Chapter 9 – Iris
I woke up early this morning after getting little sleep last night. I spent most of my time wondering why Ilya had asked me to stay in my room and not leave all night.
It didn’t make much sense to me. So, I paid close attention, listening for any sound that seemed out of place. I didn’t hear any. In fact, the night was quiet just like every other night.
In my head, I expected to hear something interesting: voices arguing, gunshots, eerie noises, someone wandering the halls late at night, or maybe even feel a ghostly presence.
At least that would’ve explained why he practically had to warn me not to leave my room. To my surprise, nothing out of the ordinary happened. None that I was aware of, to the best of my knowledge.
Then why did he emphasize that I stay in my room all night? Was that instruction supposed to protect me from something? Or was it simply a symbol of his dominance over my life? Considering that nothing had actually happened last night, I had reasons to believe the latter.
Lying just to keep me under his control was a low blow for a man like him, and I was as disappointed as I was pissed. I wasn’t sure why I was mad at him or what exactly I was mad about—the lie, the motive behind it, or the fact that I actually did as he instructed.
After freshening up that morning, I decided to go down to the kitchen to understand why breakfast hadn’t arrived yet. They usually brought me food at exactly eight a.m. But it was almost ten already, and no one had shown up at my door.
That was weird.
My stomach kept growling because, for some reason, I woke up so hungry this morning. Without hesitation, I strolled out of my room, fingers piling my hair into a bun on my way out.
I noticed the atmosphere was different this morning, more tense and strangely quieter. The two maids who passed by me looked more serious than usual. They greeted me, but their voices were low, laced with something I hadn’t named yet.
My brows knitted in confusion.
The first thing that came to mind was that something might have happened last night that I wasn’t aware of. My heart skipped a beat.
Then I heard it—an unfamiliar voice. Thick. Deep. Masculine. Cold. Sharp.
It wasn’t Ilya. It sounded like him, but I knew better. It wasn’t Boris, Ilya’s right-hand man. It wasn’t any of the guards either.
The next voice that followed was Ilya’s, and both men were conversing in Russian. Their voices were coming from the living room downstairs, and by now, I was almost on the balcony.
Curious to put a face to the unfamiliar voice, I stood in the gallery overlooking the vast living room, one hand resting lightly on the ornate railing.
The second I stuck my head out and looked down, they both stopped talking.
The stranger lifted his eyes as he’d somehow sensed my gaze, and in a split second, his cold gray-blue eyes were already latched to mine.
My breath lodged in my throat as a cold shiver sprinted down my spine. I was already used to Ilya’s intense gaze, but I couldn’t say the same about this stranger’s death stare.
Everything about him screamed “danger,” making my knees weak. My heart was banging hard and fast, my pulse racing. How could a single stare instill this much fear in me? Who was the man, anyway?
Then it hit me.
He was definitely a Bratva member—most likely a high-ranking official.
Wait. If he’s a Bratva official, then he’s not supposed to have seen me at all, I thought to myself, hands trembling slightly on the railing.
Fuck.
I managed to break his hypnotic gaze and pulled away from the balcony. My legs were shaking beneath me as I rushed back to my room in quick steps. While in motion, I overheard fragments of their conversation.
They’d switched to English by now, but the only words I was able to catch were “Eliminate the witness.” A sudden chill washed over me, causing my heart to race even faster.
Whoever this man was, he seemed to have some kind of authority over Ilya, meaning my captor-slash-protector had now been ordered to end me for good.
I pushed my room door open, barged inside, and locked it behind me before withdrawing from the room. My breathing was ragged, my head filled with a million and one possible outcomes of this stupid mistake I’d just made.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
I combed my hair backward, thinking of the next thing to do. I thought about sneaking out the window and attempting to escape this mansion. But my room was on the fifth floor, and jumping down from such a height would be foolish.
Even if, by some miracle, I made it past all the guards roaming around the estate, how was I going to get back to the city? This mansion was built in the middle of a forest.
The more I thought about my current situation, the more I realized just how screwed I was.
Suddenly, the door handle began rattling violently, jerking up and down as someone tried to force the door open from the other side.
My stomach jumped, and my hands went clammy, every muscle in me tense.
“Iris, open up.” It was Ilya on the other side of the door.
I swallowed hard, unsure whether to trust him.
“Open up, Iris.”
I didn’t realize I’d been slowly retreating until my back hit the edge of the table behind me.
The rattling stopped.
But before I could breathe a sigh of relief, I heard the jingle of keys. The next thing I knew, the door unlocked with a soft click and then creaked open.
There he was, standing at the entrance with that blank expression on his face.
Instinctively, I grabbed a pencil from the table and held it up like a makeshift knife. “Don’t come any closer!” I barked, my chest heaving.
“I’ve seen this movie before, and I know how it ends.” He slowed but didn’t stop coming toward me. “Put that away.”
“No.” I held it more tightly, refusing to look away from him.
His polished shoes scuffed against the marble floor.
“Stay back! I’m warning you!”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t hesitate to stab you with this.”
His brows arched. “A pencil?”
It sounded ridiculous once he said it out loud, and I instantly felt silly. But then again, it was the closest thing to a weapon I could find.
“It doesn’t matter; it has a pointy edge, and it can inflict pain,” I insisted.
“Why would you want to inflict pain on me?”
“Because you’re here to ‘eliminate the witness’!” I said, my face twisting into a frown. “You might end up killing me, Ilya, but I swear to God, I’ll leave a lasting scar on your face before I draw my last breath.”
His expression cracked a bit, a hint of something that wasn’t quite anger flickering in his gaze.
“Okay,” he mumbled under his breath.
In a heartbeat, he surged forward, grabbing my wrist in one swift movement. His body was pressed against mine, his head lowered to meet my gaze. My makeshift weapon was suddenly nowhere to be found, and my eyes were wide with fear.
His warm breath tickled my face, those steel-blue eyes boring into mine. “You stubborn little menace,” he whispered, jaw locked. “Didn’t I ask you to stay in your room and not step outside?”
My scowl deepened. “That’s not what you said.” I held his intense gaze despite my racing heart. “You told me to stay in my room and not come out until morning. How was I supposed to know you’d extended the curfew?”
His jaw tightened, and for a second, neither of us said anything. The air between us had shifted from anger into something else entirely, something sharper, hotter, harder to breathe through.
I noticed how his cologne wrapped around me like silk, how his eyes had dropped briefly to my mouth before snapping back up to meet my gaze.
My pulse was going too fast for reasons that had nothing to do with fear anymore.
For a second, it genuinely felt like he might kiss me. Just to shut me up. Just to end the argument the only way that made sense in that moment, with his mouth instead of his words.
The thought should have terrified me.
It didn’t.
I didn’t move away.
I didn’t know why I didn’t move away.
Then something shifted in his expression, and he pulled back so suddenly it was as though he’d caught himself in an act he hadn’t given himself permission to commit. He stepped away, putting real distance between us this time, jaw locked, breathing harder than he probably wanted me to notice.
Ilya didn’t say anything else. He turned and left the room, the door shutting behind him.
I stood there against the edge of the table, breathless, furious, and disturbingly aware of exactly how much I hadn’t wanted him to stop.
My hand darted to my mouth as I fought the illicit thoughts forming in my mind—what might’ve happened if he’d kissed me.
Why wasn’t I repulsed by the idea of his lips meeting mine? Why did the thought alone fan the flames of a fire already burning within me?