Chapter 17 – Scarlett
It had been three days since the incident at the gala and four days since the spontaneous sex that left me speechless. I had questions, lots of them. But Roman wasn’t ready to provide me with the answers I craved.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the gala incident, how handsome he looked in that black suit, and his possessive hand around my waist. I thought I knew who he was—a ruthless monster incapable of anything good.
However, that night, he proved me wrong. I almost didn’t believe my eyes when I saw him smiling with that nice old couple, Gladys and her husband, Derek. Around them, Roman was an entirely different person, a version of him that I never thought existed.
He displayed a personality that blew my mind and thawed something frozen inside me. Watching him smile and even laugh with them at some point was like looking at a stranger. I didn’t know what to make of what I saw, only that deep down, I was impressed by his behavior.
At first, I thought he was faking; I thought his smiles were plastic, meant to fool the couple. Then I realized, from the nature of their conversation, that they’d known one another for quite some time. That explained why the smiles looked so genuine.
I didn’t know much about Roman, but that night, I knew this much: He held that old couple in such high esteem. We’d run into a few older men and women at the gala, but none of them brought out the humanity in him like Gladys and Derek.
They must mean a lot to him to have such a positive effect on a cruel man like my husband. When he spoke to them, his voice was devoid of his usual hostility. His expression was soft and welcoming throughout the conversation—almost like he was…happy, dare I say.
I used to think that it was impossible for the words “happy” and “Roman” to be in the same sentence. Yet, he proved me wrong. The way his eyes lit up as I’d never seen before, how his smile reached his ears, made me question everything I thought I knew about him.
Who exactly were Gladys and Derek, and how did they manage to tame such a wild animal? Maybe I could learn a thing or two from them, since I was the wild beast’s wife with no possibility of a divorce.
It was astonishing and satisfying to watch Roman display a glimpse of his humanity. Sadly, though, that show was cut short when the white-suited man arrived. It was clear as day that there was a lot of bad blood between those two.
They behaved like sworn enemies, and I sincerely believed that I was the only one at the gala who had no idea what the hell was going on. The tension was so heavy in the air that their words were sharp as canines. They threatened each other.
It was like everyone else but me knew their history, hence the fear in their eyes when things began heating up between Roman and the man in white.
When Sergei stepped forward, ready to withdraw his gun, and the other man’s lieutenant did the same, I honestly thought a massive shootout was about to erupt. I felt weak in the knees, and my heart wouldn’t stop pounding in my heaving chest.
Overwhelmed with fear, my breath caught in my throat, my hands trembled, and I prayed silently for the aversion of the brewing violence. Despite my anxiety, I still noticed how Roman’s grip tightened around my waist—protective, not just possessive.
Whatever beef that man had with my husband was enough to start a war—and everyone at the gala knew it for sure. I had no idea what transpired between them that made him despise Roman so much, but it must’ve been really terrible.
I recognized that look in his eyes, that pure, unadulterated hatred. That’s how I used to look at Roman—and in my mind, I thought no one hated the man as much as I did. Clearly, I was wrong.
Curious, I wondered what Roman must have done to make that man loathe him so much. Another thing that puzzled me was what he meant when he said Roman was protective of what was his.
I couldn’t help thinking that he was referring to me in that statement. I also recalled Roman warning him to keep my name out of his mouth.
Deep down in my heart, I hoped and prayed that I wasn’t somehow, even by error of chance, being dragged into a fight I knew nothing about. The last time I was involved in a beef that I had nothing to do with, I ended up as a prisoner in Roman’s mansion.
I couldn’t afford to have history repeat itself again. Although a part of me was almost certain that Roman would do anything in his power to keep me safe. He already showed the signs of a protective husband, and even his rival confirmed it.
What was it about me that led these men to drag me into situations that didn’t concern me? First, it was the beef between Roman and my father. Now, the same thing was happening again between Roman and this other man.
That morning, I lay awake on the king-sized bed, watching him get dressed, ready to leave for work. We had barely spoken a word to each other since the gala, and even though I had a lot of questions, I couldn’t bring myself to ask them.
As he slipped into his shirt, my eyes darted across his incredibly hot body and the scars that marred his skin. Unlike before, when I’d drink in the sight of his abs and broad chest whenever he wasn’t looking, this time I was more focused on his wounds.
One in particular caught my attention: a scar etched across his firearms. It was a deep cut, a brutal reminder of something violent, something from long before I ever knew his name.
Those scars were proof that death and destruction followed him like a shadow wherever he went.
I clutched my pillow to my chest, my eyes roaming his body as he buttoned up his shirt. The fabric concealed the marks across his skin, hiding the story beneath.
He put his jacket on, clasped his expensive watch to his wrist, then adjusted his tie. The scent of his cologne wafted through the air as he spritzed it on his wrists and the back of his ears.
Handsome. Charming. Ridiculously attractive!
When he turned toward the bed, I closed my eyes, pretending to still be asleep. I felt his gaze linger over me longer than I expected. Then, without a word, he headed out the door.
I listened to the sound of his polished shoes scuffing against the floor as he walked out of the room. The second the door closed behind him, I opened my eyes again, my heart warm with something I wasn’t ready to name yet.
***
Later that day, I was in the living room reading a book on the couch, engrossed in the pages, when I sensed an unfamiliar presence around me. My eyes squinted by a fraction as a suspicion crept in.
I knew someone was behind me, but I couldn’t tell who it was or why they were sneaking up on me. I was certain it wasn’t Roman; he left for work earlier and wouldn’t be back until later at night. Besides, I was familiar with his scent.
It wasn’t Nikki, Natasha, or any of the maids either. I knew that for sure because I was familiar with their individual scents as well. It also couldn’t have been Sergei or any of the guards.
So who was this stranger with a nice perfume?
The presence grew closer and closer behind me, no footsteps, no shadow—not even the faintest sign of life, only this gnawing feeling that I wasn’t alone.
Alert, I closed the book and sprang to my feet, then turned around. The stranger standing behind me was a tall woman in her early fifties. Gorgeous—fuckin’ gorgeous!
The diamond glinting around her neck hinted at her social standing. Her emerald gown draped elegantly over her body, her green eyes sparkling behind her wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a delicate smile that thawed my heart, easing the fear that had gripped me.
“There’s no cause for alarm, sweetheart,” she said, her voice smooth and enticing. “This place is a fortress; no one’s sneaking up on you.”
I paused for a bit, a small grin tugging at the corners of my lips. “You did.”
She let out a light chuckle. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s how I walk.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” I answered, my voice low but confident, even though I was in denial.
“Huh.” She stared at me in silence, her eyes shining with mirth.
Who was this woman?
There was something strangely comforting about her, and she also looked familiar. I just hadn’t placed her face yet.
She walked over to the couch and sank into it, her movement elegant. “I’m sure you’re wondering who I am,” she said, crossing her legs.
I thought I recognized that posture. I’d seen it somewhere.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. “My name is Maria,” she said, holding my gaze for a fleeting moment before her eyes roamed the living room. “Is my brother home?”
My eyes squinted, confused by her question. “Brother?”
She didn’t respond, just stared at me, as if expecting me to figure it out. And that’s when it hit me: the sophisticated look, the resemblance, the posture—fuck!
My brows arched in surprise. “Oh, my God, you’re Roman’s—”
“Elder sister,” she answered, finishing my sentence.
Her English was so smooth that I didn’t catch the Russian accent until her last statement.
“Wow,” I murmured, admiring her gorgeousness.
“Wow, what?” she asked, curious.
“Nothing,” I answered, clearing my throat. “It’s just that you’re stunning—and now I’m wondering which side of the family Roman didn’t get his looks from.”
She laughed, the kind of genuine laughter that made her shoulders shake. “You’re charming,” she said amidst chuckles. “I see why he likes you.”
The words struck me like an arrow to the heart, and gradually, the small smile on my face began to vanish. “Yeah…” I drawled lazily, “he does like me.” The sarcasm in my tone couldn’t be any more obvious.
Maria paused, watching me with an unwavering gaze. “Come.” She tapped the vacant space beside her. “Sit with me.”
I walked over to the couch and sank into the cushion, the leather crunching beneath my weight.
“My brother can be…stubborn and unpredictable,” she began, her gaze locked on me. “And due to the nature of his work, he’s forgotten what it’s like to be human.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I whispered under my breath.
“He’s a handful, I know—I’m his sister,” she said, her voice so soft and tender. “He’s not as terrible as you think he is. It’s hard to believe, but it’s the truth.”
I stared back at her in silence, wondering whether she already knew our history, including how he kidnapped me and how this marriage was just some sort of punishment.
She drew a deep breath, her manicured hands clasped on her lap. “He wasn’t always like this, you know.” A radiant smile lit up her face, and her eyes sparkled under the light. “Roman used to be such a sweet boy, incapable of hurting anyone.”
Her expression softened, hinting at the pleasant memory replaying in her head. It was obvious that there was an untold story behind that smile, one that must’ve birthed the man I knew today.
Curious, I asked her, “What happened?”
“Life happened,” she answered, the grin on her lips slowly fading. “When you’re born into a family like mine, kindness is considered weakness, especially when you’re a man.”
I noticed that her voice deepened as she spoke—almost like she detested recounting the Tarasov history.
“Roman’s childhood was taken from him at a tender age, and he was forced to grow up fast,” she continued, a faint scowl etched on her face.
“He wasn’t even allowed to be a boy—and my God, did he shield his family from horrors no child should endure!
” The frown on her face melted into admiration on the last statement.
The gentleness of her tone as she shared these fragments of Roman’s past thawed something frozen inside me. I didn’t think anyone with the Tarasov last name was capable of being kind, but she proved me wrong.
She exhaled sharply. “Scarlett, is it?”
I gave a curt nod.
Maria shifted her weight, her eyes boring into mine. “My brother is broken,” she murmured, “but he’s not beyond redemption.”
My throat bobbed as I swallowed hard.
“I’m not telling you this so you’ll love him,” she said. “I just want you to understand why he’s the monster that he is today.” She let the words sink in a little bit. “You seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll know what to do with this piece of information.”
Nope. I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. These were just fragments of the real story, and they wouldn’t be of much help to my situation. But nevertheless, I appreciated her telling me this.
“Thank you,” I said, my lips curling into a faint smile.
Our little conversation left me unsettled, especially because I hadn’t imagined Roman as anything other than a monster. I forgot that he was also human and was, at some point in his life, an innocent child like the rest of us.
From what Maria just shared with me, there was pain carved into this man—the kind that turned him into the cruel beast he was. As much as I hated it, the image of him in my head was starting to fracture, sympathy seeping through the cracks.
The fact that my perspective of him was gradually changing terrified me more than I cared to admit. A part of me was willing to try and understand this man—get to know the human being beneath the mask.
Maybe there was more to him than his cruelty; maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t beyond saving. That thought alone scared the bunkers out of me, threatening to destroy the high walls I’d built around myself.