Chapter 12 —Lev
It had been three days since the wedding, and so far, we had barely spoken. I always left for work so early—while she was still asleep—and always returned so late—after she’d fallen asleep.
Interesting how I spent most of my time at work thinking about her, cooking up ways to make her life more miserable. Just for the fun of it. Ravyn was starting to live rent-free in my head, and as fascinating as that was, it could also be a distraction.
That was the last thing I needed right now—distractions. I’d seen what women like her did to men like me, how they slithered their way into their husbands’ hearts and occupied every space as though it had always been theirs for the taking.
This wasn’t just some urban legend or story I was told as a kid. I saw it happen to my older brother, Valarian Tarasov, the first man in our family to leave the family business because of a woman.
And it all started out like this: He married a defiant young girl with fire in her eyes—just like the girl I married. Val’s wife was also half his age, like Ravyn was half mine. Thinking about it now, I could see the pattern, and chances were that….
No. I wasn’t my brother, and Ravyn didn’t have the ability to make me turn against my family. Val’s wife, Wren, wasn’t someone I saw as an enemy, not even after her husband sacrificed his entire life for her.
Quite the contrary, I had so much respect for a woman with strong influence over a man as cold-blooded as my big brother. I wasn’t sure how she did it, but she helped him find another career outside of the violence of our world. She helped him find love and happiness.
I’d met with the woman a few times before, and I understood what my brother saw in her.
Honestly, Ravyn had almost the same qualities as Wren, but I doubted her ability to make me turn a new leaf. I wasn’t counting on it because it was impossible. Val was cold. Yes. But I was colder.
This marriage was strategic—devoid of love or any emotion that wasn’t hatred. I wouldn’t exactly say I hated her; that was her area of specialty. Not mine. I just enjoyed watching her suffer. I enjoyed getting under her skin, leaving her in a constant state of confusion.
She’d humiliated the Tarasov family, and as a result, I decided to play a little game with her. One that involved ruining her life and taking over her family’s business without drawing unnecessary attention to myself.
Like I said, this union was based on strategy, so it was impossible for her to slither her way into my heart.
Tonight, I returned home after a long day, but she wasn’t in the master bedroom. I set my briefcase on the table and slowly shed my jacket as I scanned the room for her.
I checked the bathroom, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t on the balcony either.
Maybe she was in the garden, soaking up the energy of the full moon. But when I looked out the floor-to-ceiling window, I saw no sign of her. If I didn’t trust my security details, I might have thought she had escaped the mansion.
That stubborn little devil was more than capable of trying something like that anyway. But no. She must be somewhere in the house, doing God knows what.
I left the room soon after removing my cufflinks, and as I strolled toward my study, I rolled up my shirt sleeves. I paused at the door, squinting my eyes when I noticed it was slightly open.
I locked it before leaving this morning. I always did. So, who was in there without my permission? The entire staff knew the rules that governed this household like the back of their hands. One of those rules was that no one was allowed in my study without my consent.
My blood boiled as I entered the dimly lit room, furious and planning how to punish this disobedient staff. But all that anger disappeared, and my eyebrows raised when I saw who the intruder was.
It was my little devil of a wife.
“Oh. You’re back,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless.
I stood at the door, stunned by her boldness—amazed by it. She was standing in front of the glass weapons case with a combat knife in her hands, the blade shimmering under the soft light. Her fingers hovered over the polished steel, a flash of awe in her eyes.
There was something dark in those blue eyes of hers, something that I was familiar with. A dangerous curiosity. She studied the knife as though it were something she found intriguing. And even when she heard me come in, she didn’t flinch, didn’t show any sign of fear.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” I said, my expression unreadable, voice low and even.
“Yeah. They told me you’d freak out,” she answered, holding my gaze with an equally unreadable expression. “I told them I didn’t care.” Her shoulders shrugged slightly.
Freak out? Was she being serious right now?
My brows drew together. “So, you were warned not to come in here.”
“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t like being told what to do.”
The audacity.
“How’d you get inside?” I asked, curious to find out, considering that I was the only one with the key to my study.
She paused for a moment, watching me with a blank face. “I picked your lock.”
My brows arched, unsure of whether to be pissed or impressed by how she spilled the truth unapologetically. There was no shred of fear in her eyes—only fire—that kind that pulled me in like a moth to a flame.
I glanced at the knife in her hand, my lips curling into a faint smirk. “Some things are meant to be looked at. Not touched.” My voice was smooth but edged with warning.
“Is this the part where you punish me?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“You’ve given me more than one reason to do so.” I drew nearer, closing the distance between us. “You broke into my study, refused to apologize for it, and now you’re holding one of my most deadly weapons.”
A small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll use it on you?”
I halted in front of her, watching the quiet defiance in her eyes. I studied her face, searching for signs of fear or terror, but all I found was an unyielding resistance. My jaw locked as she stared back into my eyes, unafraid of what I’d do to her next.
Crazy how I couldn’t read her—how I couldn’t tell what the hell she was up to. I guess the little devil had torn a page from my book. This attempt to confuse was working, and I hated it. But I’d rather not let her see how much her defiance was getting under my skin.
This move tonight was proof that she was a worthy opponent in this game of control—one that I must not underestimate. One thing was clear as day: She was a quick learner, and she was picking up my tactics a lot quicker than I thought.
That could be a problem if not properly handled.
I sensed something unlock inside me—something too complicated to name. Then, without another word, I took the knife from her hand, put it back in the weapons case, and clicked it shut softly.
She stood there, staring at me with a knowing look, as though she’d already calculated the risk of pissing me off and didn’t mind it. The silence stretched between us, and the longer we held each other’s gazes, the more the tension between us rose.
My eyes dropped to her cherry lips, tracing the perfect curve of her mouth. Next was her cleavage, her breasts nestled behind the fabric of her top. I blinked and returned my gaze to her face before anything illicit could form in my head.
I wondered what she was up to, what she was doing in my study at this time of night. What game was she playing here? What was her motive? What did she want to achieve?
These thoughts cluttered my mind, especially because of the way her eyes searched mine as if she was looking for answers to questions she hadn’t asked.
“You look stressed out,” she said, her voice low and almost tender. Almost. “Get some rest.” With that, she stepped away, her footsteps receding as she walked out of the study.
Stunned by what had just happened, I stood there in awe and didn’t look back until I heard the door close behind her. I glanced back with a cocky smirk lining the corners of my mouth.
That little devil wasn’t just stubborn; she was audacious and brave with a daring look in her eyes that sparked something in me. A specific kind of fire that I hadn’t named yet.
I recalled the interest in her gaze when she studied that combat knife. Her fascination with the weapon was a mirror of an intrigue that felt personal.
Before I could get lost in my thoughts, my phone buzzed in my pocket, grounding me in the present. I reached in, pulled my hand back, and answered the call without checking the screen.
“Hey, handsome,” a familiar feminine voice, sweet and seductive, said on the other line.
My lips twisted into a faint smirk. “Vivian.”
“You busy?” she asked, her tone laced with honey. “’cause I’m not—and I’m feeling naughty tonight.”
I paused, listening to her quiet purrs on the other end, as if she were touching herself.
Vivian was an old lover, one I’d done some really crazy and nasty things to in bed. She was a naughty slut of mine who was ready to do anything, go to any length just to please me.
We fucked when it was convenient for me—when I wanted it, how I wanted it, and where I wanted it. It was always about me and my own selfish desires. Vivian didn’t care about anything other than being the best lover I’d ever have.
She showed up every time I called and did whatever I asked without hesitation. In truth, she was truly the best lover I’d ever been with. Her skills in bed were remarkable, and she’d left a sexual mark on my mind that I was still trying to erase.
“Do you wanna know what I’m wearing—what I’m doing to myself right now?” she whimpered, her breath shaking from sheer pleasure.
I felt my cock twitch at the sound of her moans. But that was it. Just the twitch. While she was busy with herself on the other line, my thoughts kept drifting back to Ravyn—her guts, the familiar look in her eyes, the sight of her cleavage.
Damn.
My cock grew harder in my pants, not because of Vivian’s moans but because of the mere thought of Ravyn.
“Hey, are you still there?” Vivian asked, sensing my distance.
“I gotta go.”
She was still objecting when I ended the call on her mid-sentence.
It was unsettling how much influence this little devil was beginning to have on me. I couldn’t understand how or why I kept thinking about her even while another woman was being naughty for me.
I’d told myself over and over again that this marriage was nothing but a punishment for her and a strategy for me. Getting physical with my wife was obviously inevitable, but I didn’t think that I’d be this attracted to her at the early stage of our union.
There was something about Ravyn that had me off balance—a strange mix of caution and intrigue.
I tossed the phone on the table and rubbed my tired eyes, trying to shrug off the thought.
However, the more I tried to dispel it, the more it stuck with me. It was so intense that I couldn’t decide if it was something I needed to control or something I wanted to consume.
Well, I guess time will tell, won’t it?