Chapter 12 – Roman
It’s morning, and I lie awake, Elara curled against me, her small frame pressed into my chest. Her warmth seeps into me, soft and intoxicating, and without thinking, I pull her closer, burying my face in the glossy strands of her hair. She’s exactly as I imagined—soft, fragrant, perfect.
The memory of last night crashes over me, relentless and sharp.
The best sex of my life.
I try to frame it as a strategy, a calculated move to tether her closer, to make her mine in ways beyond the ring on her finger. But the truth claws at me: I wanted her then, with a ferocity I hadn’t expected, and I want her again, already, unbearably.
Her soft breathing against my chest, the weight of her body in my arms, the heat of her skin—every piece of her makes it impossible to think clearly.
My mind drifts over every detail: the arch of her back, the shiver when I touched her, the way she surrendered in moments I never imagined anyone could.
I tell myself she’s mine only by arrangement, by contract. But my mind, my body, every instinct I have, screams otherwise. She isn’t just leverage. She’s a storm, a fire I can’t put out, and the more I lie here, the more I realize I don’t want to.
I shift slightly, letting my hand brush the curve of her hip, and she murmurs in her sleep, soft and intimate. A small, involuntary sound, and it twists something inside me.
I close my eyes, trying to settle the storm inside. But I know it won’t be settled. Not while she’s in my arms. This isn’t right. I can’t afford this distraction. Already, I want to rouse her so I can have her again and again, but not only is she sore, but I also have work to get back to.
Making up my mind, I pull away from her sleeping form and leave the room. The door clicks shut behind me, shutting out the quiet rhythm of her breathing. I don’t look back.
I run into Luka in my office, arms crossed, eyeing the suit I’m still wearing from the wedding—haven’t even bothered to take it off. He scowls, but when our eyes meet, he quickly looks away, hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.
“Don’t you think it’s too early to be at the office?” he asks, voice teasing. “It’s barely two a.m. What about your honeymoon?”
“This isn’t a real wedding, Luka,” I reply flatly, dropping onto the leather chair behind my desk.
He scoffs. “Doesn’t seem like that to me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You should go be with your wife,” he says, shrugging.
I glance at him, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing my face, then wave him off. “Pour me a drink.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but one look from me silences him. Luka moves to the minibar, pours a deep amber liquid into a glass, and sets it in front of me. I let it sit there, untouched, as I watch the liquid catch the lamplight.
“And what are you doing here?” I finally ask, leaning back.
He purses his lips, the telltale sign that he’s switching to a serious mood. “Foreign buyers linked to David Chang have spread whispers. Elara…her disappearance. People are noticing, Boss. If we’re not careful, suspicion could land on the Rusnaks.”
I let the words hang in the air for a moment before taking a slow sip, letting the burn sharpen my focus. “Let them whisper,” I mutter. “David won’t know what hit him until it’s too late.”
Luka shakes his head. “It’s not just David. Investors, associates…they’ll be watching. Rumors can spark reactions you don’t want. Even you can’t control every angle if people start talking.”
I tilt my head, swirling the drink in my hand. “I’ll handle it. Nothing or no one touches my wife; nothing leaks. Understood?”
He nods, eyes lingering on me. “Understood, Boss. But these whispers…be careful. Sometimes shadows move faster than we do.”
I growl, setting the glass down with deliberate force. “Appearances can be handled. I’ll spin the marriage as a union, not a kidnapping. Everyone will see what I want them to see.”
Luka leans against the desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You’re losing your edge, Roman. I can see it. The way you look at her, the way you deal with her…this isn’t just a union to you. Your heart’s in it. You’re already letting her get under your skin.”
I pause, then snap, voice cold, “Get out of my office.”
He straightens, eyes meeting mine for a long moment before he finally turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.
The silence presses in, and I feel the tension coiling tighter inside me.
My pulse races—not from danger, but from the thought of her.
From the way she exists in my mind, unrelenting and untouchable.
I remember Luka’s words again, and deep down, I can’t shake the truth in them.
I pick up my glass, letting the burn of the liquor anchor me. Edge or no edge, she’s mine…in every way that matters. And I won’t let anyone, not even shadows, take her from me.
I drain the last drop and stand, the echo of glass against the wood sharp in the quiet room.
I cross over to the bar and grab a fresh bottle.
The weight of it feels good in my hand—steady, familiar.
For a second, I’m tempted to drink until I stop thinking about her, about what Luka said, about the mess I’ve made.
But I picture her in that bed—barely a day into this marriage—and the thought of stumbling back to her drunk feels pathetic. Weak. Not tonight.
I twist the cap back on and set the bottle down. The sound it makes against the counter is final.
I stay in the office for hours, forcing myself to focus on work that refuses to hold my attention. Numbers blur. Words fade. Every thought circles back to her warm skin, sharp tongue, eyes that burn like a challenge.
By six a.m., the city is stirring awake beneath a gray sky. I push back from my desk and decide it’s time to clean up, change, and try to pretend I’m not unraveling.
When I step into the suite, the sight that greets me stops me cold.
Elara stands by the window, wrapped in nothing but a sheet. Morning light spills across her bare shoulders, turning her hair into black heat. She doesn’t look soft. She looks like a warning.
Her gaze meets mine. It’s steady, calm, unyielding.
“You may own my body, Roman Rusnak,” she says softly, voice like silk over steel, “but you will never own me.”
The words cut cleaner than any blade.
And still, I can’t look away.
For the first time, I feel it—the sharp edge of doubt slicing clean through the wall of control I’ve spent years perfecting.
I can command armies, crush empires, and bend men to my will with a single word. But her?
I don’t know what to do with her.
“I don’t want anything more than your body,” I snap, the words tearing out before I can stop them. She’s filling my head with doubt, and I hate her for it.
She huffs, chin lifting. “Of course men like you are only good for sex.”
Damn. That one lands.
“You’re mad because you want me, Elara,” I bite out, stepping closer. “You’re angry at your attraction toward me. You’re angry you gave yourself to me yesterday without resistance.”
Her chest rises and falls, sharp and uneven, but she doesn’t speak.
“Learn to dissect your feelings and address them instead of lashing out,” I say, my voice low, dangerous. “I made you feel good. I made you scream.”
Her glare ignites. “Shut your mouth!”
“I bet that if I touch you right now, I’ll find you wet and waiting for me,” I say, voice low, taunting. “You hate that you claim to hate me, but your body is greedy for my touch.”
“Get away from me,” she spits, pressing back against the wall.
I take a step closer, just enough to make her pulse jump. “If I touch you, you’ll break,” I murmur. “You’ll beg me to fuck you. Want to test that theory?”
“Don’t you dare touch me.”
A bitter laugh slips from my throat. “Relax. Not even with a pole.”
Her eyes flash, cold and furious.
“I love women who know what they want,” I say, letting my gaze drag over her one last time, “and aren’t afraid to admit it.”
Then I turn and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I’m livid. Furious. The kind of anger that burns through my veins and leaves no room for thought.
I scrub my skin raw in the shower, like I can wash her off me—her scent, her taste, the memory of how she came apart under me. How could she surrender so completely last night and wake up pretending she’s untouched? Pretending I don’t exist?
Such a little minx.
I wrap a towel around my waist and step out, only to find the room empty. She’s gone.
I don’t panic. She can’t leave the estate. Every door, every gate, every guard belongs to me. Still, the image of her walking around half-naked, wrapped in nothing but those damn sheets, makes my vision darken.
I yank on a casual suit, fingers stiff with anger, and storm out of the room, only to almost collide with Luka in the hallway. I stop just short of slamming into him. “Have you seen Elara?”
Luka arches a brow. “Yeah, I passed her downstairs.”
My pulse spikes. “What was she wearing?”
He frowns, clearly confused by the question. “Sweatpants and a T-shirt. Why?”
“Good.” I exhale, the tension bleeding out of my shoulders. “Meet me in the office in fifteen. There’s a lot to work on.”