Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I RINA
My legs are still vibrating, but I’ve long realized it’s not from the three-mile run I had this morning. It’s the way Mikhail looked at me, like he was deciding whether to kiss me or break me. Honestly, I’m not sure which would have been worse.
I hear a sudden ping. And I freeze. It’s the burner phone.
It’s the burner phone and that means… news!!
I grab it without a second thought and then, I’m moving through the east wing, trying to keep my breathing steady, but every security camera I pass feels like an evil eye tracking my every movement down to the sweat on my skin.
This house has walls and ears. And right now, the only thing I can hear is the frantic rhythm of my own heart.
I’m dead if I get caught.
I have to be quick, I think as I reach into the hidden pocket of my leggings. The burner phone is a hard, rectangular weight against my hip. It feels like a piece of radioactive charcoal.
I need a place where the cameras can't follow.
I quickly brainstorm and head to the conservatory, a glass-walled maze of ferns and orchids that smells like damp earth and expensive rot. I find a corner hidden by a massive, waxy-leafed monstera. I stop, pressing my back against the cool glass, and wait. One second. Two. Ten.
I hope the cameras don’t work around here.
I pull the phone out. My thumbs are clumsy, shaking as I punch in the code. The screen flickers to life, the blue light reflecting in the glass behind me.
One new message. No sender. No subject.
Grime cafe. 11:00 PM tomorrow.
I swallow hard, the sound loud in the quiet room.
My stomach does a slow, nauseating roll.
It’s him. It has to be. After ten years of chasing whispers and staring at blurred photos, I finally have a time and a place.
The person my father tried to bury under a mountain of lies and legal paperwork is actually within reach.
For a second, the fear of the situation I’m in vanishes, the heat that’s been in my veins all morning slithers out. It’s replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. I'm about to finally have all my wishes come true, I’m about to get my life in order.
"Soon," I whisper.
I shove the phone back into its hiding place and force myself to move. I can’t linger here. With the way Mikhail is, he’s probably already wondering where I am. I have to go somewhere, do something.
He tracks me like a hunter tracks a blood trail. I decide to have a sauna, wash off the smell of the conservatory, and get my plans in order because soon, everything will change.
I head toward the spa wing. The marble floors are so clean I can see my own reflection, flushed, messy, and looking like I’ve seen a ghost. Which, I guess, I have.
Two women in white uniforms are waiting at the entrance to the private suites. As they see me, they stand straighter and for a second; I think they’re going to be hostile towards me too but as I get closer, they bow their heads with polite smiles.
Huh .
"Good morning, Mrs. Morozova, my name is Maria, this is Lisha and we will serve you this morning." Maria says. Her voice is low and steady. "The private sauna is ready, if you like. Eucalyptus and charcoal.”
The mad man is probably watching me even as we speak.
I resist the urge to turn to the camera in sight and flip him the bird.
"Thanks, Maria." I force my voice to stay level. "I need a while. It’s been a rough morning."
"We understand," she says, leading me toward the dressing rooms. "Do you want some tea? Or something to eat?"
"Just the silence," I say, stepping into the dressing area. The room smells like lavender and money. "And make sure I’m not disturbed, please. Not even by Mikhail."
Maria hesitates. I see the look on her face. Nobody tells Mikhail "no" in this house.
"We will do our best, Madam. But the Master... he usually goes where he wants."
"Tell him I’m meditating," I say. "Tell him if he interrupts, I’m going to blame him for my lost peace of mind. Maybe he’ll stay out."
Maria lets out a small laugh, surprised. "As you wish, Mrs. Morozova."
She leaves, and the door clicks shut. I’m finally alone.
I stand there for a minute, just breathing.
The message on the phone is still burning a hole in my pocket, but now that the adrenaline is starting to dip, all the feelings that left me earlier are returning, my body is remembering the pond.
It’s remembering the way Mikhail looked at me, remembering the wetness that pooled at my core.
This is not the time…
I start to undress. My movements are jerky. I peel off the tank top, and the cool air hits my damp skin, making my nipples harden instantly. I slide my leggings down, and my fingers brush the scar on my hip.
My mind just goes.
I’m not in the dressing room anymore. I’m back in the bathroom from last night. I can feel the cold marble of the vanity against my ass and the staggering, heavy heat of Mikhail’s body pushed up against mine. I remember the way his eyes dropped to the scar, the heat in them as he spoke.
Fuck…
I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. I imagine him walking through that door right now. I imagine him seeing me standing here, completely naked, my skin still flushed from the run. He wouldn't say a word. He’d just lock the door and prowl toward me.
I bite down hard on my lips.
I imagine him walking across the room, his feet heavy on the floor. He’d grab me by the waist, his fingers digging into my skin, and lift me onto the dressing bench. I want to feel those rough, calloused palms everywhere. I imagine him backing me into the wall, his chest heaving in sync with mine.
I want him to kiss me. I want it to be violent and desperate, I want it to break me. I imagine his tongue sliding against mine, demanding everything, while his hands move down to my thighs.
My hands slowly start to move down.
I want him to bite my neck, right on that pulse point he was pinning earlier. I want to feel the sharp sting of his teeth followed by the soothing heat of his tongue. And then, I want his hands between my legs.
I can almost feel the friction. The rough pads of his fingers pushing through the slickness that’s already sliding down my thighs.
I imagine him sliding two fingers inside me, stretching me, his thumb working against my clit in a rhythmic, merciless grind.
I’d be a mess. I’d be sobbing, my head thrown back against the wall, my fingers clawing at his shoulders.
"Mikhail," I find myself whispering to the empty room.
The sound of his name makes my stomach flip.
I imagine him watching me break. I want to see that dark, heated look in his eyes when he realizes he’s finally won, not because he bought me and forced me to marry him, but because I’m begging for him to take me.
I want him to hike my legs up over his shoulders and sink into me, hard and fast, filling that deep, hollow ache that’s currently pulsing between my thighs.
I imagine the raw power of him, the way his back would arch, the way his muscles would ripple under those tattoos as he lost that terrifying control of his. I want to hear him growl my name, his breath hot against my skin, as we both go over the edge.
A sharp, heavy jolt of pleasure shoots through me. The knowledge that I’m reacting this way to a man like Mikhail is infuriating.
"Stop it," I hiss, snapping my eyes open.
I’m shaking. My heart is racing, and I’m standing naked in a dressing room, losing my mind over a man who wants to own my soul. I look in the mirror, and the woman staring back looks like a stranger. Her cheeks are a deep, bruised red, and her eyes are dark with a hunger that terrifies me.
"He’s a Morozov," I tell myself. My voice is wrecked, a low rasp. "He’s a monster. He’s one of the reasons you had to run in the first place. Don't be a fucking cliché, Irina."
But the ache between my thighs doesn't care about logic.
I grab a thick, white towel and wrap it around myself, tucking the edge tightly over my breasts.
I need to get it together. I have a mission.
Tomorrow, at 11:00 PM. That is the only thing that matters.
Not Mikhail’s hands, not the way his suit fits his shoulders, and definitely not the way he makes my blood feel like it’s boiling.
He’s a distraction. A beautiful, lethal distraction designed to keep me from finding the truth. If I let him get inside my head, I’m never going to find the person I lost. I’m just going to be another forgotten wife, rotting in a gilded room while the world goes on without me.
I take a deep, shaky breath and step into the sauna.
The heat there is a thick, and eucalyptus and charcoal that fills my lungs and clears my head. The room is dim, lit only by a few amber lamps that cast long, flickering shadows against the cedar walls. I sit on the top bench and let the heat sink in.
I try to focus on what my plan would be once I revive a day.
Today is the first time in ten years that I’m not just reacting to someone else’s move. I’m the one making the play. I’m the one disappearing into the dark.
"Eleven o'clock," I say to the empty, steaming room.
I lean my head back against the warm wood and close my eyes.
"Just wait for me," I murmur.
I’m coming for my ghost, and God help anyone, Mikhail included, who tries to stand in my way.
The heat settles on me, a white veil that hides the world. For the first time in six months, I don't feel like a pawn. I feel like the player.
I can’t wait.