Chapter 15 #2
A cold, low voice with an absolute metallic edge cut down from the top of the stairs like a blade pressed to someone's throat.
I didn't hesitate for half a second.
I turned around. Nikolai stood halfway down the staircase. His gray eyes locked on Derek with pure, undisguised intent to kill. No anger. Just lethal purpose.
I walked straight to him. Before he'd fully descended the last step, I reached out, grabbed his arm, and leaned into him.
"Honey," I looked up, voice so saccharine even I got goosebumps, "you're finally down. I've been waiting forever."
His arm muscles tensed under my palm for an instant. Then an extremely faint curve touched his lips. His large hand spread, locked around my waist, and crushed me against his solid chest. The movement was so practiced you'd think we'd rehearsed it a thousand times.
"What happened?" he asked. Voice flat as glass, but the bone-chilling pressure even heavier. "My fiancée doesn't look happy."
"Nothing." I played along, burying my face in his suit lapel, breathing in that cold scent of cedar and gunpowder. "Just tired. Derek insisted on catching up. Took a bit of time."
I heard an extremely low rumble from Nikolai's chest. He lifted his eyes toward Derek. "Catching up?"
Derek froze. That smug, disgusting expression vanished completely. His face looked like he'd swallowed a whole dead rat. He opened his mouth, but under Nikolai's gaze—the way you'd look at a corpse—every word stuck in his throat.
"I was just..." His Adam's apple bobbed. He stuttered, backing up half a step. "Just saying hello to an old friend."
"Old friend." Nikolai rolled those two words on his tongue. "Derek, I recall you're married. Does your wife know you 'greet old friends' this enthusiastically?"
The atmosphere froze instantly.
Derek's face flushed crimson. He didn't dare say a word in response, just whipped around and scurried out of the living room like a whipped dog.
Only after his footsteps completely disappeared down the corridor did I exhale deeply.
I braced my hands against Nikolai's chest, about to step out of his embrace, when the large hand at my waist suddenly tightened, pinning my hip bone hard against his thigh.
"Vivienne." His voice scraped past my ear, carrying a low magnetic frequency that made my spine tingle. "What did he say to you just now?"
"Nothing important." I was forced to tilt my head back, meeting those stormy gray eyes. "A pile of garbage. Said he regretted it. Wanted to start over."
Nikolai's gaze instantly dropped to absolute zero. "Start over?"
"Give me a break," I patted his solid chest, snorting. "I already told him to fuck off. Honestly, even if every man on earth dropped dead, I'd rather date a rock than look at him twice."
Nikolai stared at me. That gaze was heavy, weighted with intense scrutiny.
Several seconds later, he suddenly lowered his head, pressing his lips hard against my temple.
That wasn't a gentle kiss—it was a brand, an absolute declaration of ownership. Scorching breath burned against my skin, making my heart skip several beats.
"If he comes within three feet of you again," he lifted his head, voice rough as sandpaper, "tell me. I'll make him forget how to open his mouth."
I nodded. Only then did I suddenly realize how dangerous our current position was.
His arm locked around my waist like iron. My palm pressed against his rapidly beating heart. Too close—close enough to feel the taut outline of his thigh muscles.
"Nikolai," I swallowed, throat suddenly dry, "he's gone. You can let go now."
"Don't want to." He didn't move. His thumb even pressed further, rubbing through the fabric at the small of my back, voice sliding into dangerously dark territory. "You threw yourself into my arms, used me, and now you want to run?"
"That was—" My brain short-circuited. I stammered a defense. "That was acting!"
"Oh?" He arched one sharp eyebrow, a predatory fire igniting in his eyes. "You acted well. So, fiancée, want to finish the performance?"
I glared at him. But God as my witness, my traitorous legs had gone soft as overcooked noodles. I couldn't even muster the strength to push him away.
Heavy footsteps from the top of the stairs abruptly cut through the nearly combustible tension.
I snapped back to reality, scrambling to push away from Nikolai's chest. He didn't force me to stay. His arm released, but his fingertips traced along my waistline with deliberate possessiveness before sliding slowly back into his suit pocket.
Peter Volkov descended from the second floor. His weathered face was tight, expression dark as a brewing thunderstorm. His sharp gaze swept between Nikolai and me, clearly sensing the lingering intimacy and tension in the air. But he didn't care.
"Where's Derek?" Peter stood at the hallway entrance, cold eyes scanning the empty living room, brow furrowed tight.
"He left." Nikolai's tone was calm, didn't even lift an eyelid. "Probably suddenly remembered he's got a newlywed bride who needs attending to."
Peter's brow instantly knotted. He gave a heavy snort, displeasure written all over his face.
"Nikolai, could you be a little more tolerant toward your brother?
Derek's always been sentimental. He just came to say hello.
You're the head of this family now. If you can't even show that much generosity, how will you command respect? "
Nikolai calmly adjusted his cufflinks, catching cold light, and didn't even lift an eyelid. "He left. Maybe his supermodel bride suddenly couldn't spare him, rushed back to fulfill his husbandly duties."
"He's your brother, Nikolai. You're always so harsh with him." Peter snorted coldly, undisguised favoritism in his eyes. "Derek just wanted to liven up a family gathering. He meant no harm."
This kind of unprincipled bias, Nikolai was clearly used to.
His face didn't even ripple with sarcasm.
He just pulled at the corner of his mouth, tossing out a bland dismissal.
"Is that so? Then I hope next time he tries to 'liven things up,' he doesn't run off like a dog whose tail got stepped on. "
Peter's expression darkened further. He walked to the mahogany sofa, sat down, picked up Derek's half-finished whiskey and swirled it, voice heavy with pressure.
"Derek's recent real estate projects in New Jersey have been impressive.
Several of the old guard on the Council praised him.
Now that you've secured the Pakhan position, you should understand what it means to be a proper leader.
Hand over part of the East Coast shipping lines or the New Jersey private equity fund to him.
He knows how to deal with those Washington politicians better than you. He's more of a Volkov."
At this point, those lifeless eyes suddenly turned, drilling into my face, mouth curling into a cruel sneer.
"As for this Miss Cole... Nikolai, the Volkov table is large, but there's no room for questionable origin, rat-attracting cheap vases.
At formal occasions, I expect you to bring a woman who truly matches the Volkov name, not some plus-size toy who can barely scrape by at a third-rate editorial house and barely squeezes into haute couture. "
The air solidified. Even the birdsong outside seemed strangled.
I felt Nikolai's hand at my waist instantly lose tension—that was the stillness before an explosion. But I didn't give him a chance to speak.
Plus-size toy.
Fuck that.
I'd been gritting my back teeth, cycling through every curse word I knew ten times over, warning myself that for the sake of that triple-salary paycheck, I had to hold it together. Tonight I was just an emotionless contract vase.
But hearing this absurdly offensive bullshit, my temples started pounding.
The nausea in my stomach instantly burned away in a chemical fury. I took a deep breath of the stale, musty air and tilted my head slightly, meeting Nikolai's gray eyes swirling with dark currents.
I didn't speak immediately. Just raised half an eyebrow and gave him a brilliant fake smile with zero warmth.
Fuck the contract.
I was done.