Page 14

I wake up the next morning with a smile. The memory of Agafon’s kiss burns through me and feels fresh, considering how I dreamt of him all night.

I've kissed plenty of guys before, from college flings to men I met at clubs across Europe.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for Agafon Letvin.

The way his mouth claimed mine felt like he'd been starving for the taste of me.

The press of his body was hard and unyielding.

The rough groan that vibrated through him when I kissed him back still haunts my waking moments.

But now awake, I’m once again reminded of what led to that kiss. My body feels like a traitor to my mind. Damn Agafon Letvin and his arbitrary rules and his caveman possessiveness.

I sit up in bed and reach for some water, sipping to quench my thirst and praying it might cool my temper, brimming up again.

What kind of woman gets turned on by a man who fired someone for being “too friendly” with her? The poor guard was just making conversation, for heaven's sake. Agafon swooped in like some territorial beast, dismissing the guy on the spot.

And then he proceeded to kiss me senseless mid-argument. And what was I thinking, getting as turned on as I did by such primal behaviour?

And then he'd walked away, murmuring something about seeing me at dinner. Just turned and left me standing there with lips swollen and a pounding heart while he stalked off like he regretted every second of it.

The memory makes my cheeks burn with humiliation.

“Well, screw you too, Agafon Letvin,” I announce to my empty bedroom.

I've been a good wife for three weeks now. I’ve followed the rules, stayed inside, and accepted this bizarre arrangement like a docile lamb.

But slowly, I’m losing sight of who I am. The troublemaker, the one always up to some adventure or scheming away for entertainment.

Somehow, Agafon Letvin is making me lose sight of myself. The old me would never have kissed a man senseless after he fired a guy for speaking to her. The previous Lilibeth would have fought until that guard got his job back.

What the hell is Agafon doing to me?

I decide that today it’s time to remind myself who I really am, and I have a plan just for that.

The guard rotation happens in exactly twenty-five minutes, and I have to be out of the main house by then.

I quickly change into a comfortable pair of black jeans and a deep green sweater. I grab my purse, pull out some cash from my drawer, and stuff it inside. There’s no chance I'll use an ATM, as I have a feeling Agafon could use it within seconds to trace me.

When the time comes, I slip into the hallway. Two guards stand at the far end, checking their phones. They look up and nod at me, and I smile like there’s nothing going on. At this hour, they probably assume I’m heading down for breakfast.

I’m also not that nervous, because I know that by this hour, Agafon’s probably left for work, as he does every morning.

Once downstairs, I pass the dining room, and this is when I begin to be careful. I move as silently as I can, checking around corners before I keep going, until I reach the service corridor.

I inch up against the wall and duck my head out to look into the garden. At 11 a.m., the guards begin making their way to the security hut to get their next orders, and that’s the blind spot I’ve been waiting for.

I duck out of the service corridor and enter the garden when just then, a maid comes rolling in with a laundry cart from my right.

She gives me a curious look.

“Mr. Letvin sent me to check on something with the guards,” I lie smoothly.

She nods, unaware of any reason to doubt me. Besides, in the house, my position as mistress outranks Agafon’s, and the house staff has an unspoken rule to stay on my good side. As in every home they’ve worked in, the woman rules the hearth.

I keep my back against the house wall and then see a narrow pathway leading into the gardens, sheltered by a line of trees.

I take comfort in knowing the trees would block out the sight of me and duck into the path, running along the shaded path until I hit the boundary wall.

There’s a locked gate to my right, around seven feet high.

I quickly scale it and jump out on the other end.

I hurry down the street, away from the compound, my heart thumping with the thrill of this freedom. A taxi rounds the corner, and I hail it down.

“Where to, Miss?” he asks when I’m settled into the back.

“Fifth Avenue, please,” I say with a bright smile. “The shopping district.”

He eyes me in the rearview mirror. “Got some plans?”

I laugh with enthusiasm. God, it feels good to be treated and spoken to like any other person. “Yeah, you know. Retail therapy.”

“I disagree with you there,” he says, shaking his head. “Last time my wife went shopping, my credit card needed therapy after.”

I laugh and watch the city pass by. This is what I've missed—normal conversation, unguarded moments, the ability to go where I want when I want.

“Here we are,” the driver announces at last as we reach the street. “Happy shopping, miss.”

I hand him cash and leave a nice tip, stepping out of the right onto Fifth Avenue. I decide to start with the store of all stores—Bergdorf Goodman. Sofia would be proud of my choice.

Inside, the store is pure luxury. The entire place smells divine, like I’m on vacation somewhere.

A sales associate approaches me and takes in my casual outfit with a slight narrowing of her eyes. When I cock an eyebrow at her, her professionalism kicks in.

“Can I help you find something today?” she asks.

“Just browsing, thank you,” I reply, turning away from her judgment with a roll of my eye. This is the one thing I hate about luxury stores: how they judge people based on their appearance.

I wander aimlessly through the store. The truth is, I probably won’t shop. There’s nothing I want, except for freedom. For the first time in weeks, my shoulders relax. No guards. No rules. No Agafon watching my every move.

I'm trying on a jade necklace when I feel something odd. The store has grown quieter, and I hear people whispering, pointing, and staring, which causes a prickle of awareness to crawl up my spine.

The heavy glass doors at the entrance swing open, and I look up. Several men in dark suits enter first, scanning the area before stepping aside to create a path. And then—oh God—he appears.

Agafon walks in with his shoulders thrown back and barely contained fury etched across his face. His eyes dart around for someone, and I know exactly who.

Me.

How did he find me so quickly? I've only been gone for an hour.

He scans the store, and the moment his gaze locks onto mine, everything else disappears. The rage in his expression is undeniable, but there's something else there too: relief and worry.

But all that is lost when he walks toward me in anger.

There’s an announcement asking customers to leave, with salespeople showing people out. I listen intently as a woman walks up to me and explains something about the store being closed for a private client.

I nod and turn on my heels, wondering if I should walk out as she says, but just then, Agafon reaches my side and grips my arm. Not painfully, but with authority. “She’s with me,” he barks.

“Of course, Sir,” the saleswoman’s eyes dart between us with fear. That’s when I realize Agafon has literally shut down a major department store just to confront me.

My cheeks burn with fury and embarrassment. He snatched away my freedom, just like that. He crushed my little rebellion without even flinching, and I decide I too can meet his fury with my own.