Chapter 2 #2
I let out a dry, sassy laugh. "Is this really about the alliance? Or is your ego just that fragile? Did your pride really not survive a woman leaving you at the altar?"
“Both.”
Bastard!
"You should have been grateful I ran," I scoff, stopping near the window as the jet begins to taxi. "I saved you from a wife who would have hated you every day of your life. You could have married someone who actually wanted the Morozov name."
Mikhail takes a slow sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving mine.
"I don't want a wife who wants my name, Irina. I want a wife who fears it. And as for hating me? Hate is just love with a different coat on. You were never indifferent to me. Even back in New York, when you were supposed to be Artyom’s, you couldn't stop looking at me. "
"Are you crazy? I was looking at you because you were a train wreck!" I lie, my heart rate spiking. "You were the volatile brother who couldn't stay out of trouble. You were the madman, I didn’t want to be anywhere near you! I was looking at you to make sure you didn't set the curtains on fire."
"Oh? Is that what you were doing in Room 4 tonight, dorogaya ?
" he asks, stepping toward me. He moves with that same slow, predatory grace, pinning me against the bulkhead without even touching me.
"Were you checking for fire when your fingers were trembling against my skin?
When you were digging your thumbs into my shoulders like you wanted to climb inside me? "
The memory of the massage, of the tingling in my fingers and the heat in my belly, rushes back, making my face flush. "I was doing my job."
"You were hungry," he murmurs, stopping inches away.
He smells like whiskey now, sharp and sweet.
"You’ve been starving yourself for six months, trying to pretend you're someone else.
But I felt it, Irina. I felt the way your body reacted to mine.
You can lie with your tongue all you want, but your touch? Your touch is very honest."
"Stop it," I whisper, my hands coming up to rest on his chest to push him away, but they just stay there, feeling the steady thud of his heart through his expensive shirt. "You're just doing this to humiliate me."
"Then you shouldn’t have run," he says. He reaches out, his hand covering both of mine, pressing them harder against his chest. "Artyom is the Pakhan, and he’s soft for his nurse. You were supposed to be the balance. And you ran."
"I ran because I wanted a choice!" I shout, my stubbornness finally breaking through the fog. "I don’t want to marry someone like you!"
Mikhail’s expression hardens, the amusement vanishing. "The world doesn't care about your choices, Irina. It cares about power. And right now, the power is in this room."
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates in the small space between us.
"You want to know how I’m going to punish you?
I’m going to make you stay. I’m going to make you stand by my side at every gala, every meeting, every dinner.
I’m going to make you play the perfect, devoted wife until your jaw aches from smiling.
And every night, when the doors are closed, I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to. "
"Y-You think you can force me to love you?" I ask, my voice shaking with a mixture of rage and a heat I can't name. I refuse to let him see the fear—or the arousal—fluttering in my chest.
"I don't need your love," he says, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip, dragging it down until I’m forced to part my teeth. "I need your submission. I need the world to see that a Petrov tried to run, and a Morozov brought her back to her knees."
I feel the heat of his body through my thin tunic. My fingers are tingling again—that same traitorous attraction I felt at the spa. I want to push him away, but I also want to see how far he’ll go. My stubbornness, however, is the one thing I have left.
"I'll never do that," I hiss, though the nearness of him is making it hard to think. "I'll never be on my knees for you."
"We’ll see," he murmurs. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a promise of fire. "You’ve spent six months escaping me, Irina. Now, you’re going to learn the difference between escaping me and belonging to me. And I promise you, the second one is much, much harder to survive."
He pulls back, leaving me breathless and reeling against the bulkhead. He finishes his drink in one swallow and walks toward the back of the jet where the bedroom is hidden. He stops at the doorway and looks back, his dark blue eyes glinting with a terrifying, beautiful light.
"Try to get some sleep, wife. We land in four hours. And the second we touch the ground, the 'Elena' act is over. You're Irina Morozova now. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it."
He disappears into the room, leaving me alone in the cabin. I sink into one of the leather chairs, my legs finally giving out. I look out the window at the dark expanse of the Atlantic, the stars mocking me with their distance.
I’m back in the cage. Only this time, the hunter is right next to me.
I touch my lip where his thumb rested, the skin still tingling, still burning.
I hate him. I hate what he’s doing, I hate what he represents, and I hate my father for starting this.
But as the jet screams toward New York, I realize the gravity of his words.
He doesn't want a bride. He wants a conquest.
I close my eyes, the hum of the engines a low-frequency vibration that matches the thrumming in my own blood. Mikhail thinks he’s won. He thinks he’s brought me back to the board as his pawn.
He has no idea that the second we land, I’m going to start playing my own game. And if he thinks I’m going to be a "dutiful wife" after what he just threatened, he’s clearly got the wrong person.
I lean my head back against the leather, a slow smile spreading across my face despite the tears prickling my eyes.
I hope you're ready for the fire, Mikhail. Because I’m going to burn your entire world down before I let you own mine.