Chapter 3
Alina
It’s around nine at night when I get back to my building. I trudge into the lobby, not thinking or paying attention to anything around me. I’m floating on autopilot, looking forward to a warm bath, three glasses of decent wine, and a sleep so black it’s like falling into a void.
I might as well stay in a coma until my wedding. What’s the point of getting out of bed?
It’s not like anyone would notice.
“Alina.”
I flinch and look around. I’m halfway to the elevators, and there’s a man standing in the small waiting lobby behind me. I hadn’t noticed him before. The night desk clerk looks uncomfortable, watching from behind his security desk, as the big stranger steps forward.
I know those eyes. Pale blue, nearly gray.
He’s much, much bigger than I thought in person.
Still in that expensive black suit. Still with those muscles showing.
Just a little bit of tanned and tattooed skin.
His hands are huge, more like paws, and his voice is even nicer than I thought over the phone.
He’s beautiful. God, it hits me all at once.
I’m not usually attracted to men like him, but there’s something about this monster.
He holds himself with the air of a man who doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks, and right now, that’s the total opposite of me.
He’s supremely confident and in control of every room he enters.
While I’m slinking around and barely surviving.
Seamus Whelan tilts his head, studying me carefully, that sly smirk on his lips.
“What are you doing here!?” I blurt out, too emotionally raw and tired to be subtle.
His smile deepens. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine. Totally fine. How do you even know where I live?”
The desk clerk stands up. “I’m sorry, Miss Morozov, but is there a problem? This man told me you two were friends—”
Seamus completely ignores the clerk and steps closer. He’s still twenty feet distant, but it’s like that single step swallows all the space between us. “You’re going to be my wife. I did some research.”
My heart rate doubles. His wife. This man is supposedly my future husband, but that makes no sense. He’s way too attractive for that.
“Excuse me? Miss Morozov? I can call the authorities—”
“It’s okay,” I blurt out, not even sure why I’m doing it.
I don’t belong to this guy yet. I don’t even know him.
After that call earlier, I want to disappear into a cave and never come out again.
I catch Seamus glancing down at my body, at my baggy sweats, and I know what he’s thinking. She’s hiding a lot under there.
“Are you sure?” the clerk asks. “If this is a problem—”
Seamus glances at him. The smile disappears and there’s only ice in his expression. “Sit back down. This isn’t your concern.”
The sharpness of his tone surprises me. He’s a man who expects to be obeyed. Even the clerk seems taken aback.
“It’s fine. Really, it’s okay.” I gesture at Seamus. “Come upstairs. We’ll talk in my place.”
The clerk glares at the pair of us. I turn my back on him, mortified, and stalk over to the elevator.
I can’t believe this night’s somehow getting even worse.
Seamus follows and we get on together, crammed into the tiny space as it ascends to my apartment on the thirty-third floor.
The whole time he watches me, not saying anything, studying me carefully.
It’s not until we’re in the hall that he finally speaks.
“You’re smaller than I guessed.”
I glare up at him. “You’re bigger. So what?”
“Just saying. It’s strange how I saw so much of you on that call, but really didn’t get a good picture at all.”
“I really don’t care if you’re disappointed.” I reach my door, fuming, ready to tell him I changed my mind and he should leave.
“Not in the slightest,” he says softly. The earnestness of his tone knocks me sideways. “I came here tonight because it was pretty clear you hadn’t been warned, and I wanted to apologize for that.”
I look down at the floor. I think of my father flipping on the TV, already forgetting about me before I’d even left the room. “It’s not your fault.”
“I brought you this.” He reaches into his jacket.
My heart rate triples as he pulls out a beautiful and expensive string of pearls.
His smile’s back, cocky and teasing, and I’m struck by how handsome he is.
The man exudes raw masculinity. He holds himself without a care in the world, like he doesn’t care how this gesture comes off.
It could piss me off or make me cry, and either way, it wouldn’t matter to him.
That’s the kind of man who can sail through the world, taking what he wants, no matter the cost.
I should be insulted. But it’s the way he’s looking at me that keeps me from slamming the door in his face.
I don’t think I’ve ever been seen like that before, as if I’m the only woman in the world.
Alex never looked at me that way, not even when we were alone.
It was like he always had something else going on, some other scheme running in the background, and I was an afterthought.
Right here, in this hall outside my apartment, Seamus is staring at me like I’m the only woman that matters.
“Where’d you get them?” I finally ask, opening my door slightly.
“I know a guy. They’ll look good with your skin.”
“I should be insulted.”
“You don’t have to take it that way. Why pretend like the call didn’t happen? It wasn’t meant for me, but I don’t mind. I liked it all the same.”
“You might have, but it was pretty terrible for me.”
“Let me make it up to you.” He holds the pearls closer. “Take them.”
“And then what?”
“Invite me inside and put them on.”
My heart slams into my throat. This is such a bad idea. I don’t know Seamus at all.
It’d be crazy to invite him inside.
I’m not this kind of girl. Even with Alex, it took me two months of dating before I felt comfortable enough to take our relationship past the kissing stage.
I need lists, plans, routines, a color-coded schedule.
Seamus is none of those.
He’s a chaotic surprise dangling a string of pearls on my doorstep.
That’s everything I hate.
But it’s that look. I can’t get over it. The way it makes me warm from belly to throat. My skin prickles and my nipples stiffen as I decide to make the second most impulsive decision of my life.
I reach out and snatch the pearls from his hand.
“Wait here.”
His eyebrows raise. “You’re not inviting me inside?”
I shut the door in his face.
Then I run straight into the bathroom.
I’m being crazy right now—but I’m still me.
Even when I’m losing my mind, I still have to be in control.
I take off my clothes. I’m still in cute underwear at least. I put on the pearls, fix my hair, touch up my face, and quickly straighten my room. It’s already pristine and perfectly organized, but God forbid he notices the neatly folded stack of sweaters on top of my bureau.
I put on a bra and check myself one last time.
This is insane. This is seriously mentally insane.
And then I stop. Take a breath. Pause and think about what I’m really doing.
This isn’t me.
It’s like in the emotional overload of the last hour, from the embarrassing call with Seamus through that horrifying conversation with Papa earlier, I’ve somehow forgotten one important detail.
What the hell happened with Alex?
I’m shaking as I grab a big sweater and pull it over my head. I wrap my arms around myself, shocked at how close I’d been to making an enormous mistake.
Seamus hurt my boyfriend.
Maybe Alex was never meant to be forever—but he didn’t deserve whatever he got.
My stomach’s a knotted mess. I’m angry with myself for nearly going nuts. And I’m livid with Seamus for being such a bastard.
I go to the front door and peer through the security hole. He’s still waiting for me in the hallway, distorted by the fish-eye glass.
“I hear you breathing,” he says, idly swiping at his phone.
I flinch back, covering my mouth. Is he being serious right now? But there’s no way. I lean forward again and peer through.
He’s looking back.
“What did you do with him?” I ask through the door.
“Less than he deserved.”
“You hurt my boyfriend. I get it, we’re going to get married, but why did you have to hurt him?”
Seamus slowly shakes his head. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Don’t know what?” I’m starting to lose my patience, and when that happens, my temper takes over. “Why don’t you just get out of here?”
He swipes on his phone again. It’s so rude, the way he’s more interested in that stupid device than he is in our conversation right now. Doesn’t bode well for our future together.
“I found your boyfriend in a shithole drug den up in Harlem. He had a needle in his arm and some crack whore on his dick.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “You’re lying.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Only a few days ago.”
His eyebrows raise. “Your boyfriend disappears for days at a time often?”
“Yes, but—”
“That’s addict behavior. Normal people don’t ghost like that.”
“Alex wasn’t cheating on me.”
He wipes a hand down his face. “Listen to me, Alina. Your former boyfriend was a piece of fucking shit. I didn’t kill him out of respect for you, but trust me, I wanted to. Even when he begged at the end.”
“Bullshit. You’re lying. You’ll say anything—”
He raises his phone and turns it to face the peephole. The screen shows the first frame of a video. It’s Alex, his eye swollen, tears streaming down his face.
Seamus presses play.
“Please, just don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything, just please—”
“Shut the fuck up. God, you’re so fucking pathetic. I’m going to have to get my car steam cleaned after you’re gone.” Seamus sounds exhausted and frustrated. The camera shakes slightly. “Say it again. And say it slowly. And for fuck’s sake, stop crying.”
Alex wipes his eyes, sniffling like a child. “I was getting high, okay? I had it under control, but this time I was running with some guys I didn’t know that well, and shit got out of hand. I keep it away from her, I swear.”
“Show me the arm.”
The camera pans down. Alex’s arm is dotted with visible, fresh needle marks.
I pull in a breath, my head spinning. I feel dizzy as I grip the frame of the door and yank it open. I’m afraid I might be sick, but I have to see the rest. I have to see it all.
Seamus stares at me. There’s no pity in his eyes. Only a steely intensity.
“Keep going,” I say, yanking the phone toward me.
He hits play again, and the video picks back up.
Alex whimpers as a fist slams into his gut. He leans against the door of the car, groaning. Seamus sounds annoyed.
“And the girl? Who was she?”
“I don’t know. Some fucking girl.”
“You cheat on Alina often?”
“What’s it even matter? Alina doesn’t know. She doesn’t care.” Alex stares back at the camera, his eyes completely dead and empty. “Alina means nothing to me, okay? I’ll leave town. I’ll never speak to her again. You don’t have to kill me because of some meaningless sex.”
“Pathetic fucking prick, I’m going to—”
The video cuts off. Seamus gently takes his phone back and shoves it into his pocket.
I stare at the space where I just watched my boyfriend admit to being a drug addict, a cheater, and a fucking bastard.
How didn’t I see it earlier?
I feel so pathetic and stupid.
Now I can see a clear pattern of behavior stretching back to the beginning of our relationship.
The disappearances. The long-sleeve shirts, probably worn to cover up his needle marks. The constant excuses, most of which were flimsy and obviously lies.
I just didn’t care enough. And I didn’t want to know the truth.
The door slowly opens wider as I step back away from my future husband. He’s still watching me carefully with this curious frown, like he’s trying to read my reaction.
I feel like my world’s opening up and swallowing me.
I’ve been living a lie. This whole time, I’ve been telling myself I’m one thing—smart, in control, powerful—when really I’ve just been the pathetic other girl for some drug addict loser.
Papa’s right about me.
I’ll never be strong like my mother.
I’ll never be worthy of the Morozov name.
“You going to be okay?” Seamus asks softly, and I think that’s what finally breaks the spell.
The way he’s focusing on me.
All my life, I’ve done what’s right. I followed the rules. I played the game. I was rewarded in some ways, but in so many others I’ve been shoved aside and treated like nothing more than a pretty little doll.
Like a glittering jewel on a shelf.
Attractive and valuable. But not practical.
I might as well embrace it.
Without thinking too much, I pull off the big sweatshirt. Seamus stares at me, lips parting with mild surprise, as I toss it aside and stand in front of him.
Wearing only a black lacy bra, a pair of matching panties, and the pearls he gave me.
“Come inside,” I say before I can turn back.
He doesn’t move. “You’re emotional.”
“I definitely am.”
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“Probably not.”
His jaw works. He’s still not moving, but he’s staring at me with visible hunger. “I’m not a good person,” he says softly and slowly. “I don’t do the right thing.”
“Then you’re my type.” I step back into the apartment. “Come inside.”