Chapter 13 – Ellie
The wedding happened, and I couldn’t stop it. He legally secured what he wanted: me. I signed the papers binding me to my kidnapper, my oppressor, the man who ruined my present and stole my future.
I wasn’t his partner. No. To men like that, women like me were treated as belongings—nothing more than another piece of property. I was yet to unravel his agenda, the true reason for this union.
The level of wickedness required to tie an innocent woman to yourself for all eternity for your own benefit was off the charts. His mind was full of evil and utter darkness; the man had no conscience at all.
How on earth was I going to survive a lifetime within these walls? Who did I ever offend to deserve such an inhumane punishment? Why did I get so unlucky at just twenty-one?
I knew deep down in my heart that I was destined for something much greater. But unfortunately, the devil got to me first and decided it was best to extinguish my light.
Now I was locked up in a mansion filled with everything but life. The structure was enormous, and the interior design was the best I’d ever seen. Everything was expensive: couches, chandeliers, wall art, antiques.
Yet despite all of this, the mansion was still dead. At least that’s how it felt to me. It lacked the touch of humanity, and the silence was worse than in a graveyard.
How could a house designed with proper lighting feel so dark? How could a space filled with luxury feel so empty?
This union was supposed to move me from prisoner to wife. But the chains never felt heavier or tighter. I didn’t want to be his wife; I never asked for that—I never asked for any of this.
It had been over five days since the wedding, and I had spent most of that time in my room. My gilded cage. I expected him to complain and probably force me to share his bed. But he didn’t. He let me do as I pleased, which was strange for a devil like him.
I hadn’t been able to figure out what game he was playing. Not yet, anyway. But a part of me appreciated the fact that he wasn’t pushing himself on me.
On the day of our wedding, he avoided my lips and kissed my forehead instead. Shocking. That same night, when I thought he’d try to take what “belonged” to him, he did the exact opposite.
Although I was grateful for his restraint that night, a part of me still wondered why he pulled away. Curiosity, not disappointment. I saw the glint of desire in his eyes. The man wanted me.
He could’ve easily taken me, and I wouldn’t have resisted. But he chose not to. Why? Did he not find me attractive enough? It was a stupid thought, but it did cross my mind.
Whenever I remembered that night, my heart always skipped a beat. Not because of what had almost happened, but because of how it made me feel at that moment.
His touch was electrifying, igniting a dangerous flame within me. I recalled my lips quivering subtly as I stared into those cold steel-blue eyes of his. His arm around my waist was gentle but firm, grounding me in place.
I wasn’t sure if I was imagining this or if it actually happened—his erection brushing against my robe. I thought I felt it when he pulled me close, and my bosom collided with his torso.
Maybe. Maybe not.
But whatever the case, that feeling still lingered—unwanted, yet present. I should’ve been repulsed by the possibility that what I felt was his boner. I wasn’t. And that was a problem. A huge one.
Every now and then, that single memory would creep back into my mind, making me imagine stupid things. The kind of things that left me disappointed in myself afterward.
The more I thought about that night, the more these illicit thoughts took shape in my head. That’s how I knew I was gradually falling into a pit I might never crawl out of.
“Don’t worry. I won’t take you until you beg for it.” His voice still echoed in the back of my mind.
The conviction in his tone and the sheer arrogance of his words were infuriating. That was why I hated myself for entertaining those thoughts. I would rather they remain thoughts, never to be acted upon.
He was so convinced I’d beg him for it that he’d wait an eternity. Because I would never do that. Never.
The knock on my door snapped me out of my thoughts.
“Mrs. Tarasov. It’s me, Agata,” she called from the hallway outside.
Mrs. Tarasov.
I never was going to get used to that name. It wasn’t mine. On paper, it was. But I hadn’t accepted it. I never would.
“Come on in,” I answered. “It’s open.”
The door gave way without a creak, and she stepped inside, carrying a tray of food. My stomach growled in anticipation as the sweet aroma filled the air.
“Your breakfast, ma’am,” she said, quietly setting the tray on the bedside table.
“Hmm. Smells delicious,” I said, rising from the couch.
She gave a small smile, watching me closely as I walked to the tray. The freshly brewed coffee was still steaming, vapor curling upward.
I grabbed the cup by the handle, lifted it, and took a sip. It tasted even better on my tongue. While savoring the flavor in my mouth, I stared down at the scrambled eggs and homemade bread on the plate. Tantalizing.
It wasn’t until after the third sip out of my cup that I noticed her lingering gaze. Slowly, I turned around, and she looked away, avoiding my eyes.
My head tilted, and my brows furrowed. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said, gazing down at the floor.
Definitely something. I could sense it, and it piqued my curiosity.
I set the cup down. “Okay, spill.”
She swallowed hard.
“I…I don’t…I…” she stuttered, her head still lowered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her fingers tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Don’t bullshit me, Agata,” I said, staring right at her. “If you have something to say, say it.”
A pause.
“I’d—I’d rather. It is not my place to speak.”
“Huh?” My brows arched.
“You’re not the same woman you were last week,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the boss’s wife now, and that means there are lines I cannot cross.”
My head snapped back, disbelief coloring my eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
Silence.
Eager to hear what she wanted to say but couldn’t, I devised another way to make her talk.
I folded my arms across my chest. “Well, as your boss’s wife, you have my permission to speak.”
She slowly raised her head. “I really shouldn’t.”
I rolled my eyes. “Agata, you’re starting to piss me off.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that…I don’t understand why you can’t see how lucky you are,” she said, managing to meet my gaze.
“Lucky?” I asked, surprised. “You call being married to the man who kidnapped me lucky?” My face twisted into a faint scowl.
She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Yes.”
“Unbelievable,” I mumbled, shaking my head.
Agata was the closest thing I had to a friend around here. So hearing her downplay my pain like that hurt even more.
“I know you’re angry—”
“Do you, though?” I cut her off, my voice low and venomous. “It’s easy for you to stand there and pretend you understand what it means to walk in my shoes. You don’t.”
She paused. “Maybe I don’t. But I do know that your situation would’ve been worse if Karik hadn’t gotten to you first.”
I let out a quiet scoff. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“If he knew I was talking to you about this, I’d be fired first thing tomorrow morning.”
Silence.
I stared at her, my breathing ragged and subtle.
“Believe it or not, ma’am, you are lucky,” she continued. “If someone else from the Bratva had found you first, you would most likely have been long dead.”
The realization stung like a nasty bee.
“Well, what good is being alive when my freedom is stolen and I’m bound to a monster?” I asked her.
“You’ve never been more free, ma’am,” she said, stepping forward.
“Think about it: You’re no longer Miss Hendy.
You’re now Mrs. Tarasov. You’re no longer a prisoner.
You’re now the wife of the boss.” She stopped in front of me.
“The authority that comes with the name you now bear will change your life for good if you use it well.”
I stared at her, listening with rapt attention as she shifted from Agata, the maid, to Agata, the wise.
“You feel stuck because you’re still acting like his prisoner,” she said. “Start acting like his wife, and watch how things turn around.”
The silence that fell was so strong it plunged me into deep thought. Then she broke it, reverting to her original position.
“Those are my two scents, ma’am.” She bowed her head. “I’ll be on my way now.”
Agata turned around and walked out of the room, leaving me shocked and speechless. No matter how much I weighed her advice, the outcome was still the same. The girl wasn’t wrong.
For a woman in her late twenties, she had the wisdom of an older woman. I was impressed. Although I knew she was right, the idea of acting like his wife still didn’t sit well with me.
But was it worth considering?
Yes.
***
One cool evening, I stepped out of my comfort zone and began wandering the mansion. I walked down the halls, letting my feet move while my mind reeled with a thousand thoughts.
Agata’s voice still echoed in the back of my head, reminding me of the option I’d refused to consider. My feet padded softly against the floor as I strolled through a familiar corridor.
I didn’t register where I was at first because my mind was busy analyzing, calculating, and strategizing. I’d already gone too far down the hall when I realized I’d taken a wrong turn.
This was Karik’s private hallway, and his door was slightly ajar—enough to reveal the interior of his bedroom. I was about to move on, to pretend I had no idea where I was, when he walked right into frame.
His hair was wet, tousled into a tangled mess. Steam swirled from his damp skin, hinting he was fresh out of the shower. A white towel sat low around his waist, water still running across his shoulders.
I froze, my eyes locked on him, drinking in the sight of his godlike body. Tall. Broad. Masculine in every way. I watched him comb his fingers through his hair, revealing a glimpse of his shaved armpit.
A bead of water traveled down his torso and through the ridges of his chiseled abs. His tough skin glistened in the light, revealing the scars covering his body. The one on his collarbone was visible from this angle, running across the front of his shoulder.
Then, in a split second, he turned in my direction. My heart skipped a beat when we locked eyes, and my breath hitched in my throat.
Fuck.
I turned away immediately and hurried down the hallway. That provocative image of him was now burned into the back of my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t erase what I saw.
I rushed back to my room, shut the door behind me, and leaned my back against it. I closed my eyes, my chest heaving with slow, measured breaths. My fingers combed through my hair as I struggled to bury the image in my head.
“What’s wrong with you, Ellie?” I cautioned myself, my eyes darted toward the ceiling. “It’s not like you haven’t seen a shirtless man before.”
This wasn’t even my first time seeing him without a shirt. But for some reason, the feeling it stirred up within me was different than before. Heavier and more intense.
I was shaking like a leaf, my heart was pounding against my ribs, and my brain was blank. I couldn’t think of anything else other than that insane build.
This is bad. This is really bad.
Considering how much his shirtless body was affecting me, I knew I was in much deeper shit than I imagined.
Dang it.