Chapter 15 – Noelle
The car hums beneath us, steady and strong, and Niko’s chest is my pillow. His arm is a band of steel around me, but it doesn’t feel like a cage—it feels like safety. I sink into him, breathing in his scent, grounding myself in the quiet thrum of his heartbeat.
I should feel restless, anxious about leaving the estate behind.
It had started to feel like mine too, in some strange way.
The grand halls, the heavy security, even the way the windows caught the light in the mornings—I’d begun to settle.
Now it feels like I’m being uprooted again.
But the truth is, it doesn’t matter where I sleep or where I wake, as long as Niko is beside me.
With him, I don’t feel like I’m running. I feel like I’m being carried.
I close my eyes, letting the road lull me. For a fragile moment, I imagine the kind of life I might have when this storm finally ends. When Anton is gone. When freedom isn’t just a word I whisper to myself but something I can taste and touch.
I see myself back in the clinic, the familiar sting of antiseptic in the air, the rhythm of saving lives one bandage, one stitch, one smile at a time.
I see the jar of savings I’d started once upon a time, filling again coin by coin, until medical school is no longer a dream I shelved but a future waiting with open arms.
A full life. My life.
And maybe—if he’ll let me, if he’ll stay—Niko in it.
The thought tightens my chest. I press closer to him, hiding my face in the fabric of his shirt. His thumb brushes slow circles over my arm, like he already knows the dream flickering in my head. Like he already promises me more.
When I married him, I thought my heart had splintered for good. That the little bit of hope I’d kept hidden was buried with that ring on my finger. Niko wasn’t love—he was survival. A forced choice, a brutal one.
But now…now it feels different. Peaceful, in a way I don’t even know how to handle.
I’ve been on my own for so long. Watching my own back, dodging the sharp edges life hurled at me, surviving in a world that always seemed determined to chew me up.
But here, in his arms, I feel something I’ve never allowed myself before.
I feel like I can defer. Like I don’t have to calculate every step, every consequence, every escape plan.
Niko does the thinking, the shielding, the fighting.
And if I let myself be delusional for a second, I’d believe he really does care for me. That it’s not just obsession or duty or some twisted sense of possession, but something more.
But this is Niko.
Who am I kidding?
The thought lands like a stone in my stomach. I keep my face pressed to his chest, letting him hold me, letting myself pretend—for just a little longer—that peace is real, and that it belongs to me.
His chest shifts under my cheek, the steady thud of his heart breaking through the silence. Then his hand slides higher up my back, fingers spreading wide, anchoring me against him.
“You’re too quiet, ogonek,” he murmurs, low and rough, like he’s been holding the words in. “What are you thinking?”
I shake my head, but the motion only makes his grip firmer. He tilts my chin up until I have no choice but to meet his eyes. They’re darker than the tinted windows, sharp as knives but softer than I’ve ever seen them.
“Don’t,” he warns quietly. “Don’t hide from me. Not you.”
The lump in my throat nearly chokes me. I almost tell him—that I’m scared, that I don’t know what to believe, that peace feels like a lie too good for someone like me. But the words knot together, useless.
Instead, I whisper, “It’s nothing. Just tired.”
His jaw ticks, like he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he pulls me closer, his lips brushing the top of my head. “Then rest. I’ve got you.”
Simple words. But the way he says them—the way his body wraps around mine like a shield—makes something dangerous bloom in my chest.
And against my will, against my better judgment, I let myself believe him.
When the car finally slows, I blink awake, the weight of his arm still around me.
The city stretches high above us, glass and steel glittering in the afternoon light.
Demyan rolls through a set of gates, and I see men in black posted at every corner, rifles slung across their shoulders.
The air feels different here—tighter, controlled.
The jeep pulls up to a towering high-rise, sleek and unapologetic. Every window gleams like polished armor. Barbed wires twist along the outer walls, cameras blink red in constant vigilance, and layers of security stand between the street and the entrance.
Niko helps me out of the car, his hand steady at the small of my back. He tilts his chin toward the building. “This is ours. Rusnak property. Later, when I’m ready, the floors will go to our most loyal men—apartments for those who’ve bled for the family.”
I glance up, following his gaze. The building is massive, the kind of place that doesn’t just scrape the sky but commands it.
He turns back to me, his expression unreadable. “Except the top. The penthouse is mine.” His tone makes it sound less like a privilege and more like a claim—a fortress in the clouds where no one touches what belongs to him.
Inside, the lobby hums with quiet efficiency—marble floors, steel accents, and more guards stationed like shadows. Every door requires a card. Every hallway has eyes. This place isn’t just secure—it’s impenetrable.
I swallow hard, the weight of it pressing down. “You’ll live here?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head once. “Soon. But for now, it will be home.” His hand slides down, linking our fingers. “And here…you’re untouchable.”
We step into the elevator while Demyan and the guards remain behind, handling the luggage. The doors slide shut with a smooth hiss, and Niko presses a key into a hidden slot before punching in a code. The panel blinks green.
“It’s a beautiful place,” I murmur.
He nods. “Only three people know about it. Myself. Demyan. And Lev. No one else.”
The weight of his words presses against me as the elevator glides upward. It feels like a secret folded deep within another secret, and somehow he’s sharing it with me.
When the doors open, I step into a space that steals my breath.
The penthouse is sprawling, all glass and light, the city skyline stretching out like an endless canvas of steel and flame.
High ceilings make the room feel endless, while clean lines and dark furnishings give it a kind of effortless authority.
It doesn’t just look expensive—it looks high-class.
My feet sink into the thick rug as I move forward, unable to hide the awe in my voice. “It’s…gorgeous.”
Niko sets his jacket over a chair, watching me with a faint curve of his mouth, like he’s amused by my wonder. “I’ll show you around,” he says, his tone softer now.
He leads me down a long hall, past wide windows where the city lights begin to wink on. “Living room, office, bedrooms, gym. And here”—he pushes open a glass door to a terrace that wraps around the penthouse, the skyline spilling out beneath us—“this is the view I come here for.”
The wind rushes past, cool and clean, carrying the scent of rain on concrete. I rest my hands on the railing, staring out at the glittering city. For the first time in a long time, I feel…high above it all.
And safe.
The wind toys with my hair, tugging strands across my lips, as if urging me to move, to feel. I close my eyes and breathe, soaking in the fragile moment.
Then heat slides against my back. Niko. His palm settles on my waist, heavy and immovable, an anchor keeping me from floating away. His breath ghosts over my ear. “You like it,” he murmurs, low enough to be a secret, sinful enough to be a vow.
A shiver runs down my spine. “Like it?” I laugh softly, looking at him over my shoulder. “This is…insane.”
His mouth curves, sharp and knowing. “I knew you would. It’s mine, and now it’s yours, too.”
Something about the way he says mine makes my pulse stumble. Not just the view. Not just the apartment. Me. My eyes lock on his, and the weight of it is unbearable, magnetic, pulling me closer even as my body trembles.
“Yours and mine?” I whisper, voice betraying me with its husky edge.
“Mm.” His gaze dips to my mouth, dark and molten. “Don’t test me, ogonek.”
The dare sparks in the air, hot and reckless. My heart drums so loud I swear he hears it. I turn to face him fully, my hand sliding up the hard wall of his chest, lingering at the sharp line of muscle beneath his shirt. Lower. Lower.
His breath stutters, almost imperceptible, but I feel it. The tension coils between us, suffocating, dangerous. When I sink to my knees on the cold balcony tile, his eyes widen—surprise flashing for a heartbeat before hunger swallows it whole.
His hand fists in my hair immediately, not guiding so much as claiming, a leash and a tether. “Fuck,” he growls when I take him into my mouth, the word jagged, broken. His other hand braces against the railing, knuckles white, as if he’s fighting not to lose control completely.
The city sprawls beneath us, but all I taste is him—salt, power, danger. His groan rips from his throat, raw and unrestrained, and it feels like a victory and a surrender at once.
“You have no idea….” His voice is gravelly, roughened with restraint. “How long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you on your knees, worshipping me like this.” His grip tightens until my scalp tingles, pain sparking sharp and sweet. “Christ, Noelle.”
Every word, every sound from him, feeds the fire in me. The glass wall behind us reflects the scene back—a twisted mirror of hunger and possession—and it thrills me, terrifies me, excites me beyond reason.
Then he drags me up, sudden and merciless, my knees scraping the tile as he hauls me against him. His mouth slams onto mine, hot and consuming, teeth biting, tongue demanding. His kiss tastes like obsession, like danger wrapped in desire.