Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
SOFIYA
My eyes fly open, and my heart pounds as something cold and hard snaps around my ankle. I jerk upright, tangled in sheets, unsure of where I am or what is happening.
“Rise and shine, princess.” Nikolai’s voice.
Sunlight stabs through the curtains as the world comes into view. Nikolai is at the foot of my bed, his hand covering whatever is locked around my ankle.
“What are you doing?” I rasp, my voice heavy with panic. “Are you… are you chaining me to the bed?”
“Good morning to you, too,” he says, looking up at me with a small smile. “It’s an ankle monitor to keep track of your location. Just taking precautions. Can’t have my wife wandering off, can I?”
An ankle monitor to track my movements? It takes my morning brain a minute to process. Is he giving me an electronic leash?
The moment I look down, my confusion only grows. I expected something clunky and shackle-like around my ankle, but instead, a thick gold cuff rests against my skin. Small, sparkling diamonds are scattered across its surface, making it appear as if it glows.
“It’s real if you’re wondering.” Nikolai’s fingertips brush over my sensitive skin above the device, and heat rushes up my leg. I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to let him see the way his touch sends an unwelcome shiver through me. “Fourteen karat gold and hand-set diamonds. Only the best for my wife.”
I want to rip it off and throw it in his smug face. “Stop calling me that,” I insist. “And covering it in gold and diamonds doesn’t make it any better. Might as well throw me in the dungeon if you're going to treat me like a prisoner.”
“If sleeping in the dungeon is more in line with your expectations, it can be arranged.”
I roll my eyes and hug the blankets tighter around me. “I’ll keep my gilded cage, thanks.”
Gilded isn’t an exaggeration. The room is lovely, with pale green walls and elegant mid-century furniture. The highlight is a large window overlooking the lush back garden—not that I imagine I’ll be allowed outside. At least, not alone.
Nikolai pulls up a chair and sits beside me while I watch him warily. He’s fresh from a workout, his black athletic tank clinging to his skin, every muscle defined. A faint sheen of sweat clings to his skin. His forearms rest on his knees, the veins running up his arms so prominent they’re distracting. I force my gaze upward because letting my eyes wander would only spark uninvited memories.
I don’t need any more reminders of what happened between us. The slight soreness between my legs is reminder enough.
Nope. Not going there. I shake the thoughts away, combing my fingers through my messy hair. “With all your security, don’t you think a tracker is a little excessive?”
“Take it as a compliment. I have faith you can do anything you put your mind to.” His tone is infuriatingly calm. “Other than the basement, my office, and the east wing where my guards are housed, you’re free to go wherever you like. But remember…” His fingers trail a deliberate line over my calf, brushing the monitor, and goosebumps rise unbidden in its wake. “This will alert me the second you step off my property. Day or night, it goes straight to my phone. And trust me, you won’t like the consequences.”
I grit my teeth, swallowing back a growl of frustration. This stupid monitor kills any hope of escape. It was already a long shot, but now it feels impossible. My mind goes to Roman and Liza. If they know I’ve been taken, maybe they’re already working on a plan to get me back. I swallow before meeting his stare. “Do Roman and Liza know yet… about me being here?”
I expect Nikolai to dismiss my question, but he doesn’t. He leans forward, studying my face as he slowly nods. “They’ve received my message. I imagine I’ll hear back from them soon. But don’t hold out hope of a big dramatic rescue. I covered my tracks well.”
Helplessness wraps around me, and despite myself, my eyes burn with the threat of tears.
His mouth tightens. “Don’t blame yourself, moya sladost. There was nothing you could have done to stop me.”
“I don’t blame myself,” I hiss. “I blame you.”
Except that’s not entirely true. I barely slept last night, replaying every bad decision that led me here. Ditching my bodyguards was the first. Sleeping with Nikolai was the second and, by far, the worst.
This news is going to crush Liza. She’ll blame herself somehow, and she doesn’t need that guilt right now, not when her focus should be on getting pregnant and building the family she’s always wanted. Once again, I feel like a burden to her and Roman.
I reach for a tissue on the nightstand, and as I shift, the blankets slip, cool air brushing against my bare skin. Damn it! I’m practically naked in a bra and underwear.
Nikolai doesn’t move, his dark gaze traveling slowly over my exposed skin, drinking me in with the kind of intensity that makes my pulse stumble. I yank the sheets up, clutching them tightly to my chest, and shoot him a glare. “Mind your own business.”
“Don’t be so modest.” His gravelly voice is loaded with suggestion. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“And it’s nothing you’ll ever see again,” I snap. “You ripped me from my life. My family, my friends, my future—they were everything to me, and you took it all without a second thought.”
He exhales slowly, standing with deliberate calm. “I’m not looking to complicate my life, Sofiya. You’re my wife in name only. I won’t ask for more. You’ll live here and follow my rules. Beyond that, you’re free to do as you like.”
That’s hardly freedom, but I’m done arguing. I want him to leave. On his way out of the room, he gestures toward a neatly folded stack of clothes at the foot of the bed. “Eva lent you a few things for now.”
The mention of Eva’s name sets my teeth on edge. “Making me wear your girlfriend’s clothes—real classy.”
His brows knit together. “My girlfriend?”
“I’m not stupid, Nikolai.”
A smirk plays at the corner of his lips as if he’s somehow enjoying this. “Of course not.” He’s about to leave my room when he stops and turns in the open doorway. “If you don’t want to wear Eva’s clothes, you can always wear mine. I’d rather enjoy seeing you in my shirt and nothing else.”
“In your dreams!” I yell out as the door shuts with a hard click.
My eyes flutter shut as I sink back into the pillows. The interaction with Nikolai drained every ounce of my energy, and for a moment, I was tempted to let the mattress swallow me whole. But I can’t. Hiding in this room won’t solve my problems.
Along with the stack of clothes, I find basic toiletries and makeup. Eva’s doing, no doubt. I can’t figure out why she’s being kind to me. Maybe she’s lonely living here, or more likely, Nikolai told her she had to play nice.
After I brush my teeth and take a hot shower, I slip into a red summer dress that’s a little too tight across the chest—one of the many joys of being well-endowed. As a dancer, I’m strong and lean, but I certainly don’t have the body of a workout queen like Eva, not to mention she's an Amazon, and I’m the height of a mere mortal.
For now, this dress will have to do because I’d rather wear a trash bag than put on anything belonging to that mudak. I refuse to think about everything he’s taken from me.
The only thing I need to focus on is figuring out a way out of here.
The house is quiet as I head downstairs, retracing my steps to the kitchen, where I find an older woman with short, graying hair pulling something from the oven. She spots me and smiles, as if she knows who I am.
“Good morning,” I say, unsure of how I’ll be received.
Any uncertainty I have dissolves when all five feet of her come hurtling toward me. She hugs me more fiercely than I imagined someone of her size could.
“Look at you, so beautiful,” she says and steps back to squish my cheeks between her hands.
“I… thank you.” I have no idea what's happening or why she still hasn’t let me go. “Uh, nice to meet you. I’m Sofiya.”
“I know who you are: Nikolai’s wife.” She beams. “I’m Yelena,” she says, releasing me from her grasp before thrusting a steaming cup of coffee into my hands. “Cook, housekeeper, and the one who keeps everyone in line. Even Niko.”
Her words make my stomach drop. Nikolai’s wife. She says it so casually, like it’s something to celebrate. Does she think this marriage is something it’s not? Like a love match. I don’t want to be the one to burst her bubble, but she needs to know the truth.
“Listen, Yelena, you seem very nice, but let me be clear. This marriage wasn’t my choice. I don’t want Nikolai as a husband, and I don’t want to be here.”
She pats my hand. “You just need to get used to him. His bark is worse than his bite.”
This is definitely not going as intended. “I don’t want to get used to him. I want to be free of him.”
She studies me, her eyes narrowed. “I think you need something to eat.”
I almost laugh. She’s not wrong about that, at least. I sink onto one of the stools at the counter as she sets a platter of fruit and a basket of warm vatrushka in front of me. The cheese Danish is my weakness, and I don’t even try to resist. I usually overthink everything I eat, but it’s not like I’ll be onstage anytime soon.
God, maybe ever.
An ache cuts through me like a knife. In a few days, I’ll miss the audition with the Berlin Contemporary Dance Company. They’ll assume I stood them up, that I’m not serious, when that’s not the truth at all.
My dream life—my sunny apartment, my career, my lazy weekends—vanishes like smoke over water. In its place is an ankle monitor that costs more than my flat in Moscow and a husband I never wanted.
My shoulders sag as I take another bite of the Danish, which is absurdly good, and let my eyes drift around the room. No matter how civilized Nikolai’s home appears, it will never feel that way to me. It will always be a prison with lavish cells.
“You don’t like my vatrushka?” Yelena’s frown pulls me back to the present.
My face must have betrayed my spiraling thoughts. “No, that’s not it at all. They’re amazing. I’m just… tired.”
“More coffee,” she declares, refilling my mug.
“Thanks.”
As soon as I polish off the last bite, Yelena gives a satisfied nod and drops another Danish onto my plate. Might as well take enjoyment where I can.
Before either of us can say more, Eva saunters into the kitchen. Her eyes light up when she sees me. Once again, she’s in skintight leggings and a sports bra that shows off her toned stomach. Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, wisps framing her flushed face. Like Nikolai earlier, she looks like she just stepped out of a Peloton commercial.
They probably woke up together, tangled in silk sheets after a night of marathon sex, before deciding to hit the gym like any loved-up couple.
Gross.
“Oh, I’ll take some of that vatrushka,” Eva chirps, sliding onto the seat next to me.
Yelena responds with a disapproving sniff. Before I can blink, she lobs one of Eva’s weird flax muffins at her head with surprising accuracy.
“You made, you eat,” she declares.
Eva’s face crumples like a kid denied candy. “But…” she starts to protest, her lower lip jutting out in a pout that probably works wonders on Nikolai.
I bite back a smirk as Eva shoots Yelena a grumpy look before shrugging and biting into her muffin. “She hates when I cook in her kitchen. This is punishment,” she whispers.
I feel a little irrational thrill at Yelena’s disapproval. Not that I have anything against Eva personally. She seems like an okay person. I just don’t like the man she sleeps with.
“How are you feeling?” Eva asks, chewing on a bite of muffin. “You must’ve been totally exhausted.”
“Feeling better, other than the being-held-against-my-will part,” I acknowledge.
She ignores the jab and keeps on eating.
“By the way, thanks for the dress and toiletries,” I offer in a gentler tone.
She gives me a once-over. “Looks good on you. Well, maybe a little tight in the boob area.”
“We’re not quite the same size.”
“But if I had tits like yours…”
Her voice trails off as Nikolai enters the kitchen with Emil right behind him. My mouth goes dry. Nikolai is freshly showered, his dark hair slicked back, dressed in a tailored suit that clings perfectly to his broad shoulders and muscular frame. He looks annoyingly good in a suit.
His gaze meets mine and then drifts lower, his expression darkening with every inch his eyes take in.
“No.” The single word falls from his lips like a command.
“No, what?” I glare at him.
“No to that dress,” he says, smoldering with intensity. Emil immediately turns away, busying himself with the coffee machine. Nikolai’s attention shifts to Eva. “Get her something else to wear.”
Rude.
“Sorry,” Eva chirps, though she doesn’t sound remotely sorry. “That’s the only thing I have here that’ll fit Sofiya.” She picks at a strawberry from the fruit platter. “Take your wife shopping if you want her to dress like a nun.”
The muscles in his body go rigid as his glare locks onto my chest. I've never seen a man so offended by cleavage. “You must have a shirt or something else she can wear over that dress.”
“Nope,” Eva replies, looking far too amused.
“Excuse me,” I interject, lifting my chin. “I’m right here. Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room. And I don’t need to cover up. I’m perfectly fine the way I am.”
In truth, I don’t love having my girls on full display, but if it gets under Nikolai’s skin, I’ll make an exception.
A menacing growl leaves his throat. “You are not fine the way you are. No wife of mine is going to walk around this house, around my men, showing that much skin.”
“Luckily, I don’t consider myself your wi—” The words evaporate as Nikolai peels off his suit jacket and starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. Holy shit, what is he doing?
“Since we’re out of options, you’ll wear my shirt over that excuse for a dress.”
My jaw goes slack as the shirt falls from his shoulders with an ease that makes my stomach tighten. I should look away, but I can’t. Olive skin stretches tight over hard muscles, his torso and arms covered in tattoos. My eyes trail down the defined ridges of his abs, snagging on the V that disappears below his belt. He looks like he’s stepped straight off the cover of a romance novel, and the sight causes my core to tighten.
He dangles the fabric in front of me to take, but I’m frozen in place. Is he for real? As if I’d ever willingly wear his clothes. Nope. Not happening.
“Did I not make myself clear?” he grits out.
I gulp. “I won’t put on your shirt.”
“In that case, I’ll have to do it for you.”
As he strides toward me, I instinctively stand and back up, but the wall stops my retreat.
The kitchen falls silent as he cages me in, one arm braced above my head. His bare form is inches from me, his broad shoulders blocking out everything else.
Without warning, he spins me around to face the wall. Heat radiates from his body as he holds the shirt open, making it clear I have no choice but to slip my arms through the sleeves. His hands slide down my sides as he turns me back around to face him.
My breath stutters as he starts buttoning the shirt himself. Each brush of his fingers against my body feels electric, and I silently curse the woman who brought him into this world. As he fastens the last button, his eyes lock on mine. The air between us is charged, neither of us willing to look away first.
“There. Was that so bad?” His eyes glint with victory.
It’s worse than bad. Because now, there’s no way I’ll be able to get him out of my head all damn day.
With a final glare in my direction, he steps back and turns to Eva. “Find better-fitting clothes for tomorrow,” he growls before leaving the room.
Emil keeps his focus firmly on his coffee, while Yelena hums a tune as she tidies up, seeming unfazed. Eva, however, flashes a wicked grin, clearly enjoying herself. “I think you get under his skin.”
“Yay for me,” I grumble, feeling like a kid in his giant shirt.
“It’s good for him to have someone who doesn’t just roll over,” she says with a wink. “He’s not used to it.”
“Yeah, well, he’s pakhan. His word is law.”
She shrugs like the title means nothing.
I don’t understand their relationship. It seems strange to me that she’s totally fine with this setup. Maybe she’s used to him keeping other women. Men like him get to do whatever they want after all.
Eva straightens and glances at her watch. “Oh, damn, I have to run.”
“You’re leaving?” I blurt. “What am I supposed to do?”
She pats my arm. “This is where you live now, so make yourself at home. Explore. Watch TV. Go for a swim. There’s a stack of magazines down in the gym if you’re bored. Emil can show you the way.”
This will never be home, but I hold my tongue. Under the guise of “exploring,” I plan to spend the day hunting for a phone, computer, or any digital device with Wi-Fi to contact Liza and Roman.
I don’t have high hopes. Nikolai isn’t an idiot. He’s likely locked up every means of communication. But that won’t stop me from looking.
Eva points a playful finger at me as she backs out of the room. “Have fun! Don’t get into trouble.”
I throw my hands in the air. “What trouble could I possibly get into?”