Chapter 62
Aurelia
Nikolai has been out dealing with business for the last twenty-four hours, leaving me with that cryptic message and then, poof—vanishing. Does the man really believe he’s Aladdin’s genie? Because, hello! I need more information, not to be left alone in his room.
Maksim came half an hour ago to deliver a deep purple ballgown to wear for this supposed ball. I tried to ask him about it when he dropped it off, but all he said was: “I can’t speak to the crazy lady.”
It was uncalled for, but I’ll accept it because apparently I bit his hand pretty hard.
The dress is gorgeous. It has a corset top with a pointed sweetheart neckline, and a slit up the side that runs all the way to my hip.
Getting ready for the evening, unsure if I’m preparing for my death or my escape, I try to face it with strength regardless.
I know it probably means I have to leave Nikolai if I want my freedom. But what if I want us to stay together and have more perfect moments like the one from yesterday?
I trail my fingers over the soft fabric, trying to imagine the evening ahead. The music, the lights, the people who have spent their lives calculating ways to control me. I hate them all, even from here, even when I can only feel them lurking at the edges of my imagination.
I lean over Nikolai’s bathroom counter, brushing my hair out into loose waves.
The reflection staring back at me is someone I recognize but don’t entirely trust—I mean, how could I? I allowed myself to open up to my kidnapper when I’ve spent my entire life training to be strong.
What if this is part of some big game to go after my brother? Am I really naive enough to allow myself to be played again?
But why would he go through so much trouble? I mean, I’m standing in what feels like an abnormally expensive dress, red-bottom heels, and wearing my perfume.
I don’t even want to know how he found that.
I think I just have to lean into the night and hope that I survive it.
Nikolai steps inside, owning the air, and all doubts fade when I see him in his black suit, perfectly tailored, his hands casually at his sides—everything about him screaming power.
I catch myself staring right away. He looks impossible. Dangerous. And mine.
But he beats me to it, “You look gorgeous, malyshka,” he says, eyes sliding over me, memorizing every curve, every line.
I can’t help it. A smirk lifts the corner of my mouth.
“You look nice too,” I reply with less confidence. Not because it’s not true, but because it makes me feel vulnerable, exposing myself to the risk of even more hurt I’m not prepared to take tonight.
“I think that’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me.” He steps closer, hands slipping into pockets, calm but tense. “I’m giving you a choice tonight. You’ll be able to walk out that door and never see me again. If you want.”
I blink, caught between wanting to scoff and wanting to throw myself at him. “Uh-huh. Cute. You make it sound like a real option.”
“But,” he continues, bending slightly so his gaze holds mine. “I want you to pick me. To leave here with me. Not because you have to, because you want to.”
My mouth goes dry. “That’s… a lot to decide in one night.”
“I think you’re phenomenal.” An anchor thrown in the storm. “I’ve been obsessed with you for years. You’re strong, beautiful… everything I’ve ever wanted. And I haven’t cared about anyone else.”
I stare for a moment, and then, because I can’t help myself, I laugh—almost disbelieving. “I’m sorry,” I cover my mouth trying to hold it together, “I just can’t believe that I’m falling in love with my kidnapper.” My hand throws out to him. “I’m almost as insane as you.”
He smiles, “Not even close.”
He pulls me in for a kiss, my grin pressed against his lips.
“Tonight, I need you to remember to trust me,” he says, reaching behind his back and handing me a large, slender knife.
I tilt my head, letting the words settle. Clearly unsure what tonight will hold for me if I need this knife, but if Nikolai, of all people, is trusting me with a knife in his presence, I know whatever choice I make, I can’t run from it. Not from him. Not from myself.
* * *
Nikolai walks with me, Ivan and Maksim following behind. The three of us load into his Rolls-Royce, Maksim behind the wheel.
I’m leaving.
I struggle to believe it, even as I hear the hum of the slick streets, blacked-out windows reflecting neon fractured glass.
I keep my hands clasped in my lap, trying not to fidget. Even with Nikolai’s presence beside me, quiet but heavy, nerves swallow me whole. Every so often, his hand brushes mine—an accidental graze or deliberate reminder, I can’t tell.
Maksim drives recklessly, as if nothing in the world could faze him. Ivan’s at his side, eyes scanning everything and everyone, hands resting lightly on his gun.
I have no illusions. If anyone tried anything, they’d know long before I did.
Still, tension seeps into my bones like cold water because the people waiting for us won’t need subtlety.
I turn to watch the window but I can feel Nikolai’s gaze on me—intense, watchful, calculating. I try to ignore it, mostly because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me nervous for the first time.
Just then, Maksim starts to speak, “Boss, pochemu my vso eto delayem dlya psikha, kotoryy otkusil mne ruku?”
Ivan throws his head into the window, clearly exhausted. “Maksim, nauchit’sya zakryvat’ svoy rot.”
Nikolai says nothing.
Then Maksim speaks up again, seemingly trying a different approach. “Yesli pozvolite, Mister Orlov, kak dolgo vy trakhayete ital’yanskuyu printsessu?”
Ivan rams Maksim’s face into the steering wheel, causing our ride to swerve. I grip Nikolai’s hand tight as a reflex.
“Eto bol’she, chem trakhat’, tupoy ublyudok,” Ivan says, looking back at us with a small smile, the first I’ve ever seen on his face.
I look to Nikolai, but they are clearly having some type of moment, so I just watch quietly.
When we finally slow to a stop, Nikolai reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a set of handcuffs. “I’m sorry, malyshka, it’s just for show.”
I turn around and let him cuff me, confident that I can trust him.
The cuffed hands kind of defeat the purpose of the knife that I have wrapped under my dress, but I’m hoping this is all planned.
The ballroom rises before us like a gilded cathedral. Chandeliers hang, spilling gold over polished floors. Music floats lazily through the air, a haunting mix of classical and jazz that should feel elegant but only makes my stomach twist tighter.
“Stay close,” he murmurs, just enough that it brushes against my ear, forcing my lips into a wry grin.
“You’re hovering,” I mutter under my breath, not letting him see the tremor in my hands.
“Protective,” he corrects, and I feel the weight behind that one word.
We move into the room, and immediately a crowd swirls around us, a river of silk, perfume, and ambition.
Gross-looking men with gorgeous women on their arms. People smile, talk, and drink, oblivious to the currents of danger under the chandeliers.
I scan the room, but it is almost impossible to focus when every glance carries a threat.
I recognize a few De Luca men, but most are Orlovs.
My eyes land on a group of men laughing, pointing around the room with an unnatural comfort.
My stomach drops when I catch his back.
Adrian.
Alive. Laughing. Clinking glasses with Viktor Orlov.
My chest tightens, my hands shaking behind my back. He’s a prisoner, a prisoner who has been fighting for his life for months—or at least, I had believed he was. And now here he is, smirking and surrounded by what seems to be his closest friends.
I turn to Nikolai but he won’t look at me. The man who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off me for weeks.
Everything clicks.
The timing, the way Nikolai had been everywhere, the things Adrian had said, the small jokes meant to distract me, the way both of them had orchestrated everything to keep me safe. And in that instant, betrayal twisted through my gut.
Rage, grief, disbelief, and a strange, burning warmth that maybe, just maybe, was relief all flood into my mind. My fingers clench the cuffs around my wrists, and my nervous, timid breathing turns into a raspy rage in an instant.
Nikolai notices the shift immediately. I can see it in the tension in his jaw. He knew. He always knew.
I was being played.
The painful thoughts running in my head slow when I feel him on my back.
“Focus,” Nikolai whispers, voice low, almost a growl, brushing my fingers lightly with his as he passes my hand. “No one touches you. Adrian is not your enemy right now.”
I let the words anchor me, even as my pulse races. I don’t speak. I don’t move. I just let him be the shield he had promised to be. It was the only way I could survive tonight, emotionally and physically.
I’m unbelievably pissed at them both, but I have no choice but to follow the plan set for the evening ahead.
Walking deeper into the ballroom, catching the eyes of what feels like every person in the room, I can’t stop my own from darting between Nikolai and Adrian.
The music shifts, a slow waltz, a deep jazz, and Nikolai instinctively guides me closer to his stature as we approach his father and Adrian’s group. It doesn’t feel like he’s controlling me, but trying to show me a silent promise: I’m here. I won’t let anyone take you.
I lean slightly into him, pretending to adjust my dress, but secretly I let the contact ground me.
I notice the subtle tightening of Nikolai’s shoulders when Adrian moves closer, positioning himself beside me, but I can’t speak yet, not with all this adrenaline and fury spinning inside me.
Tonight, I will not be a pawn. Not in anyone’s game. Not Viktor’s, not Adrian’s, not even Nikolai’s, though he might try to make me feel otherwise. Tonight, I have choices. Dangerous, terrifying choices.