Chapter 30 #2
Fuckfuckfuck. Valentina scrapes the barest edge of her teeth along my dick.
It’s taking all I have not to come and paint her face and chest with my seed.
More blood thickens my cock. But this night is more than amusement or a snarky display.
Maintaining this state for this long is an equal display of power and control.
I reach for the shot glass of vodka resting on the end table beside me, lifting it between my fingers as the firelight glints off the crystal.
Valentina curls her tongue around the edge of my crown, suckles strong, and pulls back with a pop. She doesn’t give me a goddamn breath before diving, plunging my erection deep into her throat. My hand clenches into a fist on the other armrest, the veins throbbing.
Many eyes stray to her before they lock upon me as I lift my glass.
“Let this night serve as a vow between us all. We dine, we dance, we deal… and we remember who makes all three possible.”
I let my gaze drift over them—sharp, assessing. “Enjoy the pleasures of the night. Dance. Drink. But never forget: this ball is more than elegance—it is a reckoning. A chessboard where only kings remain.”
I raise the glass.
“To alliances forged in shadow. And to the blood we spill to keep them intact.”
I drink, slow and steady. Let them watch. Let them remember. After they drink, I thumb the rim of my glass and sharpen my eyes like a raptor. “And to those considering treachery—know this: I always see behind the mask.”
With that, I grip Valentina’s neck to pull her to a stand. I spin her around, savoring her gasp before I lift up her skirts, grip her hips, and pull her back—until I impale her on my cock. She shrieks. They watch, mouths parted, eyes gleaming with hunger as I fuck her in my chair before them all.
Valentina owns the night.
I opted for remaining on the balcony so I could watch her dance the night away. All eyes are drawn to her. Not only has she risen to the occasion, she has wandered the ballroom, connecting with all she can.
No one has recognized her. At times, I believe some pause, their eyes lingering longer than necessary. But she doesn’t stay in one place too long. My clever zhena.
Toward the end of the night, after picking meagerly at the buffet table while helping herself to a little too much wine, Valentina excuses herself to go to the restroom. I track her steps, following close behind.
“Roman,” she says in a scolding tone once we arrive at the doorway. “You’re so sexy with how you’ve been watching over me, but I’m a big girl. I can go to the bathroom myself.”
If she didn’t look so beautiful and breathless, I’d take offense to her poking my chest. But I lean in and purr low in her ear, “Da, you are a big girl. But I don’t let treasure walk off unguarded. Call it a flaw. I call it loyalty.”
“And I love your loyalty.” She stands on her tiptoes and touches her lips to mine. “But would you mind being loyal outside the door?”
I release a heavy sigh and muster a nod. “You have two minutes.”
Her smile beneath the mask would be enough to bring any man to his knees. The door closes behind her, and I lean against the wall—right until I hear low voices, one lower than hers. One is indefinably masculine.
No hesitation. I charge into the bathroom, stopping in my tracks. It’s no sick violator facing her. So much worse.
It’s her fucking brother.
After somehow maintaining my cool, I invited Sasha to have a private drink with me.
I recall the brief encounter in the bathroom, and I don’t fault him for simply wishing to have a platonic private moment with his sister away from prying eyes. Especially given his concern due to her sudden disappearance and long absence.
Her expression was devastating. The longing in her eyes. One of few things she has shared with me are glimmers of her time with Sasha. Very few of her happier memories regarding her family.
She waits outside, likely pacing.
Folding my hands on the desk before me, I stare him down.
Bloody Christ, he looks so much like his father.
Same dark hair, but Sasha wears his in curling waves to his lower neck.
And his eyes do not pierce like Victor Volkov.
No, Sasha wears his heritage with honor.
Not pride. It’s clear he has no interest in politics or taking on his father’s mantle.
From what I have researched, Sasha is an artist at heart.
Far too empathetic for what his father deems necessary for ruling the Volkov empire.
If Victor Volkov had any goddamn sense, he would have signed Valentina in his will to take everything.
To work in my favor, he is a fool with no goddamn sense.
“I am giving you a golden opportunity, Sasha,” I begin, keeping my voice low, even, authoritative.
He shifts uncomfortably but does not interrupt.
Wise boy. “For the sake of your sister and her desires, I hold respect for you. But it does not mean you may enter her world, my world, without explicit conditions.”
He narrows his eyes at first, but I know he won’t challenge me. It’s natural for him to test, to judge.
“I have two questions. That is all.”
I appreciate his directness. And simplicity. Sasha is uncomplicated, nothing like his father. He has no ulterior motives—apart from a loving one. No strings to pull. No threats to make.
“Why is she with you?” he asks his first question.
I lean back in my seat, fingers steepled in front of me while I explain, “You may not be knowledgeable about this, but my father originally arranged for your sister to be wed to me.” He lifts his brows in surprise, confirming his ignorance.
“Rest assured, I did not so much as consider your sister until she came of age. But the first time I met her…”
A night much like this.
Sasha nods, needing no other reason. “She’s special.”
“The understatement of the century.” One side of my mouth tugs into a faint smirk.
“But to answer your question in depth, Valentina was never meant for Anton. And he was not the one who spent six years bleeding for her, building a world for her, a life for her—one where she is more than a pawn in her father’s game.
Da, I staged the car crash. I stole her away to my world with no shame. I take what is mine. And she is mine.”
A shadow crosses Sasha’s face, his jaw tightening. Tension thickens the air. I barely flex a muscle. After he looks down, gathering himself, Sasha meets my gaze. “Go on, Mr. Makarova.”
Wise boy.
“Once Valentina woke in my care, it was discovered she had lost her memory.” His eyes widen as I convey, “Amnesia born of trauma. It has been two months, but she only has pieces of her past. One of the more prominent and happier pieces happens to involve you. Therefore, I am offering you an opportunity, Sasha.”
“Name your conditions.”
I press my lips into a smile. “You will sign a nondisclosure agreement. If you wish to have a place in her life, you will agree to act as though she were my wife for the past two years.”
His mouth opens, eyes wide with alarm.
“Da. No mention of my father and his altering of the initial arrangement with your father. No mention whatsoever of my brother. Or how it was I who staged the crash and rightfully stole what was mine.” I level him with my gaze and push the papers on my desk toward him.
Ones he must sign in blood. Ones that will demand all his blood should he break the NDA.
“Provided you do this, you may have a relationship with your sister.”
He examines the documentation first. I lean back, drink my shot glass of vodka, and give him time. After a few minutes, Sasha lifts his head, needles his eyes upon me, and says, “My second question, Roman Makarova.”
I say nothing, a silent permission.
“Is she happy?”
I heave a sigh through my nostrils and lift a fist to my chin without breaking his gaze.
“I don’t expect, nor need, you to take my word for it.
The evidence was all over her face during the ball as she danced and mastered the crowd.
You may ask her yourself.” I lower my hand to the armrest, forming a fist. “But upon what honor I hold, yes. She is more than happy. She is not my prisoner. She is my Queen. I value her as such. And I will protect her as such. I’ll fucking drown this world in blood if anyone ever tries to take her from me. ”
Sasha’s gaze deepens, our eyes colliding in this moment of clarity.
Veins throb in my arms. My spine hardens with the thought of what could occur if he refuses to sign my NDA, if he were to betray the truth to her.
I may have built her life on a throne of lies, but she reigns on that throne, unbreakable.
A beautiful lie. Exquisite deceit.
I’d rather rule with her in fiction than see her suffer in reality. Even illusions can be a sanctuary, if built with devotion. My devotion is no lie. The blood I shed for years is no lie. The millions I spent to create our island haven is no lie.
She has not only given everything of herself to me. I have given everything to her. I’ve rewritten her story. And she has penned every page since.
If she ever learns the truth, I simply hope she will forgive my sins. I’ll kneel and pray to her if I must—then fuck her on an altar of atonement.
A heartbeat passes.
Sasha blinks. Then reaches for the pen—and quickly signs the NDA.