Chapter 34 Stefan
STEFAN
My home looms ahead as I drive through the gates, steel and stone rising like a monument to paranoia against the twilight sky.
Six armed guards patrol the perimeter with Kalashnikovs. Another four monitor the surveillance room, overseeing state-of-the-art security systems that track every approach. If a fucking pigeon ventures too close, they kill it.
My enemies know better than to come here.
The ones still breathing, anyway.
I steal a glance at Olivia beside me. Her face is still too pale after the shooting, those amber eyes wide as she watches my security team perform their duties. Each guard checks in on us. Each camera swivels to follow our progress.
Her perfume fills the confined space of the car—orchids and vanilla. I grip the steering wheel tighter to keep from reaching for her.
What the fuck have I done?
The plan was simple: intimidate her, seduce her, impregnate her, take over her company. Only an idiot could fuck it up.
But nowhere in there did I account for this visceral, pulsating need to keep her safe. I wanted to leave her at her place, stand guard outside if needed. Maintain some semblance of distance.
Then my mouth opened, stupid shit emerged, and now, she’s here. Under my roof. Where I can’t escape her.
The car crunches to a stop on the circular driveway. Before the engine fully dies, I’m out, rounding the hood to open her door. Old World manners drilled into me by my babushka.
Courtesy before violence. Respect before retribution.
Marriage before babies is one of her pieces of etiquette, too, but I fucked that one up already.
“Welcome home.”
I immediately regret the word choice. This isn’t her home, and it never will be.
Olivia hesitates before accepting my outstretched hand. Her skin is cool against mine, but that electricity I’ve felt since the moment we met still crackles between us. I release her the instant she’s steady on her feet.
I don’t trust myself to maintain contact.
I lead her through the marble foyer, past priceless art I’ve never truly looked at, up the grand staircase I’ve never given a damn about. Her gaze darts everywhere. It’s hard to say if she’s impressed or planning her grand escape.
The guest suite door swings open under my palm, revealing the room I had Mikayla rush to prepare. King-sized bed with silk sheets, private bathroom with a tub that could fit three, huge windows overlooking the gardens and reinforced with bulletproof glass.
“There are some clothes in the closet. Mikayla guessed your size.”
She steps inside, taking inventory of her surroundings, lingering on the security panel by the door and the panic button disguised as a light switch near the bed.
I wonder if she recognizes it for what it is. Most people wouldn’t. But Olivia Aster isn’t most people.
When she turns back to me, there’s a sadness in her eyes. “Is that what this is? Home?”
A shiver races down my spine. “It’s a sanctuary,” I correct, keeping my voice neutral though my fingers itch to touch her, to run along the curve of her cheek, her throat, to feel her pulse and reassure myself she’s alive, unharmed, safe. “For now.”
“And when ‘for now’ is over? When I’ve served my purpose? … What then?”
When you’ve given me my heir…
When you’re no longer useful…
… I get rid of you.
That was the plan, wasn’t it? Use her, then discard her.
So why does the thought of her leaving make me fucking sick?
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” But that’s a non-answer, and we both know it.
“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge even faster now that I’m under your roof,” she mutters. She drops onto the mattress. “Are you going to invoke other parts of the contract today, Mr. Safonov?”
My body responds instantly to the sight of her perched on that bed, hair disheveled, blouse wrinkled from our escape.
I can almost taste her on my tongue, can imagine pressing her back into that mattress, feeling her body yield beneath mine.
The animal part of my brain wants to claim her now and eliminate any doubt about who she belongs to.
But that won’t be happening. She doesn’t want my touch, not after being forced into my home against her will.
And that matters. It shouldn’t, but God help me, it does.
I clench my jaw so hard I taste metal. “Goodnight, Dr. Aster.”
Then I turn and leave.
Before it’s too late.