Chapter 22
Nadia
I didn't know how long I'd been waiting when the knock on the oak door crashed through the silence like a sledgehammer.
"Ma'am," Sofia's voice came through, tight with something I couldn't quite name. "Pakhan's back."
Roman was home.
The words hit like a shot of pure adrenaline straight to the heart.
I didn't even bother with those damn velvet slippers—just bolted barefoot out of the room.
The Persian runner burned against my soles as I ran, my heart hammering so hard I thought my ribs might crack.
I needed to see him. Needed even a scrap of warmth from those dark brown eyes to prove I wasn't just some ghost haunting this manor.
But when I reached the landing, gasping for air, reality hit me like a bucket of ice water.
Under the massive crystal chandelier, Roman stood in the center of the hall. His tailored Armani suit was still damp from Chicago's bitter rain, his broad shoulders radiating that suffocating authority that came with being Pakhan.
But I wasn't the one greeting him.
Vera stood there in a soft cashmere cardigan, reaching up on her toes to slip his black wool coat from his shoulders. The movement was so natural, like she'd been doing it every single day for years.
"Roman, it's freezing out there. You must be frozen through." Her voice dripped with concern, those doe eyes locked on him.
Roman didn't push her away.
I froze halfway down the stairs, fingers white-knuckled on the brass railing. I looked like a goddamn joke—disheveled, breathless, hair wild from running.
He must have sensed the movement. His head turned slightly, eyes cutting toward me like a hawk spotting prey.
Our gazes met.
The air left my lungs. I opened my mouth—those words I'd rehearsed a thousand times stuck in my throat, choking me.
His eyes skimmed over my bare feet, my wrinkled dress, my pale face. His brows drew together in a tight line.
No warmth. No concern. Just irritation.
Then he looked away. Like I was nothing. Less than nothing.
"I'm fine." His voice dropped as he turned back to Vera, that hard jawline softening in a way I'd never seen. "What about you? The doctor said you're not recovered. Who told you to come down dressed like that?"
"I was just so worried about you..." Vera bit her lip, leaning closer to his chest. Her eyes flicked toward me—sharp, poisonous, triumphant.
"Back to your room. Don't make me say it twice." The words were stern, but his eyes held an indulgence he'd never shown me.
They didn't give me a single opening. Roman turned, draping his coat over his arm, and guided Vera down the hall toward his study. His body angled protectively toward hers.
He never looked back. Not once.
"Roman!"
Panic and rage coiled around my heart like vines. I finally found my voice and flew down the remaining steps. I needed answers. What the hell was I to him? Some cheap trophy he could toss in a corner and forget?
A wall of muscle blocked my path.
Danny. Roman's right hand.
The man who was usually friendly now wore no expression at all. He bent his head slightly, voice low and final. "Sorry, ma'am. Pakhan has important private business. He's not seeing anyone."
"Private business? I'm his legal wife!" My voice cracked, eyes burning. "Get out of my way!"
"Don't make this difficult, ma'am." Danny looked at me like I was unhinged. "Pakhan's orders are absolute. You should go back to your room."
I stood frozen. The handwoven carpet felt soft as cotton under my feet, but I might as well have been standing on broken glass.
Over their shoulders, I watched the heavy mahogany door to the study close behind Roman and Vera. That sharp click sounded like a gavel—final, damning.
Silence flooded back.
Sofia stood nearby, still holding the hot towel she'd prepared for Roman. She glanced at the closed door, then at me, something complicated flickering in her eyes.
Finally, she sighed and approached me. "Ma'am... Chicago winters are always long. What guys are thinking..." She hesitated. "Don't take it too hard. Go back upstairs and put something warm on before you catch a cold."
Don't take it too hard?
I looked down at my blue-tinged toes. Everything felt absurd. Grotesque.
I'd waited all day like a fool. Heard him come home and ran to him without even putting on shoes. And for what? To learn I wasn't even worth acknowledging.
"You're right, Sofia."
I lifted my head, forcing the tears back, twisting my mouth into something uglier than crying.
"Chicago winters are so cold it makes me sick."
I turned and climbed back up that freezing spiral staircase to the east wing, spine straight. If I was just a joke in this performance, at least I'd keep whatever dignity I had left—even if he'd already ground it into dust.