Chapter 4 – Mike
It’s been hours since I left Ellie in the room, and I still haven’t relaxed. The fear in her eyes. Her anger. I understand the anger. Imagine waking up in a strange house to see a man saying he’ll marry you. The anger is understandable.
But the fear? Why does she look at me like that? It breaks something in me. I saved her last night. Every move, every calculation, every ounce of control I exercised—it was to keep her alive. I never want to see her hurt. I never will.
I sigh and rub a hand through my hair, leaning back on my swivel chair. The leather creaks beneath me as I roll slowly, taking in my office.
It’s large. Cold. Functional, but every detail screams power.
Dark mahogany panels line the walls, polished until they gleam under the low amber light of the chandelier.
Shelves of books—strategy, history, criminal psychology, languages—stand like sentinels.
Each spine is a weapon, each title a reminder of control.
My desk is massive, blackened wood with a leather blotter stretched across the surface.
Sparse, almost clinical, except for the encrypted devices and monitors that glow faintly, feeding me live security feeds, logistics routes, and encrypted messages.
Every screen, every device, is a node of my empire—my kingdom, under my control.
A Persian rug stretches underfoot, dark red and black, heavy enough to swallow sound.
Personal touches are few, deliberate: a framed photo of my parents, a black-and-white shot of the old Rusnak compound in Moscow, a hand-inked calligraphy of a Russian proverb I memorized as a boy.
They remind me of where I came from. Where I must go.
Everything in this office speaks of discipline, strategy, and control.
Yet, I feel that control slipping.
The office door swings open, and I swivel my chair, expecting Sergei. He’s been running errands since morning—sending news of my coming marriage to my brothers, organizing venues, arranging the perfect wedding dress for Ellie.
This isn’t what I want. Not that I don’t want to marry Ellie. If I were ever the “marriage type,” it would be her. But this isn’t about choice. It’s about survival—hers, first and foremost.
She won’t understand that. She’ll hate me for it. And the thought kills me. I can’t even allow myself to be involved in the details, because guilt eats at me every second. Yet I cannot stop. This is the only way to keep her alive until I figure out who sent those men last night.
But when I turn, it’s not Sergei.
It’s Anya.
My ex-girlfriend. We dated a few years ago, ended it shortly after, and had a few reckless, quick sexual encounters afterward, but that was months ago.
Yet she’s refused to leave me alone.
I haven’t taken any harsh action before because she’s tangled up in Bratva business and is technically harmless, but right now, the sight of her makes something coil tight in my chest. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t dare.
She walks toward my desk, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor.
Her face is contorted in anger, a familiar mix of entitlement and defiance.
She’s wearing a short skirt, netted stockings, and a fur jacket.
Designer bag—one I bought her—dangles from her arm like a statement.
Every inch of her is meant to seduce, but it infuriates me instead.
I don’t move. I don’t react. My gaze pins her, sharp and cold.
“I see,” she says, voice sharp, dangerous. “You’ve been busy. Very…busy.”
I let the silence stretch. Every second she’s here is a challenge, a test. I tighten my jaw. “Anya. Leave.”
“Tell me it’s a rumor,” she growls.
I know exactly what she means. News like that travels fast—the whispers, the speculations. The fact that she’s heard already doesn’t surprise me.
“It’s not,” I say, flat.
She tilts her head, mockery curling her lips. “A British student? That’s who you choose? You?”
I don’t dignify her with a response. I don’t need to. She knows she’s overstepping. She knows the rules.
So she walks across my desk. Slow, deliberate. Heels click against the polished wood like a countdown.
“Mike,” she purrs, voice low, insistent. “We were meant to be together. I can stand beside you. That girl can’t! She’s too fragile. She’ll be a liability.”
I almost lose my temper. Almost.
She reaches out to touch my face, her fingers brushing my jawline, but I catch her wrist in a vise grip. Cold. Controlled. “You were convenient,” I tell her, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t confuse that with important.”
Her eyes flash—humiliation, anger, a sharpened edge of menace. She doesn’t back down. She leans slightly closer, whispering, “You think you’re untouchable, Mike, but everyone has a price. Everyone has a weakness.”
I tighten my hold, letting her feel the unyielding force behind it. “Leave. Now. Before this gets really worse for you.”
Tears prick the corners of her eyes immediately. She stammers, voice shaky, “I…I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. I love you…I know you…I’ve always been there.”
I don’t flinch. I don’t respond. I just drop her hand and grab the phone on my desk, punching in some numbers.
She leans forward, panic creeping in. “What are you doing?”
I still don’t respond. My eyes remain fixed on her, cold, unreadable.
Someone answers on the other line: “Yes, Boss.”
“Please come to the office. I need you to escort someone out.”
A pause. “Okay, Boss.”
I put the phone down.
Anya gasps, a sharp, incredulous sound. “You’ve crossed the line! You’re treating me like…like an animal! All because of a woman you haven’t even married!”
Her voice is rising now, shaking with indignation, but there’s no fear left, only fury.
“This isn’t over, Mike,” she spits, then storms toward the door.
She slams it so hard it reverberates through the office, shaking the polished floor beneath me. My teeth grit.
For a long moment, I sit there, breathing slowly, trying to regain my composure before I go see Ellie. I had Sergei call Raelyn, her best friend, to bring her over to talk. But that was hours ago. I’m sure Raelyn would have left. Konstantin can’t bear to have Raelyn out of his sight for too long.
By the time I reach the hall, Ellie’s suite door is open. I pause just outside, letting my eyes take in the scene. Raelyn is still there, standing behind her, hands lightly adjusting the fabric of the dress as they quietly talk.
Ellie stands rigid, framed in her white silk wedding dress. The light catches the dress, soft and elegant, but her posture is stiff, defensive. Raelyn’s voice floats from behind her. “It’s beautiful, Ellie. You look stunning.”
Ellie spins around, face flushed, fists clenched. “I hate it,” she snaps, voice sharp, filled with fury.
I let myself take it in—every line of tension in her body, every flicker of emotion in her eyes. My chest tightens. Protective, possessive, alive. The anger she radiates, the defiance, it’s intoxicating.
I step into the doorway, boots clicking softly against the floor. She freezes, eyes snapping toward me. That glare, her fiery, unbroken spirit, makes my pulse spike.
Raelyn turns, and when she sees me, she directs a pointed look in my direction before nodding at Ellie.
“I’ll go grab water,” she says, voice tight. She walks out, leaving us alone.
“You look beautiful,” I murmur, my voice low, as I let my eyes take in the silk, the sharp lines of her jaw, and the fire in her gaze.
She explodes. Words like venom spill from her lips. “You—kidnapper! You—you brought me here!”
I shrug, calm, almost teasing in the edge of it, masking my guilt at this situation we’ve found ourselves in. “I saved you, Ellie. And you’ve never once thanked me.”
Her eyes blaze hotter, and she scoffs, throwing her hands up. “Saved me? I wouldn’t need saving if you hadn’t been obsessed with me in the first place!”
I don’t deny it. I don’t even flinch. Instead, I step closer, letting my shadow fall over her. “Obsessed?” I repeat, low, controlled. “You belonged to me the moment I saw you.”
Her stare hardens, incredulous, as if I’ve lost my mind. “You’re crazy,” she spits, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
I watch every flicker of disbelief, every pulse in her throat. The world narrows to just her. And despite the anger, the accusations, part of me aches with the truth she can’t see yet—I’ve wanted her from the moment I first laid eyes on her. And now, no force on Earth will change that.
I lean just slightly closer, voice dropping to a growl that vibrates against the tension between us. “Crazy? Maybe. But you—” I pause, letting my gaze lock with hers, “—you’re mine. Whether you believe it or not.”
Her eyes widen, lips part slightly, and I see the flash of realization, terror, and…something darker flickering underneath. Defiance. Challenge.
The room feels impossibly small. Her fury and fear, my obsession and control—they collide like storms, and neither of us will back down.
“I don’t belong to anyone. I don’t belong to you, Mike.” Her words are sharp, defiant, and they hit like stones.
I shake my head slowly, my gaze locked on her.
“You do. I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.
I wanted to do it properly, to come to you like a gentleman.
I waited because I wanted you to choose me.
I would still be waiting if they hadn’t marked you, but your life and safety are more important to me than anything else. ”
Her eyes flash, disbelief, fury, a storm of everything I’ve never been allowed to touch.
“Leave,” she snaps, her voice firm, yet exhaustion lingers, the kind that comes from fighting and realizing there’s no escape. “Just go.”
I nod once, deliberately, letting the weight of the moment settle between us. “I’ll see you at the altar.”
Her glare burns into me, but I do not flinch. I turn, leaving the room quietly, the sound of my boots echoing against the floor.
Behind me, I know she’s fuming, terrified, and confused. But she’s also perfectly alive, and perfectly unbroken. That’s all I want.