Chapter 4
Nikolai
Viktor looked at me like I had finally lost what little remained of my fucking mind. To be fair, maybe I had.
“You want to do what?” he asked flatly from across the office.
I leaned back in the chair, one hand dragging slowly across my jaw while rain battered against the windows behind him hard enough to rattle the glass. The storm outside matched the noise inside my skull perfectly. Violent. Relentless. Unwanted.
“I said,” I replied coldly, already irritated by the conversation, “I’m fixing it.”
Viktor stared at me for a long moment like he was trying to determine whether I had suffered some kind of brain injury during the last few weeks and nobody bothered informing him.
“You kidnapped her,” he said carefully .
“Yes.”
“You dragged her into a war she didn’t understand.”
“Yes.”
“You locked her in a basement.”
My jaw flexed once. “Temporarily.”
Viktor blinked slowly. “Temporarily?”
“She was safer there.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Everything is the point.”
He exhaled through his nose before dropping into the chair across from my desk, looking deeply exhausted by my existence. Good. Most people should be.
“And now,” he continued, “you want to throw her a birthday dinner?”
I hated how insane it sounded out loud.
The silence stretched between us while I stared toward the dark window behind him, my thoughts turning ugly all over again.
Eighteen. She had turned eighteen while being dragged across my floor kicking and screaming at Voss men.
While Roman tore apart the remains of my family looking for her.
While Lucien’s blood dried somewhere inside the Deveraux estate.
And for some reason, that fact had rooted itself beneath my ribs like a splinter I couldn’t dig out.
Most people would’ve looked at Emerald Deveraux and seen spoiled softness.
Pretty smiles. Expensive clothes. A mouth that never stopped moving long enough for self-preservation to kick in.
They would assume she floated through life untouched because she laughed too loudly and complained too dramatically and acted like the world existed purely to entertain her.
But I had watched her scream yesterday. Watched years of anger crack open inside her until there was nothing left between us except hurt, she spent her entire life disguising beneath sarcasm and attitude.
I ruined her birthday. The realization sat bitter in my chest because I did not feel guilty. Guilt implied weakness. Regret implied softness.
I simply... couldn’t stop thinking about it. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Viktor leaned back slightly, studying me with narrowed eyes. “You care.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re lying.”
I looked at him sharply. “Careful. ”
Viktor didn’t even blink. “You’re distracted, Nikolai.”
“I’m managing a collapsing empire while Roman Deveraux tears through everything Lucien built.”
“And still thinking about her birthday?”
My silence answered for me. That seemed to irritate him more than if I’d admitted it directly.
“You realize how insane this is, right?” he asked. “You’re sitting here trying to plan candles and flowers for the girl you kidnapped.”
“She hates me.”
“No shit.”
“She should.”
Viktor’s expression shifted slightly then, something quieter settling into it. “And that bothers you.”
I stood abruptly from the chair before I put my fist through the desk. “Enough.”
Viktor watched me pace toward the windows, hands flexing at my sides while irritation crawled beneath my skin like barbed wire.
Everything about Emerald had become a fucking problem.
The noise she brought into the house. The way staff members smiled more around her.
The fact I knew the sound of her footsteps without needing to look up anymore.
The fact that when she laughed, something ugly and frozen inside me loosened before I could stop it. Disgusting.
I should’ve been focused entirely on survival. On keeping the remaining Voss operations from collapsing. On eliminating threats before they reached my front door.
Instead, I was standing in my office mentally debating flower arrangements like some emotionally unstable idiot.
“She cried,” I said finally.
Viktor went quiet. I dragged one hand through my hair slowly, rage simmering low and directionless. “And I couldn’t fucking stand it.”
There it was. The truth. Not romantic. Not gentle. Violent. Because seeing Emerald cry yesterday hadn’t made me soft. It made me furious. At Roman. At Lucien. At myself. At every person who ever convinced her that wanting something normal made her weak.
Viktor rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“No,” he said. “You really don’t.”
I ignored that entirely.
By evening, the house had transformed into something unrecognizable. I hated every second of it.
The dining room sat lit almost entirely by candlelight, shadows flickering gold across black marble and dark walls while long trails of melted wax dripped slowly down silver holders positioned throughout the room.
A small table had been placed near the center instead of the massive formal setup usually used for dinners here.
Two chairs. Just two. The entire thing felt dangerously intimate in a way that made my skin crawl.
Soft music played low somewhere in the background while staff moved carefully through the room finishing preparations. The smell of expensive food and burning candles filled the air.
It looked beautiful. That was the problem. I stood near the doorway staring at it with growing irritation.
“You look like you’re planning a murder instead of a dinner,” Viktor spoke beside me.
“Maybe I am.”
“Too many candles.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Flowers are excessive too.”
I looked toward the black roses positioned across the table. “She’ll complain about them.”
“She complains about breathing.”
Fair.
I adjusted the cuffs of my black dress shirt slowly while trying not to acknowledge the strange tension tightening through my chest. Anticipation. Restlessness. Something darker. Pathetic.
A quiet knock sounded against the dining room door before one of the staff stepped inside carefully.
“She’s coming downstairs.”
Every muscle in my body tightened immediately. Fucking ridiculous. Viktor noticed.
“You’re nervous,” he said flatly.
I shot him a look sharp enough to kill weaker men. Then the sound of heels echoed softly down the hallway outside. My attention lifted toward the doorway automatically. Then stopped. Because she wasn’t wearing the fucking dress I sent her.
The black silk gown I picked out remained nowhere in sight.
Instead, Emerald walked into the room wearing white.
My jaw clenched instantly. The dress flowed loosely against her body, soft fabric skimming over every curve instead of clinging too tightly, which somehow made it worse.
Thin straps rested against pale shoulders while the material dipped low enough across her chest to reveal smooth skin that immediately dragged my attention somewhere dangerous.
The dress moved around her thighs every time she stepped forward, teasing glimpses of bare legs beneath the soft white fabric like temptation itself had learned how to walk.
Her blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders in soft waves, lips slightly glossed, blue eyes immediately locking onto mine the second she entered the room.
Beautiful. The word hit hard enough to piss me off.
White against all this darkness. White standing in my house. White standing in front of me. She looked untouched in a way nothing in my world deserved to touch.
My thoughts turned filthy fast enough I nearly recoiled from them. I imagined dragging that dress slowly off her shoulders. Imagined white fabric pooled across black floors while my hands— Clear your fucking head.
“Nikolai?”
Her voice snapped through the spiral hard enough that I realized I had been staring too long.
Emerald’s mouth curved slightly. “You look offended.”
“I sent you a dress.”
“Yes.” She glanced down at herself casually before looking back up. “And I decided black wasn’t my color.”
Viktor made a sound suspiciously close to choking back laughter behind me. I ignored him.
“White?” I asked coldly.
“What?” she replied innocently. “You already dress like you’re attending your own funeral every day. One of us needed contrast.”
God. Everything about her was exhausting. And still, I couldn’t stop looking at her .
She glanced around the dining room then, confusion slowly replacing the usual sarcasm in her expression as she took in the candles, flowers, and setup.
“What is this?”
For the first time in years, I genuinely had no idea how to answer a question.
Viktor thankfully saved me from myself by moving toward the door. “I’m leaving before this gets any stranger.”
“Get out,” I muttered. He smirked once before disappearing entirely.
The room fell quiet. Emerald looked back toward me slowly. “Nikolai.”
I moved toward her before I could reconsider it, reaching for the chair across from the table and pulling it back carefully.
Her brows lifted slightly. Definitely not something she expected from me. Honestly, not something I expected from myself either.
“Sit,” I demanded.
She stared at me another second before slowly lowering herself into the chair.
I rounded the table and took the seat across from her, candlelight flickering between us while silence stretched briefly. Then finally, because apparently, I had completely lost control of my own life —
“This,” I said flatly, “is me apologizing.”
Emerald blinked once. “What?”
“For your birthday.”
Actual shock crossed her face.
I hated how much I noticed it.
“You’re serious?”
“I don’t joke.”
“That’s honestly tragic for you.”
My mouth almost twitched into a smile.
She looked around the room again slowly, confusion softening into something quieter now. Less guarded.
“You did all this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”