Chapter 13
Alexei
She’s late. I check my watch for the third time when I hear footsteps on the stairs. She has on jeans and a cream sweater, her hair still dripping from not drying it properly.
“You’re late.” I set down my phone and stand, indicating the seat beside me. “And next time, make sure you dry your hair properly. It’s already getting cold in Moscow. You’ll catch a cold.”
Zoya walks past it and sits two chairs away instead. My jaw tightens, but I don’t comment, just moving to the chair beside her new position. Staff appears with breakfast, and she immediately pulls out her phone, grabbing an apple and taking a loud crunching bite while she scrolls.
I watch her ignore me completely as I reach for the toast, placing a piece on her plate and adding a side of eggs. “Put some peanut butter on it,” she demands, still not looking up as she crunches her apple louder.
Strange.
I arch my brows. “You want both?”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, scrolling away, still ignoring me.
It’s a strange combination, but I do it anyway, spreading peanut butter over the eggs and toast as I cut it into neat squares. I slide the plate closer as she picks up a square, eating even while she stays absorbed in her phone.
“Thanks,” she mutters, but she might as well be talking to something on her phone. I pour juice into her glass and set it within reach.
Zoya’s completely absorbed in whatever she’s reading, the apple crunching loudly between bites of the peanut butter-egg combination. She won’t give me a single glance, her indifference growing more maddening by the second.
“What are you reading?”
“News,” she says curtly.
Silence stretches between us as she keeps scrolling. I try again. “Zoya.”
“Hmm?” she quips, still not looking up.
“Put the phone down. I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“I can do both,” she says absentmindedly.
My hand tightens on my coffee cup as the frustration builds. “We’re going shopping today,” I state, watching for any sign of a reaction.
“Okay.” Crunch.
“For dresses. There’s a gala next week.” I wait for the words to sink in.
“Mm-hmm,” she says, still reading whatever is on that damn phone.
“You’ll be attending with me.” I lean in closer. “As my fiancée.”
Her head snaps up in that split second, the phone finally forgotten. Finally! “What did you say?”
“Fiancée. Soon to be wife.” I keep my voice level, stating it as an absolute. “The entire city needs to see you with me. They need to understand that you’re mine.”
She sets her phone down, her eyes narrowing as she asks, “So I’m a decoration? A trophy you parade around?”
“You’re my future wife.” My voice hardens. “And yes, you will be seen with me. It’s not negotiable.”
She picks her phone back up. “Fine. I’ll play dress-up for your event,” Zoya says, going right back to scrolling. “As long as I can get back to my work after.”
“What work?” I narrow my gaze, certain I’ll hate where this is headed.
She gives me a sharp look, swallowing once before answering. “My OnlyFans and my articles,” she answers with a slight chide in her tone. “I'm still doing the same thing I've always done, which is exposing criminals like you.”
And then, Zoya just goes back to her phone, her thumb tapping the glass as she tries to click something open, while I just stare.
A frown pulls at her lips. She tries again.
I watch her realize. Confusion turns to understanding, then fury.
“What…” She tries another app. Then another.
“What the fuck?” Her eyes snap to mine. “What did you do to my accounts?”
“What needed to be done,” I retort with a satisfied smirk.
She stands so fast her chair scrapes backward. “You shut down my accounts.”
“Yes.”
“You had no right…” she starts, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and rage.
“I have every right, Zoya.” I stand too, walking around the table until I’m right in front of her. “Your journalism career is over. Your photography is over. And your OnlyFans streams?” I lean down, bracing my hands on the arms of her chair to cage her in. “Those ended the moment you became mine.”
Anger sparks in her eyes. “You have no…”
"I already did." I watch her face go pale. "The accounts. The backups. All of it." I hold her gaze. "I'm a jealous man, Zoya. Did you really think I'd sit back and let strangers pay to look at what belongs to me?" Her mouth opens, then snaps shut. The words fail her entirely.
“You just took my income. Everything I had to keep me independent.” Her voice sounds paper-thin.
I straighten up, looking down at her. “Now everything you have comes from me.”
“This is why I ran.” Her voice trembles as she shakes with rage. “Because I knew. I knew you’d do exactly this.”
“You’re not Zoya Petrov anymore. You’re Zoya Koval. Soon to be Zoya Romanov.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but she jerks away from my touch. “That identity comes with certain restrictions.”
“Restrictions.” She laughs bitterly. “You mean chains.”
“I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t want to live a long life like you before.” I walk back to my seat, lowering myself into it. “Your investigation into Moscow crime ends now.”
“What, scared I’ll reveal your crimes?” She challenges me, her chin lifting as she searches for a crack in my composure.
“You don’t know me like I know you, I understand that.
” My voice softens. “I’ve loved you from a distance for five years.
You’re the most valuable person in my world.
Losing you wouldn’t just hurt me. It would destroy everything I am.
And I have enemies, Zoya. Dangerous men who would kill you just to watch me suffer.
Being my wife protects you. My name, my power, it keeps you safe.
But there’s still a war happening. We need to wait it out and keep you protected until the threats are eliminated.
Then we can have the peaceful life I want for us.
But I can’t give you that if you’re investigating criminals who want me dead. ”
“So this is about protecting me.” Her voice drips sarcasm. “How noble.”
“This is about keeping you alive.” I’m up and moving to her again, the distance between us vanishing in two long strides.
“When Dato took you, I spent five days in hell, not knowing if you were alive, if you were suffering, if I’d lost you before I ever really had you.
I tore this city apart looking for you. Barely slept.
Couldn’t eat. Every minute was agony thinking about what might be happening to you.
And when I finally found you…” I cut myself off, breathing through the memory.
“I swore I’d never let anyone take you again. Never.”
Her face crumples. And without warning, tears start falling, the pools in the corner of her eyes running down her pretty face.
Panic hits me instantly. “No, no, please don’t cry.
” I reach out, my hands clumsy as I try to wipe the moisture away.
“Please, Zoya.” I press kisses to her forehead and her cheeks - anywhere the tears land.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I shouted at you.
I lashed out. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m a bad husband. ”
“This was…” She hiccups, her voice fracturing. “This was the one thing I had control over. In my life. It may not have been…” Another hiccup. “…glamorous. But at least it was mine. And now you just…” Hiccup. “…barge in and…”
I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight while she sobs. “Let’s try to make this work for both of us,” I murmur, stroking her hair, trying to soothe the tremors. “I’m really sorry. Please.”
Zoya nods against my chest, a small, broken sound. “I’ll try.” She pulls back just enough to look up at me. I lean down, testing the space between us. Our faces are inches apart, her breath ghosting over my lips.
I force myself to stop, shaking my head and pulling back with an ache in my chest. “Sorry. I respect your no-touching rule. Go get your jacket ready.” My voice comes out rough, barely a whisper. “It’s cold outside.”
She nods, wiping her face one last time before heading for the door. As it clicks shut, I let out a heavy breath.
“This is how I’m going to die,” I say it to the silence. “For a woman. And I’d gladly go like that.” I straighten my suit, finding my mask again, and go find Viktor to arrange security for the shopping trip.