyes roaming her face, taking in her lips, her eyes flickered with uncertainty but also with something darker. Desire? Anger? Maybe both.
"I'm not something you own," she whispered, though the words were shaky, lacking the conviction she likely intended.
Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of my shirt, as if she wasn't sure whether to push me away or pull me closer. With our faces inches apart, my grip on her arm loosened just enough to make it a choice.
"Then prove me wrong. Walk away," I murmured, my voice rough with the intensity of the moment.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The air between us crackled, thick with the weight of the challenge I'd thrown at her. She could walk away—right now. She could put distance between us, retreat to whatever fragile control she still had left.
But she didn't.
Instead, her gaze locked with mine, and something passed between us—an unspoken understanding. The boundaries between hate and want blurred, and for that moment, it didn't matter who we were, what we were fighting, or what was at stake. The only thing that mattered was this: She wasn't running. Not from me.
I exhaled slowly, the possessiveness simmering inside me, mixing with the pull I couldn't deny. "That's what I thought," I whispered, my voice barely above a growl, the words hanging in the charged air between us.
Without another word, I released her, stepping back, watching her carefully as the space between us grew. She didn't flinch, didn't retreat. Instead, she stood there, staring at me with that same fierce defiance that had drawn me to her in the first place.
This wasn't over. Far from it.