Chapter Thirteen - Clara
Days pass after the night I tended his wound, and the mansion settles into a strange quiet. Not peaceful—never that—but different. The silence between us no longer cuts like a blade. Instead, it hums. Heavy. Charged.
Every time I turn a corner, I expect to see him. Every time I don’t, I feel the ghost of him anyway. A presence that lingers like heat in the walls.
I avoid him, but it does nothing. His shadow follows me through the library. The conservatory. The halls where the floorboards remember the sound of his boots. Even my dreams refuse to let me forget the brush of his fingers on my waist, the near-kiss we almost shared.
I hate how my breath catches when I think about it. I hate the questions that rise up in me—what I felt, what I wanted, what I still want.
I try to focus on escape instead. On reality. On the world beyond these massive walls.
One afternoon, while pretending to look for tea in the kitchen, I corner a guard by the back entrance. Not Nikolai—a younger one whose name I don’t know. His hand rests on his holster even when he’s just standing still. I force my voice to stay steady.
“When will Lukyan let me go? I’ve been here for weeks.”
He stiffens, eyes flicking toward the hallway as if expecting someone to appear. “You shouldn’t be asking that.”
“Why not?”
“Just… stop. Don’t make this harder.”
My pulse jumps. “Harder for who?”
He doesn’t answer. His grim expression—the pity in it, the resignation—says more than words ever could. I step back, cold seeping into my spine.
I’m not leaving. Not soon. Maybe not ever.
That night, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling. The storm has passed. The house is too quiet. Sleep refuses to come. My heartbeat feels too loud in the dark. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to breathe through the panic clawing at the edges of my chest.
Eventually, I get up. I slip a sweater over my shoulders and tiptoe through the hallway, drawn to the one place I shouldn’t be.
His office.
The door is cracked just enough for voices to spill out—low, urgent, tense. I freeze, pulse hammering, then edge closer until I can make out the words.
“…Ivan’s men were spotted again near the west fence,” one voice says. “They know you brought someone here.”
A pause. Papers rustle. Someone exhales sharply.
“We have to deal with the loose end,” another insists. “If they think she’s leverage, they’ll keep coming. Kill her now and we bury the problem.”
Everything inside me goes cold. My hands shake as I grip the doorframe, forcing myself not to gasp.
Then I hear him.
Lukyan’s voice is lower than usual, so cold it chills the air around it. “No one touches her.”
Silence. Then the sound of someone clearing their throat.
“Boss—”
“She stays,” Lukyan cuts in. “She’s mine now.”
The words slam into me. My heart stops, then starts again too fast, too loud. I press my fist against my mouth to keep from making a sound.
Mine now.
I should be terrified. I should run. Except my body refuses to move, as if rooted to the spot by disbelief, by something sharper than fear—something I don’t want to name.
One of his lieutenants hesitates. “If you claim her, the rivals won’t risk touching her. That’s true. Word’s already spreading. They’re asking why a man like you would keep a journalist alive at all.”
Lukyan doesn’t respond immediately. I hear the faint clink of glass. He’s poured himself a drink. Maybe vodka.
When he speaks again, his tone is softer, but no less dangerous. “The only way to make her untouchable,” he says, “is to make her my wife.”
My breath catches. The world tilts. My knees nearly buckle. I slap a hand against the wall to steady myself.
My ears ring. My chest tightens. I can’t tell if I’m going to scream or faint.
One of his men curses under his breath. “You can’t be serious.”
“I don’t care what you think,” Lukyan replies. “It’s the only way.”
The room goes silent. My pulse thunders.
Wife.
I back away, breath shaking, vision blurring around the edges. I force myself down the hall, each step unsteady, my mind a chaotic mess of disbelief, fear, and something burning hot beneath both.
He’d rather bind me to him than let me go. He’d rather claim me than risk losing me. He’d rather make me his than let anyone else touch me.
My heart pounds in my throat, furious and terrified.
My hands are cold and slick as I reach my room, but I can’t make myself stay. Not now. Not after hearing those words in his voice—she’s mine now, the only way is to make her my wife—echoing like thunder in my skull.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m reaching for the door. I barely knock before I shove open the door to his office and let it slam against the wall.
He’s behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a half-drained glass of vodka forgotten at his side. He looks up, unreadable, as if he was expecting me. He always seems to know when I’m coming.
“You can’t keep me here forever like a prisoner!” I shout, the words tearing out before I can think. My voice rings through the vast room, shaking with anger and something that feels like betrayal. “I’m not some thing you can lock away just because it’s convenient for you!”
He stands, moving with that cold, deliberate control he wears like armor. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t flinch. He looks me in the eye and says, “I can and I will, if it keeps you alive.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise, and somehow that makes it worse.
“Alive?” I demand, breathless. “You call this living? Locked in a gilded cage so your enemies know I’m yours?”
He doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
I want to laugh. I want to scream. I take a step closer, fists clenched at my sides. “Is this your idea of protection, Lukyan? Or just another way to control me? What do you even mean?”
He comes out from behind the desk, his presence filling the room, and stops only when there’s barely a foot of space between us. His eyes are dark, steady, unyielding. “You’re marrying me, Clara.”
It hits me like a blow—no warning, no chance to dodge. I stare at him, searching for any sign that he’s joking, any crack in that stone-cold mask. There isn’t one. His gaze never wavers.
For a moment, all I can do is laugh. It’s a bitter, ragged sound, raw and helpless. “You’ve lost your mind. Do you even hear yourself?”
He doesn’t move. “It’s the only way.”
“The only way for what? To own me, to parade me in front of your enemies and tell them I’m property now? Is that all I am to you?”
He looks at me, and for a second—just a second—I see something flicker in his eyes. Regret? Longing? I can’t be sure. “No one will touch you if you’re my wife,” he says quietly. “No one will dare.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than any threat. I feel the weight of it settle over my shoulders, squeezing my lungs tight. He’s not lying. He believes it.
I press my hands to my temples, trying to hold my world together as it tilts beneath me. I want to break something, to shove him, to scream at the unfairness of it all. Instead I force myself to meet his eyes, refusing to let him see how much he’s shaken me.
“This isn’t love, Lukyan,” I say, the words trembling. “This isn’t even kindness.”
He nods, just once. “I know.”
“So what is it?”
He’s quiet for a long time, searching my face as if he could find an answer there. “It’s survival. For both of us.”
I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You don’t get to decide my future. Not like this.”
He steps even closer, and I can feel the heat of him, the steady pulse beneath the surface. He’s so close I can see the tired lines around his eyes, the tightness in his jaw.
“If you walk out that door, you’re in more danger than you’ve ever known. My enemies will kill you to punish me. I can’t let that happen.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” I whisper.
He nods again, slow and solemn. “Well, I am.”
Something twists in my chest—fury, heartbreak, an ache I can’t name. I want to hate him. I want to hate how desperate, how certain he sounds. I want to hate the way my heart skips when he claims me, even as every rational part of me recoils at the thought.
I can’t stay in this room another second.
I shove past him, ignoring the way his hand lifts as if to stop me, as if he might actually reach out and hold me there.
I need air. I need space. I need to get away from the man who thinks he can save me by owning me…
and the part of myself that doesn’t entirely hate the idea.
My heart hammers as I bolt down the hallway, ignoring the startled looks from a pair of guards and the anxious flutter of a housemaid at the stairs. I don’t care. I don’t stop. I make it to my room and slam the door, locking it behind me.
I press my back to the wood, chest heaving, tears burning behind my eyes. I want to believe I can still escape. That I can walk away, untouched, unclaimed.
His words echo inside me, louder than the storm, sharper than any threat—You’re marrying me, Clara. You’re mine now.
I slide to the floor, shaking, terrified of the man who wants to own me, and of the part of me that aches to belong to him too.
I stay on the floor for a long time, the wood cold beneath my legs, breaths coming in uneven bursts. My hands won’t stop shaking. I try to push the memory of Lukyan’s words out of my mind, but they loop endlessly.
He wants to marry me.
I think of Lukyan’s eyes, his voice, the way he made it sound like a promise and a warning all at once.
A quiet knock jolts me upright. I wipe at my cheeks, furious that there are tears at all.
“Go away,” I call, my voice hoarse.
The door opens anyway. Nikolai steps inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. He stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes careful, not unkind.
“You made him angry,” he says, not bothering to ask what happened. “That’s a talent. Not many people can do that and still be breathing.”
I glare at him, trying to hide how rattled I am. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
He shrugs, moving closer but keeping a respectful distance. “You should get some sleep. Things always look worse at night.”
I almost laugh, but the sound gets stuck in my throat. “Doesn’t feel like they’ll look any better in the morning.”
Nikolai studies me for a long moment. “You’re braver than you look. That’s not always a good thing in this house.”
I don’t answer. He lingers at the door, then finally leaves, the lock clicking softly behind him.
I curl back onto the floor, exhausted, but now the silence feels heavier than ever.