Chapter 15 – Scarlett
I sat on a stool by the window, my head resting on the glass as I gazed outside, watching flashes of lightning streak through the dark clouds. My legs were pulled up in front of me, with my arms wrapped around them.
I was lost in an oversized cotton sweater, its sleeves swallowing up my hands. In my head, I was also lost—lost in my own thoughts, a million of them tugging at my mind.
It had been a few days since the so-called wedding already, and this man still hadn’t laid a finger on me. I thought on the night of our wedding, he was going to claim me as his, with or without my consent.
I was prepared to surrender myself to him, to let him have his way and be done with it. It was clear that he’d always wanted me because I’d caught glimpses of desire and lust in his eyes on multiple occasions.
Yet, when it was time to act, he did nothing. Absolutely nothing.
At first, he taunted me, teased me, and made me think that he was about to destroy me that night. My body trembled at his words, my heart raced like a runaway train, and my muscles contracted.
When he stood before me with those cold eyes boring into mine, I felt an unfamiliar rush of excitement, the kind that made my pussy tingle. His touch stirred up a feeling within me that I was too embarrassed to name or even admit.
That night, the plan was to let him take me until he was satisfied—not because I wanted it or because I planned to enjoy it. But because it was an incident I wanted to be over and done with.
In contrast, the longer his hands lingered on my skin, the more that embarrassing feeling swelled within me. I felt my heart slowly melting at his touch, my high walls crumbling with each passing second.
Before I could understand what was happening, I was already wet between my legs. Even now, I still can’t explain how he managed to turn me on without even trying very hard.
The worst part wasn’t that he awakened something primal inside me; it was that he left me hanging after doing so.
He slowly built my anticipation. This man tricked my body into craving more of his touch. And then when I was starting to ease into it, he decided to walk away.
I recalled feeling some sort of despair—torn between relief and discontent. A part of me was glad that he didn’t take me as I had previously thought. And as embarrassing as it was, there was another part of me that was disappointed that he walked away.
A few days had passed, and I still hadn’t been able to wrap my head around what exactly happened that night. I’d been asking myself why he didn’t make any move on me that night, why he teased me only to leave me hanging afterward.
Was it all part of his plan to taunt me? Was it some sort of punishment?
Ever since he pulled that stunt on me, he hadn’t made another attempt to even tease me again. He barely looked in my direction, not even a glance that lingered. It was almost like I no longer existed to him.
I should be glad about this, right? It was a good thing, right? At least I wouldn’t have to worry about his taunts or cruelty. Right?
Then why did I feel like a friggin’ ghost to him? Why was I bothered by the way he constantly ignored me? I hated him, and this newly developed attitude of his shouldn’t be a problem.
I mean, this was a man who kidnapped me, locked me up in a room for days, then later threw me into a dark cell with no explanations.
I almost lost my life because of that, and then, without an apology, he forced me to marry him. He was a ruthless monster, and I should be glad that he wasn’t toiling with me anymore.
Yet, I still couldn’t help wondering why the sudden change. I hated myself for questioning whether his disinterest in me was because he didn’t find me attractive enough. I was so embarrassed for even entertaining that thought, especially because I hated him.
So what if he abandoned me!
Shouldn’t that be a good thing?
The fact that he was all I could think about these past few days was killing me. He had never lingered on my mind as long as he had since that night. And although I tried to deny it, deep down, I knew this newfound obsession with him had everything to do with the kiss on the altar.
I remembered the shivers that ran down my spine the second his lips rested on mine. I didn’t expect to feel the way I did during and after the kiss, a spark of electricity that ignited a flame within me.
The warmth of his touch sent waves of pleasure I hadn’t anticipated. That was the genesis of this madness—this insatiable hunger that left me wanting more.
At this point, my name was added to the short list of people I despised. There was enough hatred to go around between my father, my jailer, and myself because each of us had a role to play in my current misery.
Even though I only found out a day before the wedding that his name was Roman Tarasov, in my head, I still referred to him as my jailer. That’s what he was anyway.
A knock on the door snapped me back to reality, causing my body to flinch at the sudden sound. My head turned toward the entrance where the door slowly creaked open, revealing the maid, Nikki.
“Good evening, Mrs. Tarasov,” she greeted me, her head lowered, voice low and polite.
Nikki and Natasha used to be much more comfortable around me—free and happy.
But ever since the wedding, their attitude toward me had changed.
They were no longer as free as they used to be and could barely even look me in the eyes.
It was almost as if they were treating me with the same respect and reverence as Roman Tarasov.
I didn’t like that.
I rose to my feet, facing her. “Nikki, quit the formalities. I’m still me, okay?”
“You’re the boss’s wife now, ma’am,” she answered. “There are boundaries that I must not cross.”
Nikki and Natasha were the closest thing I had to real friends, and it broke my heart to realize I was already losing them.
“Mr. Tarasov is asking to see you in his office,” she said, her head still bowed.
My heart skipped a beat, a sudden chill sprinting down my spine. “Alright, thank you,” I answered. “I’ll be there in a while.”
She stole a glance at me, a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips before quietly exiting the room.
I heaved a heavy sigh, fingers combing through my hair. In my mind, I wondered why I was being summoned, but I couldn’t think of any tangible reason at the moment.
My pulse quickened as a crazy desire to look nice stirred up within me. I felt the need to double-check my appearance to make sure I was at least presentable. I couldn’t explain this feeling, only that I had to make a few touches here and there.
Without thinking twice, I strolled across the master bedroom, the marble floor cool beneath my bare feet. I reached the vanity, picked up my perfume, and spritzed a little on my neck and wrists.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I realized my lips needed a bit more attention. So, I grabbed my lipstick from the table, leaned closer to the mirror, and then painted my mouth a muted rose.
A soft sigh escaped me as I straightened, fingers tucking a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. I adjusted the rest to frame my heart-shaped face just right.
My oversized cotton sweater slid off one shoulder, revealing a strap of my bra, while my ripped jean shorts peeked beneath its hem. Causal yet teasing, a kind of silent seduction.
I took one last look at my reflection and then stepped out of the bedroom.
My heart was hammering in my chest as I headed to his office, wondering why I cared so much about how he would see me. Why was I secretly seeking his validation or approval? Why was it suddenly so important to look good and smell nice for him? Didn’t I hate his guts?
The closer I drew to his office, the more rapidly my heart raced. When I reached it, I grabbed the door handle and yanked it open without bothering to knock.
He was seated at his desk, speaking with two of his men and a young woman I didn’t recognize. They all stopped talking when I walked in, their heads turned in my direction.
After a moment of silence, he asked them to excuse us, and they all rose to their feet. The woman gathered the papers on his tables into a folder and followed the men out of the office.
I closed the door behind them and walked further in, holding his gaze as though I wasn’t struggling with the emotions swelling inside me.
He leaned back in his chair, his steel-blue eyes pinned on me, his jet-black hair catching the soft light. I’d always admired the faint traces of silver at the base of his hair, toward his temples; it added a touch of sophistication to his overall look.
As usual, he was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that clung to his body, accentuating the muscles rippling underneath. Something about the way he looked at me sent tremors down my core, and I couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of his physique.
His eyes roamed over my body as I approached his desk, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
“You asked to see me?” I said, halting before his table, my voice smooth and clean.
“I did,” he replied with the same tone. “Sit.”
I didn’t say a word, only crossed my arms, a quiet gesture that hinted at my refusal to obey.
His brows rose by a whisper, and after a moment of hesitation, he said, “Suit yourself.”
“Why am I here?” I demanded, trying to act tough so he wouldn’t see how vulnerable I was.
“Watch your tone, milaya,” he said, his voice low and even. “You’re my wife; I can summon you whenever I want, with or without a reason, and you are obligated to come.”
I locked my jaw, eyes narrowing at him. “Is this why you called for me, so you could remind me that I’m just another piece of property you own? Is that it?”
His lips twisted into a sly grin.
“It’s all about power and control with you, isn’t it?” I scoffed then leaned in, my hands resting on his polished mahogany table. “You can control everything about my life, Roman…but you can’t have me.” The words came out like a challenge, slow but daring.