Chapter 4
MIKHAIL
I wake to the scent of her hair on my pillow, and my first coherent thought is: What the hell have I done?
Sophia lies beside me, her black hair spilling across the gray sheets like ink on water.
In sleep, she looks younger than her twenty-two years, vulnerable in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest.
The morning light streaming through the windows catches on the marks I left on her neck, and instead of satisfaction I feel something dangerously close to regret.
I slip from the bed and pull on my pants, needing distance. Needing to think.
Last night was supposed to be about revenge.
About taking from her what her father took from Nicole.
But the memory of her body beneath mine, the way she responded to my touch despite her hatred, the sounds she made when she came apart in my arms, none of that feels like vengeance.
It feels like something else entirely, something I can’t afford to name.
I move to the window and stare out at the grounds.
My reflection in the glass shows a man I barely recognize. When did the lines around my eyes deepen?
When did my jaw become so hard, my expression so cold?
Nicole would hardly know me now.
The brother who used to make her laugh, who promised to always protect her.
Behind me, I hear Sophia stir.
I don’t turn around, but I’m acutely aware of every sound she makes.
The rustle of sheets.
Her sharp intake of breath as she realizes where she is.
The soft pad of her feet on the hardwood floor.
“Where are my clothes?” Her voice is hoarse, probably from screaming my name last night. The thought sends heat through my veins, and I hate myself for it.
“Burned,” I say flatly, still not looking at her. “Elena will bring you new ones. Appropriate ones.”
“Appropriate?” There’s fire in her voice now. Good. I can handle her anger. It’s her vulnerability that undoes me. “What the hell does that mean?”
I finally turn to face her.
She’s wrapped the sheet around herself, clutching it to her chest like armor.
Her blue eyes blaze with fury, but I can see the fear underneath.
The uncertainty.
“It means you’re my wife now.” My voice is cold and controlled. “You’ll dress the part. Behave the part. Play the part.”
“I’m not your wife.” She takes a step toward me, and I force myself not to notice how the sheet slips slightly, revealing the curve of her shoulder. “That ceremony was a joke. A mockery. I didn’t sign anything, so it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything.” I close the distance between us in three strides. She flinches but doesn’t back away, and I have to admire her courage even as I curse it. “I didn’t need your signature. You’re mine now, Sophia. My property. My revenge. And you’ll learn to accept that.”
“Never.” The word is barely a whisper, but it carries the weight of a vow.
I reach out and cup her face, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
She trembles at my touch, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear or something else. “Your body already has,” I murmur. “Last night proved that.”
She jerks away from me, and the sheet slips further.
I catch a glimpse of the marks I left on her breast before she yanks the fabric back up. “My body betrayed me,” she hisses. “That doesn’t mean I accept this. Any of this.”
“It doesn’t matter what you accept.” I turn away from her, needing to put distance between us before I do something stupid like pull her back into bed. “There are rules now. You’ll follow them, or there will be consequences.”
“Rules?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course there are rules. What kind of prison would this be without them?”
I move to my desk and pull out a sheet of paper, already prepared.
I’d written it last night after she fell asleep, when I lay awake trying to convince myself that what we’d done was just part of the plan.
Just revenge.
Nothing more.
“Rule one,” I begin, reading from the list. “You don’t leave the mansion grounds without my explicit permission. Ever.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Rule two: you’re to be monitored at all times. Guards will be posted outside every room you enter. Cameras cover every inch of this property except the bathrooms and our bedroom.”
“Our bedroom?” Her voice rises. “I’m not sleeping in here with you again.”
I finally look at her, and I let her see the cold determination in my eyes. “You’ll sleep where I tell you to sleep. Which brings me to rule three: you obey my commands. All of them. Without question or hesitation.”
“Go to hell.”
“Rule four: no contact with the outside world. No phone calls, no internet, no letters. As far as anyone knows, Sophia Moretti disappeared. Only Mrs. Artyomov exists now.”
I watch the color drain from her face as the reality of her situation sinks in.
She’s completely cut off, completely isolated.
Completely mine.
“You’re insane,” she whispers. “This is insane.”
“Rule five: you’ll present yourself appropriately at all times. Hair, makeup, clothing—all will meet my standards. You represent me now, and I won’t have my wife looking like a college student.”
“I am a college student!” She’s shouting now, the sheet forgotten as she gestures wildly. “Or I was, before you destroyed my life!”
“Your father destroyed your life,” I correct coldly. “I’m just making you pay for it.”
“By turning me into some kind of trophy wife? Some doll you can dress up and control?”
“By making you understand what it means to lose everything.” I set the paper down and move toward her again. “Your freedom. Your identity. Your future. Everything you took for granted, everything you thought was yours by right—gone. Just like Nicole’s was.”
Sophia’s eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them back furiously. “I didn’t take anything from your sister. I didn’t even know her.”
“You carry your father’s blood. His name. His sins.” I’m close enough now to smell her, that floral scent mixed with the musk of our lovemaking. It makes my head spin. “That makes you guilty by association.”
“That’s not how justice works.”
“This isn’t justice.” I lean in, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “This is revenge. And I’m going to savor every moment of it.”
She shoves me hard, and I let her. Let her think she has some power here, though I don’t budge. “I hate you,” she says, her voice shaking. “I hate everything about you.”
“Good.” I straighten my shirt, forcing myself to step back. “Hate is honest. Hate I can work with.”
A knock at the door interrupts us. “Come in,” I call.
Elena enters, carrying an armful of clothing.
She’s one of the few people in this house I trust completely, and she’s seen enough in her years here to know when to keep her mouth shut.
She takes one look at Sophia wrapped in the sheet, at the tension crackling between us, and her expression remains carefully neutral.
“The clothes you requested, Mr. Artyomov,” she says quietly, setting them on the bed.
“Thank you, Elena. Please show Mrs. Artyomov how to dress appropriately. Then bring her down to breakfast. I have someone I want her to meet.”
Elena nods and turns to Sophia. “If you’ll come with me, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me that,” Sophia snaps. “I’m not—”
“You are,” I interrupt. “Get used to it.”
I leave before she can respond, before I can see the hurt in her eyes, before I can do something weak like apologize.
In the hallway, I lean against the wall and close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.
This is for Nicole, I remind myself. This is what she deserves. What they all deserve.
But the words ring hollow in my mind.
I head downstairs to my office and pour myself a drink even though it’s barely eight in the morning.
The whiskey burns going down, but it doesn’t wash away the taste of Sophia’s lips or the memory of her body moving beneath mine.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on my office door. “Enter.”
Marco walks in, and I study my most trusted enforcer with fresh eyes.
He’s been with me for ten years, since before Nicole died. He’s proven his loyalty a hundred times over.
If anyone can watch Sophia without being swayed by her beauty or her tears, it’s him.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
“I have a new assignment for you.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk.
Marco sits, his dark eyes alert. “Whatever you need.”
“My wife.” The word still feels strange on my tongue. “She’s to be monitored at all times. I want to know where she is, what she’s doing, who she’s talking to. Everything.”
Something flickers across Marco’s face. Surprise, maybe. “You want me to babysit?”
“I want you to ensure she doesn’t do anything stupid. Like try to escape. Or hurt herself.” The second possibility hadn’t occurred to me until this moment, and it sends a chill through me. “She’s valuable to me. I need her safe.”
“Understood.” Marco leans back in his chair. “Anything else?”
“She’s not to leave the grounds. She’s not to have any contact with the outside world. And if she tries anything—anything at all—you come to me immediately. Don’t handle it yourself. I want to know.”
“Got it.” He stands. “When do I start?”
“Now. She should be coming down for breakfast soon. Introduce yourself. Make it clear that you’re not someone she can manipulate or charm.”
Marco nods and heads for the door, but he pauses with his hand on the handle. “Pakhan, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Is this really about revenge? Or is it something else?”
The question catches me off guard. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Forget I asked.”
After he leaves, I sit in silence, staring at the amber liquid in my glass. Marco’s question echoes in my mind, mixing with memories of last night.
The way Sophia looked at me when I was inside her.
The way she said my name.
The way she fit perfectly in my arms afterward, her head on my chest, her breathing slow and even.
This is revenge, I tell myself firmly. Nothing more.
But even I’m starting to doubt it.
I finish my drink and head to the dining room.
Sophia is already there, seated at the far end of the long table.
Elena has dressed her in a simple but elegant navy dress that hugs her curves and falls to just below her knees.
Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and someone has applied minimal makeup that makes her blue eyes even more striking.
She looks like she belongs here.
Like she was born to sit at this table, in this house, by my side.
The thought terrifies me.
Marco stands near the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
Sophia’s gaze flicks between us, and I can see her mind working, trying to figure out the dynamics.
“Sophia,” I say, taking my seat at the head of the table. “This is Marco. He’ll be your shadow from now on. If not him, one of his men.”
“My shadow?” She sets down her fork with deliberate care. “You mean my jailer.”
“Call it what you want.” I nod to the staff to begin serving. “Marco goes where you go. He sees what you see. He’s there to ensure you follow the rules.”
Sophia looks at Marco with undisguised contempt. “And if I don’t follow the rules?”
“Then I inform Mr. Artyomov,” Marco says, his voice flat and professional. “And he deals with you accordingly.”
“Deals with me.” She laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I lean back in my chair, studying her.
Even dressed up, even sitting in my dining room eating my food, she radiates defiance.
It’s in the set of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, the fire in her eyes.
“Eat your breakfast,” I tell her. “You’ll need your strength.”
“For what? More of your twisted games?”
“For surviving.” I take a sip of my coffee. “This is your life now, Sophia. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be.”
She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. Marco tenses, ready to intervene, but I hold up a hand to stop him. I want to see what she’ll do.
Sophia walks around the table until she’s standing directly in front of me.
Her chest heaves with emotion, and I can see the pulse hammering in her throat.
For a moment, I think she might hit me. Part of me almost hopes she will.
Instead, she leans down, her face inches from mine.
I can smell her breath, feel the heat radiating from her body.
My hands grip the arms of my chair to keep from reaching for her.
“I’ll never be your obedient little wife,” she says, her voice low and fierce. “You can chain my body, but you’ll never break my spirit.”
Then she spits in my face.