Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
Nikita
S omething about Lily had changed. I couldn't put my finger on it at first—she still smiled at me, still said all the right things, but something felt off. She stopped trying to hide from me, but a distance had crept between us, a hesitance she couldn't quite hide. I tried to dismiss it, to convince myself that it was just the weight of her adjusting to this life. But the more I watched her, the harder it became to shake the nagging feeling gnawing at my gut.
It was Mikhail who put my suspicions into words. He always had a way of seeing through the bullshit, cutting to the core of things I didn't want to confront.
He stood in my office, arms crossed, his face unreadable as he studied me. "Nikita, we need to talk about Lily."
I looked up from the paperwork on my desk, already feeling irritation prick at my skin. "What about her?"
Mikhail didn't waver. "She's been acting different. Withdrawn. And I've been looking into her background."
I felt a flicker of annoyance, mixed with something darker. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Mikhail exhaled slowly, stepping forward as if weighing his words carefully. "I'm saying she could be hiding something. She's been pulling away from you lately, hasn't she?"
I didn't want to admit that he was right. Lily had been distant. The fire I'd come to expect from her had faded, replaced by a coolness that I couldn't ignore. I hated how much it bothered me, hated that it mattered at all. But I wasn't about to show Mikhail that.
"She's adjusting," I said flatly. "This life isn't easy for someone like her."
Mikhail's eyes narrowed, the sharp edge in his gaze impossible to ignore. "Nikita, you're not usually this blind. She was asking questions, getting too curious about your business. And when I looked into her past… something doesn't add up. It's too clean."
I stood abruptly, pushing the papers on my desk aside. "I don't need you digging into my wife's past. I have it handled."
But even as I said it, the seed of doubt took root, spreading through me like a slow, creeping poison. Mikhail wasn't wrong. Lily had been asking questions—subtle ones—but enough to catch my attention. After confronting her, I'd brushed them off as harmless curiosity. But with Mikhail's words ringing in my ears, they felt like something more.
"She's been pulling away for a reason," Mikhail continued, stepping closer. "You need to be careful."
I clenched my fists, the tension coiling tighter in my chest. "And what are you suggesting? That she's a threat?"
Mikhail's face was grim. "I'm suggesting you look deeper. She's too clean, Nikita. It doesn't sit right."
His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I hated that he was forcing me to confront what I'd been avoiding. Hated that he was right. There had been moments—little things that hadn't made sense. Her questions, her sudden withdrawal. The way she looked at me sometimes, like she was searching for something. And now I couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling in my gut.
"Fine," I bit out, my voice hard. "Look into it. But keep it quiet. I don't want her knowing."
Mikhail nodded, his expression tight. "I'll handle it."
After he left, I sat there for a long time, staring at the door. The seed of doubt that Mikhail had planted was already growing, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. That Lily was hiding something from me. But I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to think that the woman I'd let into my life, the woman I'd come to trust, could be lying to me.
But I couldn't ignore it anymore.
The next few days were unbearable. Every time I looked at her, every time she smiled at me, I found myself questioning everything. Was it real? Or had she been playing me this whole time? I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Manipulated.
And then Mikhail came back with what he had found.
I was in the study when he entered, his face grim, his steps slow and deliberate. He didn't need to say a word for me to know that whatever he'd uncovered wasn't good. I felt the tension coil tighter in my chest as he handed me a folder, his eyes clouded with something that looked almost like pity.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice tight, my fingers gripping the edge of the folder.
Mikhail didn't answer immediately, just nodded toward the papers. "It's all in there."
I opened the folder, my eyes scanning the contents, the words blurring together for a moment before they came into sharp, horrifying focus. Alexei Morozov. The name hit me like a punch to the gut, the air rushing out of my lungs.
Alexei. The man who had betrayed my family. The man I had ordered to be executed.
And Lily had been married to him.
I stared at the name, my mind reeling. My blood ran cold, my pulse hammering in my ears as the truth settled over me like a dark cloud. She had known. She had known who I was, what I had done, and she had still come into my life. Still stood by my side, still smiled at me, touched me, acted like she cared.
"Nikita…" Mikhail's voice was low, cautious, but I barely heard him.
She'd known all along.
The rage inside me erupted, white-hot and blinding. I slammed the folder shut, my hands stinging with the force. "She was married to Alexei?" I growled, my voice barely controlled.
Mikhail nodded, his face grim. "She never told you."
I felt sick, the anger twisting in my gut, burning through me. She had been playing me this whole time, lying to me from the start. All the little moments, all the touches, the smiles—it was all fake. All a fucking lie.
"She's been lying to me," I muttered, more to myself than to Mikhail. "This whole time."
Mikhail didn't say anything, just watched me carefully. He knew better than to push me when I was like this. But I could feel his eyes on me, waiting to see what I would do next.
"Do you want me to take care of her?" he asked quietly, his tone measured.
The suggestion made my blood freeze. The thought of doing to Lily what I'd done to Alexei... It was too much. Too soon. The anger, the betrayal, it was all too raw. I needed time. I needed to think.
"No," I said through clenched teeth. "Not yet."
Mikhail raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Not yet?"
"I need to know why she's here," I growled, my voice low and dangerous. "I need to know what her plan is. If she's here for revenge or something else. I'm going to watch her. See what she does."
Mikhail nodded, though his expression was cautious. "And if you don't like what you find?"
I clenched my fists, the fury burning hotter. "Then I'll deal with her. The same way I dealt with him."
I stood there, the silence deafening, my chest heaving with the weight of everything that had just happened. She had known the entire time. She had known I killed her husband. And still, she had stayed.
And somehow, that made it all worse.
That night, the gulf growing between Lily and me was unbearable. Every time I looked at her, the rage churned deep inside me, a storm I barely held at bay. She moved around the house like nothing had changed, smiling at me, touching me, but all I could see was the lie. The deception was woven into every glance, every smile, every word that left her mouth. I couldn't look at her without feeling the anger burn hotter, the weight of her betrayal pressing against my chest like a vice.
I'd let her into my life, into my bed. Every moment we'd shared now felt like a farce, a cruel joke played at my expense.
Lily's soft footsteps echoed in the hallway, pulling me from my thoughts. I watched her approach, her expression warm, her smile soft as she stopped in front of me. That smile—so gentle, so fucking perfect—made my skin crawl. She was standing there, acting like everything was fine, like I hadn't just uncovered the one thing that could rip everything apart.
"You've been quiet tonight," she said, her voice tinged with concern. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against my arm. "Is something wrong?"
The touch sent a jolt of fury through me, and I had to clench my jaw to stop myself from pulling away. My hands tightened into fists at my sides, the rage swirling beneath the surface, ready to explode. But I couldn't. Not yet. I couldn't confront her. I needed to see if she would slip. If she would let something else fall through the cracks. I needed to catch her in her lies.
"I'm fine," I bit out, the words colder than I intended. Her eyes flickered with a hint of confusion, but she masked it quickly, offering me a small, cautious smile.
"Are you sure?" she asked softly, her brow furrowing in concern. "You seem... distant."
Distant? The word grated my ears. If she only knew. If she had any idea how close I was to snapping, to tearing this entire charade apart. Every time she looked at me, every time her hand brushed against my skin, the fury inside me grew stronger, the betrayal sinking deeper. She had been lying to me from the start, and I had been too blind to see it. Too blind to notice the way she had played me.
I forced myself to look at her, to keep my face expressionless. "I said I'm fine," I repeated, sharper this time.
Her smile faltered, and I could see the uncertainty creeping into her eyes. Good. She should be uncertain. She should be fucking terrified. But she still had no idea what was coming.
"Is it work?" she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant. "You've seemed stressed lately. You can talk to me, Nikita. You know that, right?"
Talk to her? The idea of sharing anything with her, of confiding in her, made my stomach turn. The only thing I wanted to talk about was the fact that she had lied to me. The fact that she had walked into my life with full knowledge of who I was and what I had done and hadn't said a goddamn word. But I needed to know what she was planning. I needed to see how long she would keep up this act.
"I've had a lot on my mind," I finally said, my voice tight. "Work's been complicated."
She nodded slowly, her eyes searching mine, as if she could see something lurking behind my words. "I understand," she said softly. "If you ever need to talk... I'm here."
Her hand moved to rest on my chest, the warmth of her touch sending a surge of conflicting emotions through me—rage, disgust, and something else. A part of me wanted to take her hand and go back to where we came from, go back to that intoxicating passion. Yet I wanted to push her away, to tell her to stop pretending, to rip apart the mask she wore so well.
But instead, I let her hand linger there, my own emotions simmering beneath the surface like a volcano ready to erupt.
"I know," I said, the words cold, detached. I didn't trust myself to say anything more.
Her eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer, searching, but I kept my expression unreadable. I wouldn't give her anything. Not until I had all the answers. Not until I knew what she was really here for.
After a moment, she dropped her hand and took a step back, her smile faltering just slightly. "I'll be in the study if you need me," she said quietly.
I watched her walk away, my fists clenched at my sides, the rage bubbling beneath my skin. She had no idea that her world was about to come crashing down. She had no idea that I knew who she really was. I was going to watch her, observe every move, every word, every fucking breath she took. I would be there when she slipped. I would catch her in her lies, and when I did, she would pay for what she had done.
For the next few days, the tension between us grew even thicker. Every moment we spent in the same room felt like a battle, the air charged with unspoken truths. She still played the role of the perfect wife, her smiles warm, her touches gentle. But I could see it now. I could see the cracks. The way her eyes flickered with doubt when she thought I wasn't looking. The way her fingers trembled slightly when she reached for her wineglass.
I studied her closely, watching for any sign that she would slip. But she didn't. She was careful. Too careful. It made my blood boil even more. The way she played this game, so fucking flawlessly. But I could feel the tension in her, the way she was starting to sense that something had changed. She wasn't sure why, but she knew. I could see it in the way her eyes lingered on me, the way she seemed more cautious around me now.
One evening, we sat across from each other at dinner, the silence between us deafening. I could feel her watching me, her gaze flicking up from her plate every few seconds, as if searching for some hint of what I was thinking. I kept my expression neutral, my jaw tight as I chewed, forcing myself not to let the rage spill out.
"Nikita?" she said softly, her voice tentative.
I looked up, meeting her gaze. "What?"
Her brow furrowed slightly, her lips pressing together in a thin line. "You've been... distant lately. I can feel it. I'm worried about you."
Worried. The word made my skin crawl. The woman who had been lying to me from the moment we met was worried about me. The irony of it was almost laughable, but the fury was too strong, too overwhelming. I forced myself to stay calm, to keep the anger in check.
"I'm handling it," I said, my voice cold.
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, her hand reaching out across the table, fingers brushing lightly against mine. "You don't have to handle everything on your own," she said quietly. "You can talk to me."
"I said I'm handling it," I repeated, pulling my hand away from hers.
Her expression faltered, the uncertainty growing. "If this is about work... I mean, I know how much pressure you're under, but?—"
"It's not about work," I snapped.
I saw her flinch, her hand retreating, and I immediately regretted letting my temper slip. But I couldn't take it back now. The tension between us was suffocating, and I could see the fear in her eyes growing stronger.
"I'm just... trying to help," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.
Help. She thought she was helping. She had no idea how much she was making things worse. I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly, forcing myself to calm down.
"I don't need your help," I said, my voice lower now but still cold. "What I need is honesty."
Her eyes widened, and I saw the panic flash across her face, but she quickly masked it. "Honesty? What do you mean?"
I leaned forward, my gaze hard, searching her face for any sign that she was about to break. "If there's something you're hiding, Lily, now's the time to tell me."
She stared at me, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the table. "Nikita, I'm not hiding anything. I don't know what you're talking about."
The lie came so easily to her lips, and it only made the fury inside me burn hotter. But I didn't push.
"All right," I said after a long pause, my voice flat. "I'll take your word for it."
She nodded, but I could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the fear growing stronger. She knew something was wrong, but she didn't know how close I was to tearing everything apart.
Later that night, I couldn't sleep. The anger inside me was too strong, too consuming. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with everything I had uncovered. Ever since I confronted her in the study, she had been sleeping in my bed. I could feel her beside me, her breathing soft and steady, as if she wasn't lying next to the man who had killed her husband. As if she wasn't hiding the one truth that could destroy us both.
I wanted to wake her up, to confront her, to make her admit everything. But I needed more. I needed to know why she had stayed. What her plan was. Whether this was all about revenge or something else. I needed to understand her intentions before I made my move.
And when I did... she wouldn't see it coming.