Chapter 13 —Ravyn
When he caught me in his study last night, my spirit had nearly jumped out of my body. My heart sank to my stomach, and my pulse raced rapidly. However, I was quick to switch from fear and shock to nonchalance and composure.
That small stunt I pulled—acting like I wasn't fazed by his presence and the intensity of his gaze—was just a way to divert his attention from the fear boiling inside.
It took everything I had to stand in front of him the way I did. It was one thing to barge into his study out of pure boredom and stubbornness, and an entirely different thing to face him directly without any hesitation or remorse.
That was some Wednesday Addams behavior I displayed last night—cold and unafraid.
My knees were quaking, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing when I stood up to him. Honestly, though, that was next-level acting, and I was convinced he was impressed, too. The breath control, icy words, and flat expression made me seem cold and menacing.
He thought that I was brave, but he was wrong. I was scared to death. I guess that was what bravery’s all about anyway: standing one’s ground even in the face of imminent danger.
The truth was, the moment I started the act, I couldn’t stop because I knew it just might be the only thing that could save me from his wrath. I wasn’t sure whether my actions would make things worse. I just kept up the act, hoping for the best deep down.
Lev was the kind of man who looked beyond the surface—he studied people as if they were open books. I didn’t think my acting would be enough to fool him. But I suppose in the end, I deserved an Oscar for such a great performance.
When I left his study that night, I didn’t slow down or stop until I reached the master bedroom. As soon as I locked the door behind me, I leaned against it and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Only then did I realize I had been holding my breath the whole time during the walk.
He didn’t return to the bedroom until I had fallen asleep, and by the time I woke up this morning, he was already gone. I knew he slept in the room because his scent—his cologne—clung to the sheets on the other side of the bed.
This man still hadn’t tried to touch me or force himself on me. At this point, I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Only time would tell.
Tonight, I was seated by the fireplace in the living room, reading a book. I flipped through the pages, trying to concentrate, but the loud voice echoing off the walls was an unwelcome distraction.
It sounded like someone—a man—was on the phone with someone else, and their conversation was super annoying. He was speaking Russian, so I couldn’t tell what the conversation was about. But it was clearly funny since the man couldn’t stop laughing like a fuckin’ clown.
I tried to ignore him, pretend like he didn’t exist, but with each passing minute, his voice and laughter grew louder. My face contorted into a frown, and my brows furrowed.
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth.
The idiot was determined to disturb my inner peace. He kept laughing so loudly that, for a moment, I completely forgot I was in a lifeless mansion. His voice proved that this place wasn’t as dead as I thought it was. And I wouldn’t have minded if he weren’t so damn loud!
I slapped my forehead in frustration, my blood boiling with fury. My fingers clenched into a fist, and I tossed the book on the couch. “Okay, that does it!” I growled, springing to my feet.
My footsteps pounded against the marble floor as I hurried toward the direction of the noise—the kitchen. I barged into the space like I owned the damn place, drawing his attention.
“Hey, keep it down! You’re not the only one in this house!” I barked at him.
His brows lifted in disbelief. He slowly got up from the stool at the kitchen island. He dismissed the person on the other line and then hung up.
The man was much taller than I expected—larger and nearly three times my size. But what threw me off the most wasn’t that; it was the way he looked at me with condescension, as if I were beneath him.
Well, I was—literally. But that wasn’t the point.
“What did you say to me?” he asked, his voice deep and raucous, dripping with the Russian accent.
I looked him square in the eyes with my arms crossed. “I said to keep your voice down. You’re not the only one in this house.”
He snickered. “Little bird thinks she can fly now.” The mockery in his tone couldn’t be more glaring. “How ridiculous!”
“I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” I warned him sternly, voice low and venomous.
He leaned forward. “It’s a good thing you’re not me then.” His lips curled into a pesky grin.
My jaw locked, fingers curling into fists at my sides.
“You’re not the boss of me, little girl,” he added, disdain lacing his tone. “If you don’t like the sound of my voice, I’m sure you can find your way to the bedroom.”
My blood was boiling with rage, and I was on the verge of snapping out. I didn’t care how big he was; he was starting to cross a line, and there would be consequences.
“Piece of advice,” he continued, leaning his face closer to mine.
Big mistake.
“Stick to the script. Play the good wife, fuck my boss, and stay the hell out of my business—”
He was still talking when I smacked him hard across the cheek. The impact was so powerful that it turned his head to the side. His face reddened, and when he glared at me, his eyes burned with fury.
“Little bitch!” He seized me by the hand, his grip so strong it almost crushed my bones.
“Let go of me!” I struggled to squirm out of his hold.
Seconds later, he let go of me and stumbled backward, his eyes fixed on what was behind me. Fear crossed his face, and his gaze dropped to the floor.
Clearly, someone was behind me, someone he answered to.
Lev.
I smelled his cologne before he materialized beside me, his expression dark and intense. He glared at the man. He was about to do something drastic, something dangerous.
I rubbed my hand soothingly as I watched Lev approach the man in slow, deliberate steps.
“Boss…” he began to stutter, his voice trembling subtly. “I-I…. She hit me in the face.”
Lev halted in front of him, and I literally watched that huge man melt in his presence, like cheese in heat.
The air was thick with tension, and the man’s fear was obvious. This man was larger than Lev, taller than Lev, yet he bowed to an authority far beyond him. Tonight, I saw the difference between power and strength.
This man looked physically stronger than Lev, but Lev’s power was superior to his strength.
“Touch her again, and I’ll make sure they never find your body,” Lev said to him, his voice low but menacing.
It wasn’t just the words that were terrifying; it was the way he spoke them, cold yet fiery. Calm yet violent.
The man’s face paled, his bravado shrinking under Lev’s icy glare.
He pressed on without giving the poor man a chance to speak, “She belongs to me. And you will give her the respect she deserves.” His tone was dark, carrying both a protective and possessive quality.
The man, not daring to meet Lev’s gaze, gave a stiff nod.
“You’re dismissed.”
Quietly, he walked out of the kitchen, his head bowed in shame and embarrassment.
The room plunged into an eerie silence after the man’s exit. Lev turned and looked at me, his eyes darting to the arm I was slowly rubbing. Neither of us said a word, and in my head, his voice echoed over and over like a ghost I couldn’t shake off.
“She belongs to me.”
It shouldn’t have such an effect on me, but it did, and I couldn’t help it. A strange shiver ran down my spine—a mix of something that felt like possession and protection—neither of which was an emotion that I was ready to acknowledge.
The phrase stirred something inside me—something deep and unsettling.
The space between us was thick with the residue of his protective claim, and his gaze was so intense that I avoided his eyes. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. Should I thank him? Would he even respond to my appreciation?
Without much thought, I turned around and quietly left the kitchen, his gaze lingering behind me. I avoided him for the rest of the evening. Every time I passed through the house, I felt his eyes on me, as if he was tracking my every move.
I couldn’t quite explain it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d marked me in some quiet, unspoken way. He had no idea that by defending me, he’d claimed a piece of me. I felt it—a shift in how I saw him.
And it bothered me far more than I cared to admit.