Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Calina
There are times in life when one becomes untethered. The things we take for granted are ripped away in a single breath. Conditions we assume to be permanent reveal themselves to be as temporary as a beautiful sunset. The familiar disappears, and we are left staring into the unknown.
I lie in this unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling, barely able to catch more than a few minutes of sleep. Every time I drift off, I jolt awake, my mind spinning with the same relentless thoughts.
Only a few hours ago I was laughing in a club with Milana, dancing like the world couldn’t touch us. Now I’ve been saddled with a man I know nothing about, not even his last name until tonight. Maxim Orlov. And I’m supposed to become his wife.
Will Artyom find a loophole in that contract? Can he get me out of this? Or am I really going to end up married to a stranger who looks at me like I’m a nuisance?
I always wanted to get married one day. I dreamed of a love match, a man who would choose me, not because of power or alliances, but because he couldn’t imagine life without me.
When our father was alive, I knew my chances were almost nonexistent. In our world, daughters are currency. Vladimir only ever saw me and Milana as a bridge to strengthen the family and I knew it was only a matter of time before he gave us out in a marriage to a man we barely knew.
But after he died and Artyom officially took over, my brother made me a promise. He swore that neither Milana nor I would ever be forced into a marriage we didn’t want. He looked me in the eyes and said we would only marry men of our own choosing.
That promise feels like ash now.
I toss and turn on the massive king-sized bed, the black sheets cool and slippery against my skin.
The room itself is enormous, easily twice the size of my bedroom at home. Dark charcoal walls, expensive modern art in heavy black frames, floor-to-ceiling windows draped in heavy silver-gray curtains that are currently letting in the first pale light of dawn.
A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling like frozen rain. Everything is luxurious, cold, and impersonal. Beautiful in the way a cage can be beautiful.
I replay the last hours in my head for the hundredth time.
The way Maxim looked at me when I offered myself in Milana’s place.
That dark, assessing stare. The electric shock that shot through my body when his fingers wrapped around my wrist. The low, rough sound of his voice when he called me “princess.” The tension between us had been thick enough to choke on.
A sharp knock on the bedroom door makes me sit up abruptly, heart leaping into my throat.
Before I can answer, the door swings open.
Maxim walks in like he owns every inch of the space, which, technically, he does.
I take him in slowly, my stomach tightening in a way I immediately hate.
He’s dressed in grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and a simple black t-shirt that clings to every hard line of his broad chest and powerful arms.
His dark blond hair is messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and somehow it only makes him look more dangerously handsome, and far too awake and in control for this hour.
The sight of him like this does something unwanted to me. Heat curls low in my belly, completely uninvited. I shouldn’t be noticing how the muscles in his arms flex when he moves, or how the sweatpants do absolutely nothing to hide how powerful his thighs are.
This man kidnapped me. He’s forcing me into marriage. I should feel nothing but disgust.
His dark eyes find me instantly, still in last night’s dress, hair wild from tossing all night.
He stops just inside the doorway, taking me in slowly.
“I didn’t ask you to come in,” I snap, pulling the sheet tighter around myself.
Maxim’s lips twitch. “I wasn’t waiting for an invitation.”
I glare at him. “What do you want?”
He snaps his fingers. Two maids in crisp black-and-white uniforms appear almost instantly, each carrying several large shopping bags. They go back and forth twice, filling the room with more and more bags before bowing silently and disappearing.
I stare at the mountain of bags on the floor. “What is all this?”
“Since you’ll be staying here,” he says calmly, “I got you some clothes, toiletries, everything you’ll need for now.”
“I don’t need you to get me anything,” I bite out. “I need to go back home and get my things.”
Maxim’s expression doesn’t change. “I already told you, that place is no longer your home. This is. And whatever you need, I will get it for you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he’s already turning away. He walks out and closes the door behind him.
I wait until I hear his footsteps fade, then I climb off the massive king-sized bed and start going through the bags. The toiletries are all wrong, expensive brands I’ve never used, scents I don’t like. I push them aside in irritation and open the clothing bags.
Everything is flimsy. Tiny shorts that look more like underwear, sheer tank tops, see-through lace bralettes, silk slips that leave almost nothing to the imagination.
Not a single pair of proper pants or modest top in sight.
These aren’t clothes. These are barely-there scraps meant to tease and expose.
Rage boils up inside me so fast I can barely think.
I storm to the door and yank on the handle, but its locked.
Fury and panic crash over me. I start banging on the door with both fists, hitting it as hard as I can.
“Hey!” I scream, slamming my palms against the wood again and again. “Open this door right now!”
My hands and shoulders start to hurt, but I don’t stop. I keep pounding and shouting until the door suddenly swings open.
Maxim stands there, eyes narrowed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I shove one of the tiny sheer tops at his chest. “First of all, never lock me in again. And second, I can’t wear these! They’re flimsy and ridiculous. This isn’t my style at all.”
He barely glances at the garment before looking back at me. “Why? They’re not any different from what you’re currently wearing.”
My mouth falls open. “In case you’ve forgotten, you kidnapped me while I was coming back from a club. These are club clothes!”
Maxim’s dark eyes drag slowly down my body, taking in the short dress I’m still wearing from last night. A slow, dangerous smirk curves his lips.
“I kind of like you in it,” he says, voice low. “That’s why I got you more of the same. You’ll be dressing like that from now on.”
I stare at him, stunned. “I will never dress like this.”
His smirk only deepens, something dark and hungry flickering in his gaze as he looks at me.
“My house, my rules. If I say you wear these clothes, then you wear them.”
I fold my arms tightly across my chest, glaring up at him. “Well, newsflash, I don’t give a fuck whose house this is. I’m not putting on these ridiculous scraps.”
He shrugs like my anger means nothing to him. “Fine by me. You have two options.”
I quirk a brow.
“One,” he continues calmly, “you put on the clothes I bought you.” His dark eyes gleam. “Two… you can walk around the house naked.”
I feel like slapping him. My hands actually twitch at my sides. “Not in your wildest dreams,” I hiss. “You will never see me naked.”
Maxim’s lips curve into that infuriating half-smirk again. “Never say never… krasivaya.”
The Russian endearment rolls off his tongue like velvet and fire at the same time. My cheeks burn with rage.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
He glances toward the door. “Breakfast will be ready soon. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss with me, fiancée?”
“I’m not your fiancée,” I bite out. “For all you know, my brother will find a loophole in that contract and I’ll be out of here by noon.”
Maxim chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “If your brother can find a loophole, I’ll let you go. But he won’t. There isn’t one. You’re going to be my wife, Calina. You’d better start getting used to the idea.”
He tilts his head. “After all, you were the one who volunteered. Why are you acting like you don’t want it anymore?”
I open my mouth, but he keeps going.
“In a few weeks, after the wedding, you’ll be spending your nights in my bedroom. Not in here.”
My blood boils. I’m practically foaming with anger.
He studies me for another second, completely unfazed by the fury radiating off me. “See you at the breakfast table.”
Then he turns and walks out again. I stand there in the middle of the ridiculous pile of lingerie and tiny clothes, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms.
I hate him. I hate how he looks at me. And I really hate the way my stupid body reacted when he called me krasivaya.
I pace the huge room like a caged animal, bare feet silent on the thick carpet. I can’t wear any of these clothes. They’re too revealing. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
First things first. My mouth feels disgusting. I dig through the bags until I find a toothbrush and toothpaste, then head into the en-suite bathroom.
It’s just as luxurious and cold as the bedroom, black marble floors and counters, a massive walk-in shower with multiple rainfall heads, a deep soaking tub that could fit three people, and a vanity lit by soft hidden lighting. Even the towels are thick and black, monogrammed with a silver “O”.
I brush my teeth aggressively, then splash cold water on my face. When I finally look in the mirror, I freeze. I look horrible.
Last night’s makeup is smeared under my eyes, mascara streaked down my cheeks, lipstick long gone. My hair is a wild mess. This is what Maxim has seen me looking like the entire time, while I was fighting him.
I grab a wet wipe and scrub my face clean, then gather my hair into a messy bun. I stare at my reflection, at the tired, scared woman looking back at me.
What has my life become? I pray silently that Artyom will find a way out. He has to.
I step out of the bathroom just as the bedroom door opens again. Maxim walks in, still in those grey sweatpants and tight shirt.
“What do you want now?” I snap. “More rules and regulations?”
He stares at me lazily, eyes dragging over my bare face and messy hair. “Your brother is here.”
My heart leaps. I shove past him without thinking, pushing against his hard chest as I run out of the room and down the wide staircase.
“Artyom!” I cry out the second I see him standing in the foyer. I throw myself into his arms, hugging him tight.
“Thank God you’re here. Can I go home now? Please tell me I can leave. I’ve barely been here a few hours and I’m already losing my mind—”
But Artyom doesn’t hug me back the way I expect. His arms are stiff around me. When I pull away and look up at his face, my stomach drops.
He looks grim. Defeated.
“I’m sorry, Calina,” he says quietly.
I take a step back, shaking my head. “No…”
“I spent all night going through the contract. I had our lawyers look at every line. There’s no loophole.”
His jaw tightens. “I found Father’s copy of the original agreement. It’s legitimate. He really did sign it. Maxim can demand whatever he wants as payment. And he wants you.”
I want to break down. I want to scream and cry. But I can’t. Artyom already carries the weight of the entire family on his shoulders. I won’t add to it. And I refuse to let Maxim see me crumble.
“I’ll let you two talk,” Maxim says before disappearing from the room.
Artyom lets out a harsh breath, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry Cal, Maxim has the legal and underworld right to claim the blood debt.”
I force a brave smile even as my chest feels like it’s caving in. “It’s fine,” I lie. “Then I’ll marry him.”
We’re silent for a moment before Artyom breaks it. “How are you? Is he treating you well?”
I nod, trying hard to speak despite the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
“If he isn’t Cal…”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Artyom.”
Just then, Maxim reappears in the living room. “Alright, time to wrap up this little reunion, I need to have breakfast with my fiancée. Sorry Artyom, I’d have invited you to join, but my cook only made breakfast for two.”
Artyom looks like he’s about to burst from anger, his knuckles are white from squeezing them. “Calina is going to marry you, but if you as much hurt a hair on her head…”
“Please save your threats for someone who cares,” Maxim dismisses him as he comes beside me and smoothly wraps one strong arm around my waist, pulling me against his side.
The moment his hand settles on my hip, that same electric jolt shoots through my body again, hot, unwanted, and impossible to ignore. I stiffen but don’t pull away.
“It’s good we’re all on the same page,” Maxim says calmly. “I don’t want to drag this out. I want the wedding as soon as possible. I want her as my wife.”
Artyom’s eyes flash with barely contained rage, but he nods tightly. “One month.”
“One week,” Maxim counters.
“Two weeks,” my brother says, voice like steel.
Maxim exhales through his nose, then shrugs. “Fine. Two weeks it is.”
In that moment, reality dawns on me. In two weeks, I am going to become Maxim Orlov’s wife.