CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It’s all lies, darling.
Ari
The sheets are too soft. That’s the first thing I notice when I wake up—smooth as silk, almost slippery like they’re trying to pull me under.
A faint smell clings to them, something sharp and woodsy. Him. Us.
Did last night really happen? The vows, the intimacy.
Did Maxsim mean any of the things he said when he buried inside my body?
Shaking off the fantasy, I sit up and shove the blanket off with more force than necessary.
The hotel room is quiet, suffocatingly so. The heavy curtains keep the sunlight at bay, leaving the room bathed in muted gray. I rake my fingers through my hair and glance around the room.
Alone.
Unsurprising, given that marriages in our world operate on the assumption that nothing lasts. A moment of connection is fleeting at best…and deadly at worst.
I look down and see a faint red imprint of his finger on my thigh. The place where he held me and let pretty lies slip from his lips.
My stomach twists...and then I see it.
A tray on the nightstand holds a French press, two delicate porcelain cups, and a folded note with my name scrawled across it in sharp, black ink. Maxsim’s handwriting.
For a second, my chest tightens. I don’t know what to expect—maybe something personal. A leftover warmth from last night.
But when I unfold the note, the tightness in my chest explodes into anger.
The handwriting is precise, neat, and cold. Just like him.
Ari,
You’ll follow these protocols from now on. No exceptions.
The list is short, but every word slices.
1. Stay within the designated areas of our house unless otherwise approved.
2. Pasha or a guard will accompany you at all times outside the property.
3. Inform me of your movements in advance.
4. No unapproved guests.
The note crinkles in my hand, the sharp black letters staring back at me. My pulse thuds in my ears, drowning out the quiet of the room. Don’t be surprised.
I quickly admonish myself for the explosion of feelings. So what if I let him see the parts of me I’ve always kept hidden?
It’s a game between us, and I lost the bet.
My fingers tighten on the paper. A man like Maxsim Volkov will never see me as anything more than a tool.
I squash the part of me that wanted to believe he could be different. Slamming the paper onto the tray, the coffee cups rattle. The man can go straight to hell.
As if on cue, he strides in, perfectly put together. Cold and business-like. The impatient expression on his face suggests last night was nothing more than a formality.
A knife twists deep inside me—and I hope he doesn’t confuse my show of emotion last night with weakness. Because, like every Bianchi woman before me, I will slit a fucking throat with tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Good,” he says, barely glancing at me. “You’re awake. We need to discuss your schedule and security protocols.”
I blink and silently remind myself that anger is better than tears, better than grief, and far better than disappointment. “My personality wheel went for a pin this morning, so watch what you say next.”
Setting the tablet down on the desk, he finally looks at me. His blue eyes are ice, cutting right through me. “That’s something I’ll never do.”
I slide out of bed, yanking the sheet with me to wrap around my body. Not because I’m modest—I simply don’t want him to see the skin he touched last night. I don’t want him to think he still has access.
“This is how you’re starting our first day of marriage?” I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “With rules?”
But it’s not just the rules that bother me—it’s him. The way he looks at me. Cold and calculating. Like I’m a problem to be managed instead of a person.
Maxsim arches a brow, as calm as ever. “Would you rather I let you wander Boston unprotected and unaccounted for? The Cartel is sniffing around our operations, Ari. This isn’t a game.”
“A game?” My voice rises. “Do you think I’m stupid? I don’t need a leash, Maxsim.”
“If that’s what it takes to keep you alive,” he says, his voice like a whip, “then yes. You’ll have a leash.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. It’s bitter and loud enough to make him stiffen. “You really think you’re saving me, don’t you? All this—” I wave a hand at the note on the tray. “Means nothing. You are just another man wrapping chains in velvet and calling it protection.”
His jaw tightens, the only crack in his control. “And you’re reckless. Impulsive. You don’t understand the stakes here—”
“Oh, please,” I interrupt, stepping closer. “How many times have you survived being kidnapped by the Cartel?” His jaw ticks, and I laugh quietly. “That’s what I thought.”
“Ari—”
I put my hand up. “Spare me the lecture. I’ve been surrounded by men like you my whole life. Controlling, cold, and so afraid of losing power that you’d smother anyone who gets too close.”
The air between us crackles, charged and dangerous. His voice drops to something low and dangerous. “And you think you’d survive out there without me? You think you could handle what’s coming?”
I meet his glare head-on, refusing to back down. “At least I’d die free.” Anger burns through me, and I can’t stop the memories from creeping in—the weight of his hands on my skin, the way he looked at me like I was something fragile and precious. Like he saw me.
It was all an act. A moment of weakness he’s already erased from his mind?
Maxsim’s nostrils flare, but his voice stays calm. “That’s the problem with you, Ari. You think you’re invincible and don’t see the danger until it’s too late.”
I grab the crystal vase off the nightstand before I can think twice. The weight of it feels good in my hands, solid and cold. Without hesitation, I hurl it straight at his head.
It doesn’t smash.
My husband catches it mid-air, his reflexes fast as lightning. His hand is steady as he lowers the vase, placing it on the nightstand with infuriating calm. But his eyes—just for a second—flicker with something I can’t place. Anger? Hurt? He masks it quickly, his voice cool and measured. “Are you done?”
“Not even close,” I snap, the fire in my chest roaring hotter.
He takes a step closer, setting the vase down carefully on the nightstand. His movements are deliberate, restrained, and when he looks at me, his blue eyes are anything but calm.
“You can fight me all you want, Ari,” he says, his voice low and quiet. “But out there? They won’t give you the chance.”
His words hit harder than I want them to. My fingers curl into fists at my sides. “Better out there than in here with you,” I mutter, but the words don’t feel as strong as I want them to.
Maxsim takes another step closer, and I can feel the heat of him, the tension radiating between us like a live wire. His voice softens, but the edge is still there. “This isn’t about you anymore. You think you’re the only one at risk? Every move you make puts a target on both of us. On my men. On the alliance holding this whole thing together. You think this is a game? If you fall, Ari, we all fall.”
Before I can answer, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
The moment shatters like glass.
Maxsim answers it. “What?” he barks into the receiver, his tone sharp. I watch as his expression darkens, his free hand clenching into a fist.
“Double the patrols,” he snaps. “And I want every perimeter checked. Find out who’s missing.”
Missing?
A shiver runs through me, but I push it down. This is his problem, not mine.
He ends the call, already heading for the door. Pausing at the threshold, he keeps his back to me. “I won’t lose you, Ari.”
The door clicks shut a second later and I’m alone again. My hands tremble from the argument. I look at the vase I threw—it’s back on the nightstand, gleaming under the muted light like nothing happened.
That’s how he wants me to see it.
But last night was something.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the crumpled note still on the tray. Maxsim thinks he can control me, that he can wrap his rules around me like chains. But what scares me isn’t the rules—it’s that a part of me almost wants to follow them.
Not because I trust him…or need him.
Because maybe—just maybe—he’s right.