Chapter Six
Tatiana
V alentine’s Day, Four Seasons Private Residences, One Dalton Street, Boston...
Tatiana’s heels clicked across the marble floor of the penthouse apartment. Her steps were light as a reflection of the joy in her heart at the achievement of closing the first big distribution deal for the new Boston operation. The contract was a victory, a reminder that even in this prison of a marriage, she could still achieve professional success.
Not bothering to check if Jarek was home, she kicked off her shoes and moved toward the windows. As always, upon arriving home, the symphony of colors painting the Boston skyline mesmerized her. Deep purples bled into fierce oranges while ribbons of pink stretched across scattered clouds. The last rays of sunlight caught the glass facades of surrounding buildings, setting them ablaze with golden light. The beauty of it all struck a discordant note with the darkness in her heart.
“Five years,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. “How am I going to keep this up for that long?” Five years of a loveless marriage to Jarek before she could escape without losing everything. The thought of him turned the taste of her earlier success bitter.
The warmth from the heated glass seeped into her skin as she pressed her palm against the window. The reflection staring back at her was a ghost of the woman who had once loved Jarek with every fiber of her being. Love that was now curdling into something ugly and becoming a festering wound that had no chance of healing.
The seven stages of grief weren’t limited to mourning the loss of a loved one—although, in a way, she did lose someone she had believed to be the love of her life. The stages cycled through her mind like a twisted carousel. The shock of discovering his ultimatum still jolted her awake at night. Denial had kept her blind to his manipulation for too long. Anger fueled her now, driving her forward when despair threatened to pull her under. She had tried bargaining with fate, with God, and with herself—anything to make sense of how love could so quickly transform into such poisonous hate.
Guilt plagued her the most—for not seeing through him sooner and for allowing herself to be trapped in this marriage. Depression lurked in the corners of her mind, ready to pounce in her frailest moments, but she’d be damned if she succumbed to such a weakness.
But acceptance? “Oh, no. That’ll only happen after I survive the five years and make the bastard pay for every moment of freedom he stole from me.”
Tatiana straightened her spine as the setting sun cast long shadows across the immaculate apartment. This contract marked her business acumen and proved she wasn’t powerless, despite Jarek’s attempts to control her life. She might be bound to him by being foolish enough to have accepted the clause in the contract—all because of her blind faith in their love—but her mind and ambition would always be her own.
“Fuck, I was such a fool!”
The fine line between love and hate stretched before her like a tightrope. She had crossed from one side to the other, and there was no going back. In the fading light, she tapped into the vow she had made the day Jarek had disclosed his true nature. She would keep channeling this hatred into fuel for her survival and, ultimately, her revenge.
With a sigh billowing toward the ceiling, she walked to her room. Her shoulders were tight with the knowledge that another forced dinner with Jarek loomed ahead. His insistence on sharing breakfast and dinner every day was just another form of control, another way to assert his dominance over her life.
“If he thinks these little domestic rituals will soften me, he’s more deluded than I thought,” she muttered as she peeled off the business suit and stepped into the shower. The first touch of warm water against her skin drew out a contented hum.
“Ah, now this is bliss.” This moment of peace, at least, was hers alone.
Reaching for the soap, her searching hand encountered nothing but empty space. Frowning, she wiped the water from her eyes and stared at the bare glass shelf. The familiar lineup of her toiletries had vanished—no shampoo, no conditioner, not even her loofah.
“What the hell?” Water dripped from her hair as she yanked the shower door open. Wrapping herself in a towel, she hunched down and flung open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. Empty. Her fingers scrambled through each drawer, finding nothing but vacant space.
With her heart pounding and a chill creeping up her spine, a suspicion came to life. Her feet left wet prints on the carpet as she rushed to the walk-in closet. The sight stopped her cold. Bare hangers swayed slightly in the climate-controlled air. The dressing table stood stripped clean, with its surface gleaming as if to mock her.
Her hands clenched into fists as her nails bit into her palms. Rage bubbled up from her core.
“That fucking asshole is asking for it!” An inferno slowly rose inside her. Water still dripped from her hair, but she barely noticed as she stormed down the hallway. The sound of her wet feet slapping against the marble floor chased after her.
Soft jazz notes drifted through the air, causing her fury to spike higher. Of course, he would be lounging out there, probably congratulating himself on his latest power play. Her jaw clenched so tight, it ached as she stalked toward the great room while clutching the towel around her like armor.
“What fucking game are you playing now, Jarek Farrel?” The words hissed through her teeth, barely above a whisper, as she prepared to confront him.
She found Jarek lounging in one of the leather chairs. His relaxed posture was in stark contrast to her fury. The desire to slap the smug expression off his face burned through her when one condescending eyebrow curled upward at her entrance. His eyes traveled over her towel-clad body with deliberate slowness.
Despite her rage, her traitorous body responded to his appreciative gaze with a trail of heat in its wake that she immediately despised. The unwanted arousal only fueled her anger. How dare her body betray her like this when her mind was filled with nothing but contempt for him?
“Now that’s the kind of attire a man appreciates his wife wearing for the special Valentine’s dinner he has planned.” His voice dripped with smug satisfaction as each word was clearly aimed at provoking her further.
“Fuck you, you manipulative bastard.” Her voice shook with rage as she flung her wet hair back. Droplets of water scattered like her already shattered control. “Where the hell are my belongings?”
His lips curved into that infuriating smile she had once found charming. “Where they belong... in the master bedroom. Where you’ll be sleeping from now on.”
“The master bedroom is yours.” Her words cut through the air as her fingers clenched the towel tighter. “Or has your oversized ego forgotten that I refused to share space with a lying snake?”
“Our agreement specified a marriage.” He leaned forward, his casual demeanor at odds with the steel in his voice. “For five years, Tatiana. A real, normal marriage.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to warm your bed or pretend—”
“I gave you time to adapt. I’m afraid the current sleeping arrangement isn’t conducive to fulfilling the terms of our contract.” He lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug that made her blood boil. “Marriage, my dear wife, includes all aspects. Consider this my way of helping you honor our agreement.” His eyes gleamed with triumph. “Though, of course, the choice is yours.”
Her skin prickled with goosebumps, both from the chilled air and the implications of his words. The towel suddenly felt too thin, too revealing, as his gaze continued to devour her. Every cell in her body screamed in protest at the way it responded to his attention and at how her breath caught when his eyes darkened with desire. She hated him. She hated herself more for not being immune to the magnetism that oozed out of him.
“Chef Tony informed me a while ago that dinner will be served in thirty minutes.” His gaze flicked to his designer watch before returning to rake over her body with deliberate insolence. “That leaves you twenty minutes to either dress appropriately for Tony’s culinary masterpiece and his romantic table setting, or...” A predatory smile curved his lips. “Stay as you are and risk losing that towel somewhere between appetizer and main course.”
“You’re a fucking asshole, Jarek Farrel.” The words whispered out between thin lips as she fought to control the trembling in her hands.
“Tsk-tsk.” He clicked his tongue, the act reminding her of her math teacher when she showed disappointment in Tatiana’s results. She never liked cranky Ms. Shue. “If you insist on hurling insults, at least be creative, dear wife. Your current repertoire has grown rather... tiresome.”
Her vision blurred with rage at his patronizing tone.
“Heaven forbid I bore the sanctimonious, impious louse that you are.” Her lips curved into a razor-sharp smile. “Though I suppose I shouldn't expect more from someone who began life as a deuterostome and clearly never evolved past that stage.”
His rich laughter followed her as she stormed toward the master bedroom with punctuated fury. She would find clothes alright—the bulkiest, most unfeminine outfit in her closet.
“He can ram his romantic setting so far up his pompous ass he’ll be tasting Tony’s garnish!” The words echoed off the hallway walls, followed by the satisfying slam of his bedroom door.
Jarek
J arek’s laughter echoed through the great room as Tatiana's footsteps faded down the hallway. The slam of the door sent a satisfying vibration through the penthouse. Her fierce intelligence and sharp tongue never failed to entertain him, even when aimed like weapons in his direction.
His amusement faded as memories surfaced of their time before marriage. They had been electric together, their connection transcending the physical. Her eyes would light up when he entered a room, her smile always genuinely warm. Now, those same eyes held only contempt.
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it catch the dying light. Her declarations of eternal love had proven as ephemeral as morning dew. The revelation of his true nature and motives had shattered her affection like a fine crystal. The fact that he had used her to destroy her grandfather's company meant nothing to him. Business was business. Yet his feelings for her remained unchanged. Her strength, her brilliance in the boardroom, and her unbreakable spirit still captivated him.
When Tatiana reemerged, Jarek nearly choked on his drink. The oversized sweatshirt declaring “SUCK IT UP” paired with baggy sweats should have looked ridiculous. Instead, her defiant stance and fierce expression only heightened her appeal. He forced his attention elsewhere as his body responded traitorously.
Chef Tony’s arrival provided a welcome distraction. The aroma of truffle-infused risotto filled the air. He frowned as he noticed her outfit.
“Madame, the black dress I laid out would complement this dish perfectly,” Tony ventured with an exaggerated wink.
“The sweats are fine, Tony,” Tatiana replied flatly.
Tony set down the plates with a flourish. The dish was a work of art. Each grain of Arborio rice was perfectly al dente, suspended in a creamy sauce that caught the light like silk. Seared sea scallops crowned the dish, their caramelized surfaces gleaming golden brown. Shavings of black truffle and micro herbs provided elegant decoration, while the aroma of seafood, butter, and earthy fungus created an intoxicating symphony.
“The 2015 Puligny-Montrachet pairs beautifully with this dish,” Jarek commented, watching as Tatiana took her first bite.
She merely grunted in response, but her closed eyes and the way her tongue darted out to catch a stray grain of rice spoke volumes. Each careful forkful was consumed with obvious pleasure, though she tried to hide it.
“Ah, young love,” Tony sighed dramatically. “Sometimes it needs... seasoning.”
“Believe me, I’d rather eat grass covered in mud,” she snickered. “For now, I prefer to taste the decadent seasoning of your dish, Tony.”
“Hardheadedness must run in this newly acquired family,” Tony sighed dramatically as he stomped back to the kitchen. “Please, just don’t choke on my food. I made a special effort to make it romantic, and watching the two of you sparring swords instead of sharing kisses is just disheartening.”
They ate in tense silence. Jarek watched Tatiana’s reflection in the dark windows, noting how she avoided his gaze. Still, he couldn’t help but smile as she scraped her plate clean, clearly savoring every last morsel despite her proclaimed preference for muddy grass.
“Tell me about your day,” he said as she set down her fork.
“I’d rather not.”
“Enough with the childish sulking,” Jarek cut in sharply. “What’s done is done. We can make this arrangement work, or I can make it considerably more difficult. Your choice. But we will share a bed, and we will work on creating an heir. You decide if that happens with tenderness or... otherwise .”
Tatiana's eyes flashed. “Do you rehearse these villainous speeches in the mirror?”
“Only on Tuesdays,” he shot back. “The rest of the week I’m too busy being despicable.”
“How efficient of you to multitask. Though I suggest you dedicate more time to your villainous pursuits. Your current performance lacks imagination.”
His lips twitched. “Perhaps I should hire you as my evil consultant? Your creative insults suggest untapped potential.”
“Sorry, my rates for assholes are astronomical.” She took a deliberate sip of wine. “You couldn’t afford me.”
“I already own you, dear wife.” His voice remained velvet-soft, but the words carried steel.
“You own a signature on paper.” Her smile was razor sharp. “My mind and soul remain distinctly outside your portfolio.”
“For now.” He leaned back, projecting casual confidence. “Five years is a long time.”
“Long enough to perfect the art of murderous thoughts.” She batted her eyelashes. “I’m considering writing a book on creative ways to dispose of unwanted husbands.”
“I’ll happily provide a foreword.” His chuckle only seemed to infuriate her more.
“I’d rather have you provide a practical example.”
Tony’s arrival with the main course interrupted their exchange. He set down plates of perfectly seared duck breast with a cherry reduction in movements sharp with annoyance.
“Madonna Santa! Your conversation is making my crème Brulé curdle in the kitchen. Please, for the love of good food, stop trying to verbally murder each other and eat!”
The silence that followed him leaving was broken only by the quiet sounds of cutlery. Jarek noticed how Tatiana’s shoulders gradually relaxed as she focused on the meal.
“Shall we try again? How was your day?”
He watched her lips tighten perceptively as she glanced at him. The credit for her resistance softening could only be credited to Tony’s delightful meal.
“We signed a national distribution deal with Vitro Manufacturing.” Her entire demeanor transformed as she detailed the negotiations. Her eyes sparkled while she gestured animatedly as she outlined projected numbers.
Jarek found himself leaning forward, drawn in by her passion and expertise. He was surprised to find himself wondering what it would be like to have that fire directed at him again—not in anger or hatred, but in the pure joy of living she now reserved for her work alone.
“The quarterly projections are conservative but promising,” she concluded, then seemed to remember who she was talking to. Her expression closed off like a steel door slamming shut.
“Ah... just when I started enjoying your company,” he droned with a slight smile curving his lips.
Jarek wasn’t fooled. She had allowed a weakness to slip through. Under her carefully constructed walls of ice, the Tatiana who sparked to life with his touch still burned bright. He just had to find a way past her defenses—by whatever means necessary.
Tatiana shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating stare. He suspected his knowing look made her feel exposed, as if he could see right through her carefully constructed walls.
She shot to her feet. “I’m going to bed.”
His hand caught her wrist, tugging her off balance until she landed in his lap. He rearranged her until she straddled him. “Tony would never forgive us if we skipped his Valentine’s dessert.” His arms locked around her waist. “Besides, I have a gift for you.”
Her body remained rigid against him. “Save it for your lovers. I’m sure there are plenty eager to accept your expensive trinkets.”
“Perhaps there were,” his breath tickled her ear. “But I burned that little black book the moment we got engaged. I may be a bastard, but I’m a faithful one.”
She snorted. “Why bother? You never loved me. This was all orchestrated before we even met, so drop the pretense.”
“True, I had plans, but I always intended to make our marriage work.” His fingers traced patterns on her hip. “If you stop wearing blinders, you will realize it, too. You hate the life your grandfather lives and the control he forced onto you through your company.”
“And you controlling me is different?” She struggled against his grip. “Stop the word games, Jarek... and let me off your lap... NOW!”
His chuckle vibrated against her neck, but instead of complying, his hands clamped tighter around her hips as he nuzzled her throat.
Tony beamed as he appeared with dessert. “Ah, now this is more like it! Should I take these back? It seems you have something spicier in mind.”
Tatiana wrenched herself free as Jarek relaxed his hold, allowing her to escape.
“Looks like we’re having crème Brulé after all, Tony.”
Tony served them with obvious satisfaction, pleased his romantic efforts hadn’t been wasted. Jarek laughed as Tatiana attacked her dessert, clearly rushing to finish and flee.
He matched her pace deliberately. The moment she set down her spoon, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward his bedroom.
“Now for that spicy dessert Tony mentioned.”
Her protests echoed down the hallway as he dragged her along, his determination fueled by her resistance.