Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Harper
I didn't wake from that almost dreamlike happiness until morning sunlight burned my eyes.
I shifted, and soreness flooded through me like a tide—my inner thighs, my waist, that ache from being thoroughly used. It didn't hurt. It made me blush. My hand reached instinctively to the space beside me. The sheets were cold.
Kirill was already gone.
Yesterday, I would've felt hollow staring at that empty bed. Not today. I buried my face in his pillow and breathed deep.
He'd said yes to my confession. He wanted me.
I wasn't dreaming, right?
We weren't just a cold contract anymore.
I was Kirill Orlov's wife. Not just on paper. For real.
The thought made me want to roll around on that ridiculously expensive bed, but I didn't have time. I'd made plans to meet Rihanna today.
I took twice as long getting ready. Staring at myself in the mirror, I was surprised to find the woman looking back wasn't so bad anymore. Even those freckles I'd always hated didn't seem so terrible.
I picked a pale yellow dress. A color I never would've worn before—too bright, too noticeable. But today, I wanted to look bright.
I was almost out the door when my phone rang. Rihanna.
"Harper!" She sounded rushed. "We need to change locations! The coffee shop's closed today. Owner's getting married—there's a sign saying they're shut for the day."
"Oh?" I paused. "So where should we—"
"I'll just come to your place. God, everyone's getting married. Hey, I never got to ask you properly about your date! How'd it go with your crush? Did you tell him? Did he say yes? Tell me everything!"
My place? I'd given up the old apartment. If Rihanna was coming over, it could only be here.
I bit my lip, suddenly nervous. I couldn't lie to my best friend.
"Rihanna," I took a breath. "I... I got married."
Dead silence on the other end. For five full seconds.
"WHAT?!" The shriek nearly burst my eardrum. "Harper Evans! Are you fucking with me? I was gone for one month! WHO? Who the hell did you marry?"
"You know him. Olga's grandson. Kirill Orlov."
"Oh my God! Harper, he said yes?" Rihanna squealed with delight. "Honey, I'm so happy for you!"
My smile was unstoppable. I was about to say something when Rihanna let out another shriek.
"Wait! What did you say his last name is? Orlov?" A sharp intake of breath came through the phone. Her tone shifted from joy to horror. "You don't mean that Orlov, do you? The one they call New York's underground emperor? The Russian?"
"Probably him."
"Jesus Christ..." Rihanna sputtered. "Where are you? I need to see you! Right now! Immediately!"
I checked my watch, glanced at my reflection—fully dressed and ready. An idea struck me.
"I'm home. Orlov Manor." I couldn't help smiling. "Why don't you come over? Tonight for dinner, just us. I want you to see my... new place."
"Are you sure?" Disbelief filled her voice. "I mean, a place like that... can I just walk in?"
"Of course you can. You're my best friend." My tone softened. "I need you here, Rihanna. There's a lot I want to tell you."
Silence. Then Rihanna said quietly, "Okay. I'm coming. Send me the address."
At seven that evening, a taxi pulled up to the massive iron gates carved with the double-headed eagle emblem.
I stood on the main house steps waiting. When Rihanna got out, her mouth hung open wide enough to catch flies. She wore her signature bright miniskirt, looking both wildly out of place and hilariously endearing against the manor's medieval castle grandeur.
"Holy shit!" Rihanna came toward me, forgetting to even hug me, just gaping at everything. "Harper, are you sure this isn't a movie set? That fountain's real? Is that statue solid gold?"
"Definitely not brass, babe." I laughed, linking my arm through hers. "Come on inside."
In the entrance hall, the soaring ceiling and massive crystal chandelier made Rihanna groan dramatically. The sound immediately drew Anna's attention. She approached with a smile. "Good evening, miss. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Uh, no, thanks." Rihanna tugged at her skirt hem nervously, then leaned close to whisper, "Does the maid think I'm some hick who's never seen anything? Because she'd be right."
"Anna's sweet. She won't think that." I patted her hand.
The tap of a cane on the stairs echoed down. Olga descended slowly. Out of her nursing home clothes, she carried real presence—that natural aristocratic authority made Rihanna snap her mouth shut and straighten her spine instinctively.
I felt nervous. I hoped Olga wouldn't dislike Rihanna's loud personality.
"Your friend?" Olga's sharp gaze swept over Rihanna, lingering on her worn heels.
"Yes, Grandmother." I hurried to introduce them. "This is Rihanna, my best friend."
Rihanna stammered nervously. "H-hello, Mrs. Orlov. Your house is just... incredible."
The faintest smile touched Olga's stern face. She nodded. "Welcome. Harper has few friends here. It's good you came to keep her company. This house is so big it runs cold. It needs more life."
She looked at me, her expression softening. "Harper, I'm going out tonight. You're mistress of this house. Make sure you take good care of your guest."
She didn't say it outright, but I heard the subtext loud and clear. She was backing me up. Telling me I had authority here.
Probably because of Olga's special instructions, dinner was lavish. Afterward, I took Rihanna on a casual tour of the manor.
She was fascinated by every room, constantly marveling at the antique furniture, oil paintings, and crystal fixtures.
"This really is like a castle from a fairy tale." Rihanna sighed. "I can't believe you actually live here."
"Yeah, honestly, sometimes I wonder if I'm dreaming too."
We climbed to the third floor, walking down a long corridor. I was planning to show Rihanna the rooftop terrace when her footsteps stopped. She stared at the door at the end of the hall, eyes bright with curiosity.
"What's that?" she whispered.
"That's Kirill's study." I lowered my voice, too.
"Study?" Rihanna's eyes lit up. She grabbed my arm. "Harper, take me in! Please, please, please!"
"I don't know..."
"Just a peek!" Rihanna begged. "You know how curious I am! In movies, mafia bosses' offices always have guns, stacks of cash, secret maps. I really want to see what the real thing looks like! And you're his wife—looking shouldn't be a problem, right?"
I bit my lip. Kirill's study had always been off-limits. Only Boris and Anna were allowed in to clean. But thinking it over—after last night, our relationship was different now.
I was his wife. Showing Rihanna the study for one second shouldn't be too much, right? And deep down, I wanted to see where he worked. I wanted to know him better.
"Fine. But just a quick look." I gave in.
We tiptoed to the oak door. It was slightly ajar. No lights inside.
"He's not back yet," I whispered, pushing the door open.
Sunlight streamed through the massive windows, illuminating an entire wall of books and that enormous black walnut desk big as a bed.
For a moment, I couldn't help imagining how handsome Kirill must look sitting there working.
"Oh my God!" Rihanna walked into the study with genuine awe. "This is exactly like I pictured."
She ran to the bookshelves, looking everywhere, while I stood in the center of the room feeling uneasy. After all, I'd snuck Rihanna into Kirill's study without permission. It didn't feel right.
"Rihanna, that's enough. We looked. Kirill might—"
I tried pulling the excited Rihanna out, but she cut me off.
"Harper, look at this!" Rihanna suddenly pointed at the wall behind the desk.
I turned, following her finger.
In the light from the window, I saw it clearly—a huge oil painting hanging directly behind Kirill's desk. Right where he'd see it every time he looked up.
My breathing stopped.
The woman in the painting was devastatingly beautiful.
She wore a gold fringed gown, lounging lazily on a red velvet sofa. Her hair was waves of molten gold, her skin white as the finest jade. Flawless.
She looked like an exquisite porcelain doll. Perfect in every way.
I stared at the painting, my hand rising unconsciously to touch my own face. My fingers found rough skin and those damn freckles across my nose that no makeup could hide.
The woman in the painting and me—we were worlds apart.
"Whoa, who is she?" Rihanna looked stunned, too. "She looks like a Hollywood star. One of Kirill's relatives?"
I didn't answer. Terrible unease coiled around my heart like a snake.
While I drowned in self-doubt and panic, heavy footsteps suddenly echoed behind us.
Fast footsteps. Urgent. Carrying suppressed fury, pounding on the expensive corridor carpet with dull thuds.
I whipped around, my heart leaping into my throat.
Kirill stood in the doorway.
He still wore that black tailored suit, his tie hanging loose around his neck—clearly just rushed back from somewhere. But his face held none of the warmth I'd hoped for, much less the smile from last night that made me blush.
His expression was terrifyingly dark. Those gray-blue eyes blazed with cold light in the shadows, fixed on me and Rihanna—or more precisely, on the painting behind us.
In that instant, the room's temperature plummeted to freezing.
Rihanna froze too, still holding a book, not daring to move. "Uh... hi? Mr. Orlov, we were just—"
"Leave."
Just one word. Not loud. Not even shouting. But that ice-cold venom squeezed through his teeth scared me more than any scream could.
I shuddered, like someone had dumped ice water over my head.
"Kirill, I—" I tried to explain, stepping toward him to take his hand. "We just wanted to see—"
"I said get out!"
"Who gave you permission to come in here?" He stared down at me, voice cutting like a blade. "Who gave you permission to bring some random trash into my study? Where the hell do you get off?"
How could he call my best friend that? Courage I'd never felt before surged from my chest. I lifted my head and met Kirill's cold eyes directly.
"She's not trash." My voice shook, but I said it. "She's Rihanna. She's my best friend. I invited her. I brought her in. If you want to blame someone, blame me. Don't talk about her like that."
Kirill's eyes went colder, like he was looking at an idiot who didn't know her place.
My face burned instantly. Shame blazed through my entire body. He'd crushed my dignity to dust in front of my friend.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Rihanna looked ready to cry, pulling at my arm. "Harper, let's go. Come on."
Rihanna dragged me stumbling toward the door. Passing Kirill, I couldn't help glancing up at him. Hoping to see even a flash of regret or hesitation.
He didn't look at me.
The heavy oak door crashed shut behind us with a boom that shook the entire corridor.
Rihanna leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, face pale. "Jesus... I'm sorry, Harper. This is all my fault."
I stood there, hands gripping my skirt so hard my knuckles went white. Tears pooled in my eyes, but I bit my lip hard, refusing to let them fall.
"Harper..." Rihanna looked at me carefully, voice full of sympathy and awkwardness. "Are you okay?"
Of course I wasn't okay.
I knew it was my fault. I shouldn't have gone into his study without permission. Shouldn't have brought my friend in without asking.
I was ready to accept his anger, apologize, and admit I was wrong.
But I never expected him to treat me like that. In front of my friend. With that cold, humiliating cruelty.
He hadn't even given me a chance to explain.
But what hurt most wasn't just his rage. It was that painting he treasured.
That blonde woman—who was she?