Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
IVAN
A s we continue to eat, I catch Lara sneaking glances at me. Each time her eyes flick towards mine, I can feel the weight of her concern, and it stirs something inside me, but the last thing I need is to have her worried about me. I don’t want my burdens to become hers. I want her to be how I found her. Innocent, sexy, kind-hearted.
"I’m fine," I say softly, glancing at her.
Her lips part slightly as if she wants to say something, but instead, she nods, her eyes dropping to her plate. I catch a glimpse of my sister Natalia watching us from across the table, her gaze sharp as she looks between the two of us. I don’t have the time or patience to figure out what her scrutiny means.
As the plates are cleared away our champagne glasses are filled and Nikolai rises, clinking his knife on his glass. He’s always liked being the center of attention, and tonight is no different. His smile is full of effortless charm, the kind that he wears when he’s about to take the spotlight.
"Everyone," he begins, his eyes sweeping over the family and the few close guests gathered, "it’s rare that we’re all together like this. So before the evening takes us away into more wine and conversation, I want to take a moment to honor someone very special."
He raises his champagne glass high. “To my stepmother, Svetlana Ivanovich, the heart of this family. Your grace, strength, and love have held us together, and tonight, we celebrate not just you, but the legacy you’ve built for us."
There’s an undeniable warmth in his words, my mother smiles graciously and the table bursts into applause. There’s a collective murmur of appreciation, heads nodding in approval as glasses are lifted and champagne is consumed. Nikolai’s gaze lingers for a moment on one of our older relatives, an uncle with a notorious reputation.
"Uncle Mikhail," Nikolai says with a smirk, "let’s try not to make it like last year, hmm? Leave some wine for the rest of us." His teasing tone brings out soft laughter from the family, and Mikhail, sitting at the far end of the table with his fifth or sixth glass of wine, stands unsteadily and bows playfully.
“Also… and before we go any further," Nikolai says with a mischievous gleam in his eye, his voice shifting to a lighter note, "I’d like to give a special welcome to someone new at our table tonight—Lara.”
At once, all eyes shift to Lara, and there’s a moment of uncomfortable silence as Nikolai, clearly relishing the moment, smiles wider. "We don’t often get the chance to have new faces here, so Lara, maybe you’d like to say a few words?”
I can feel Lara stiffen beside me, and before she can respond, I raise my hand, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. "This is a night to celebrate my mother, not my lover, Nikolai.”
The air around us changes instantly, the energy shifting with my words. Nikolai lets out a small chuckle and lowers his glass. "Of course, Ivan. I was just trying to make your guest feel welcome."
How victorious he looks now that he has got under my skin. I catch a few sidelong glances in my direction, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough of his silly little games. A subtle but palpable shift settles over the table. The remaining toasts of tribute to my mother are polite but lack the earlier ease. The ugliness between Nikolai and me has tempered the mood. The cake is wheeled out, and we all sing for my mother, the candles are blown out and the night continues.
Afterwards, we move to the patio for the cognac and cigars for the men and cake and sweet port for the women.
The night is cooling, and the soft glow of lanterns lights the path as we walk. The vineyard itself is scenic, stretching for miles out under the moonlight, but I barely notice any of it. My mind is tangled up with what is happening back in London, with the constant calls from my lawyers, the updates that keep coming in about the properties and assets being seized. The authorities appear to be moving at lightning speed. Just an hour ago they impounded my yacht moored in the Bahamas.
I move away from the gathering, finding a quiet corner in the vineyard’s lounge, away from the garrulous chatter. Pulling out my phone I dial and the call connects almost immediately.
“Ivan,” my lawyer’s voice is clipped, on edge, “we’re doing everything we can, but it’s not looking good. The French authorities have tightened their hold on the chateau, and the British are relentless with the Mayfair property. They’ve frozen everything under suspicion of financial misconduct.”
“Are they not even going to wait and go through the mountains of evidence we’ve provided?” I ask in disbelief, pacing in the dim light.
There’s a pause on the other end, the hesitation grinding on my already frayed nerves. “They’re digging their heels in, Ivan. They’ve been tipped off about irregularities with Chinese steel deals, and I’m afraid the US is getting involved now too. They’re looking at everything—the finances, the acquisitions, your connections to Russian interests.”
My grip tightens on the phone, the mention of the steel deals only stokes my anger even more. “What irregularities?” I demand, trying to keep my voice steady. “Everything is above board and they know it. I’ve kept this business clean—there’s nothing for them to find.”
“The British authorities don’t care. They are on a witch hunt. It’s political. Given your background they thought you were an easy target and they’ve spent a lot of time and money chasing you and now they need to show results,” he replies. “And now they’ve got the Americans sniffing around too, looking for connections to illegal Russian funds.”
A curse escapes me as I pull at the collar of my shirt. There are not fucking serious. Connection? Whatever connections there are, are weak at best. I want to shout, but I realize that doesn’t matter to the authorities. Perception is enough. They’ll drag this out for as long as they need to, ruining everything in the process.
“How long will all this take? How long can they legally keep my assets?”
“Sorry, Ivan, but the answer is: indefinitely. Legally they’re combing through the documents and there is a lot, and they are bureaucrats so they have a good excuse to drag this out for years.”
“Years?” I spit the word out. “I’m not waiting years.”
I hang up abruptly and have to quell the desire to smash my phone to the ground. Fuck! The chateau, the yacht, and the Mayfair flat—they’re all tied up in this mess indefinitely! They’re acting as though they have all the evidence needed to build their case against me, as though it’s solid, and I don’t understand why. Their goal is clear: to cripple me and steal what I have worked so hard to earn. I take a deep breath. They won’t beat me. Hyenas cannot take down the king of the jungle. The lion, in its prime, can hold off a whole cackle.
The problem is actually not what is happening now, but what will happen once the American authorities begin to follow suit. They are much more aggressive than the Europeans. Then I will really be in deep shit. I’m not the first Russian billionaire who has been harassed like this—it’s normal, but I’m the first guiltless billionaire.
When I turn back toward the others, I see Lara watching me from across the room. She’s been keeping her distance, and I can’t blame her. I’ve been distant all night. Without a word, I get up and head toward the door, walking briskly to the office where I’ve spent my time since I arrived. I need space. I need to think and I need to plan.
I can feel Lara trailing behind me, her figure silent but persistent. As soon as we are out of earshot of the rest of the party I turn towards her, my voice rough and strained. “Go back, Lara. I need time to think.”
But she doesn’t move. Her eyes, wide with concern, lock onto mine, and she steps forward instead of retreating. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is soft, careful, like she’s walking on fragile ground, trying to understand what’s going on inside my head. “I know it’s none of my business but …”
Her expression stops my heart. I realize she is what I need. I want to hold her close, want to tell her all my frustrations, but... I can’t. I’ve never confided in anyone before. I always solve all my problems on my own. I am the lone lion, roaming the savannah on his own. I can’t let her in. She is already too close. Anyway, it looks like soon I won’t be able to afford to keep her. The thought sears me. There is nothing I cannot afford.
I take a deep breath, shaking my head. “Just go,” I say, more forcefully this time, but it’s more for my own sake than hers. I’m trying to push her away, trying to stop her from seeing more than what I want her to.
But she shakes her head and stands her ground. She comes closer, eyes defiant. “No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.”
I let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through my hair, the tension in my shoulders knotting tighter. Before I can say anything else, she snatches my hand and starts running towards the house. I could have tugged once, and she would have come to a sudden stop, even slammed into me, but no, I run with her. In the cool night air, we run like two lovers towards the summerhouse by the lake. Out of breath, she opens the door and pulls me in. Then she shuts the door. The soft click of the latch feels final, sealing us in together, along with everything unsaid between us. She leans against it and in the dim light from the lamp outside stares at me.
“This fuck is already paid for. Why not get your money’s worth?” she says softly.
What irony. I paid for the houses, the yacht, and the cars too, but instead, I’m getting fucked by Western governments. But she is right. This fuck is paid for. I close the distance between us, my hands finding her waist and pulling her to me in one swift motion. She gasps, her body stiffening with the savagery of the movement, but she quickly melts into me. Her lips part as I swoop down on her mouth hungrily.
Her hands slide up my back as she kisses me back urgently. It’s as if she’s trying to pour whatever little care she may feel for me into the kiss, hoping it will reach the parts of me that are too locked away to let her in. I can feel it, but I can’t acknowledge it, not now.
My hands make quick work of the long zip on the back of her dress. One tug and the silky thing falls away to the floor. Underneath she is exactly how I want her: beautifully naked. Her chest heaves as she looks at me, waiting, wanting, knowing exactly where she’s headed.
There is a table pushed up against a wall and I swipe my hand over the odds and ends on it and let it all crash to the floor. She gasps, the wood creaking, as I lay her on her back on it. I part her legs roughly and my mouth is instantly on her. Her fingers tangle desperately in my hair. I eat her wet pussy until she comes, gushing her juices into my mouth, her open mouth screaming silently.
I straighten and look down at her. Pale, naked, her legs wide open on a wooden table in my mother’s summerhouse. I’m losing everything but I still own her. They can take everything else away, but not her. Bending my head, I take one of her delectable pink nipples into my mouth and suck hard. The little kitten sound that escapes her lips is everything I need. It fuels the fire raging inside me, driving me faster, harder.
I work my belt and I free myself. My cock is hard and throbbing with the need for her. Her eyes flick down, taking in the sight of me, and she bites her lip, her body rising slightly, eager, ready. There’s no time for teasing. No time for slow. Grabbing her ankles, I lift her hips right off the table. I position myself at her entrance, and with one ruthless thrust, I’m inside her.
Her body arches as I start to pump, hard and fast. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room—rough, raw, animalistic. I bury myself in her, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me, and I can feel her responding to every movement, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her grip tightening as she pulls me closer, her body meeting mine with every thrust.
“Ivan…” she breathes, her voice trembling with intensity.
I lean down, kissing her again, but this time it’s different. This time, her lips are slower, deeper, pulling me in with a tenderness that doesn’t match the raw intensity of what we’re doing. It’s as if she’s trying to tell me something, trying to reach the part of me that I’ve been keeping locked away.
I drive into her harder, faster, my hands gripping her hips as I lose myself in the heat of her body. Her moans grow louder, her body trembling beneath mine. I push deeper, my release building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside me. And then, with one final, shuddering gasp, I explode deep inside her. For a brief few seconds, everything else disappears. There’s only this, only her and me.
But it all comes tumbling back again. The hyenas are waiting outside the door.
As I pull away, adjusting my trousers, Lara sits up and drops her feet to the floor. I watch her bend to pick up her dress with hands that are shaking slightly. She meets my gaze and her lips stretch into a small smile, but there’s something in her eyes, a sadness that wasn’t there before.
She doesn't say anything as she pulls on her dress. I zip her up in silence. The room feels thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what just happened pressing down on both of us. I feel a pang of guilt and want to reach out to her, to tell her what is going on, but the words stick in my throat. Before I can find the words, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I can’t ignore it.
“I have to go,” I tell her.
She nods but doesn’t move.
At the door, I pause for a moment, glancing back at her. "Aren’t you coming?"
"No, Ivan," she says softly. "You go ahead. I’ll come in a minute."