Page 17

He doesn’t knock, although he never does.

The door swings open with that same quiet authority he carries into every room—shoulders squared, expression unreadable. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, barefoot, hair damp from the shower I barely had the will to take.

“Get dressed,” he says. “We’re leaving soon.”

His voice is clipped. No warmth. No explanation, just expectation.

I glance toward the garment bag that had been laid across the bed while I was gone. I’d avoided touching it, like maybe if I pretended not to see it, it wouldn’t matter.

“Where?” I ask, because I can’t stop myself.

Kolya’s eyes meet mine. “It’s not up for discussion.”

Then he leaves.

The pit in my stomach twists tighter.

I sit still for a moment longer, fingers curled into the bedspread, then I move. Not because he told me to. Not obeying feels worse. Like tempting something too sharp to be played with. Maybe, just maybe, because part of me is curious.

What the hell does a man like Kolya Sharov consider a formal event ?

When I unzip the garment bag, my heart sinks.

The dress is sleek. Dark as ink. Silk, or something close to it. Backless, with a slit that rises far too high, and a neckline that promises attention I’m not ready for. It’s expensive. Designed to make a woman feel powerful. Or owned.

My hands tremble as I pull it on.

By the time I step out into the hall, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, Kolya is waiting. He turns at the sound, and for the first time in what feels like days, he looks .

Not just stares. Looks. His eyes darken, and something in his jaw tightens.

It lasts all of three seconds. Then it’s gone—buried beneath the same cool mask he always wears.

***

The car is silent as we drive through the city, lights streaking across the windows like falling stars. I sit stiffly beside him, my hands curled tightly in my lap, nails biting into the soft flesh of my palms. The dress feels like a second skin, suffocating and too soft all at once, and every time the silk shifts over my thighs, I’m reminded how little of me is covered.

Kolya hasn’t said a word since I stepped into the car. Just stared ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily over the armrest like this is any ordinary night.

It isn’t.

I don’t ask where we’re going. I already know it won’t matter. Whatever this is, it’s not for me. I’m just… a piece. Something he can put in place and use when needed. Tonight, I’m apparently meant to sparkle.

The car slows in front of a building so tall it disappears into the night sky, glittering with lights like a crown carved out of steel and glass. People are already streaming through the grand entrance, dressed in black, gold, deep reds—wealth on full display, every inch of them screaming power.

I don’t belong here.

Kolya steps out first, then circles around to open my door. He doesn’t offer his hand. He doesn’t need to. I slide out carefully, adjusting the hem of the dress as I stand, heels catching the light. The wind bites against my bare legs, but I keep my chin high.

Inside, the world smells like perfume, cigars, and politics. Chandeliers drip from the ceiling like crystal teardrops, casting fractured light across marble floors. Men shake hands with forced smiles, women air-kiss with painted mouths, and somewhere in the background, a string quartet plays a piece I can’t name.

Kolya barely glances at any of it. His hand finds the curve of my waist, pulling me to his side with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist. I stiffen, but his grip is iron.

Then he says it. “Meet my fiancée.”

The words fall like a guillotine.

My throat tightens, but I say nothing. I smile—small, polite—and nod at the older man standing in front of us. His eyes flick from Kolya to me and back again, expression unreadable, but I feel the weight of the judgment. I feel it from all of them. Every person we pass, every handshake exchanged, every too-long glance at the dress I didn’t choose.

To them, I’m a pretty thing. A decoration. A kept woman in too-high heels with sharp eyes and a dangerous man wrapped around her finger—or the other way around.

I don’t shrink. I can’t afford to.

So I smile tighter. Sharper. I let the fire behind my ribs keep me steady.

Kolya says little as we drift through the crowd, but he doesn’t have to. His hand never leaves me—resting at the small of my back, fingers brushing the edge of my spine, always touching. Claiming. And though I want to hate it, want to rip away from him and scream, I feel the heat of him at my side like a magnetic field.

He smells like clean smoke and something darker beneath it—something earthy and rich that always makes me breathe too deep without realizing.

People ask questions. Where I’m from. How long we’ve been engaged. What I do.

“My Elise is a doctor,” Kolya answers once, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “Brilliant, isn’t she?”

I narrow my eyes at him, but the man we’re speaking to only laughs and nods, impressed. It’s the first time Kolya has said something about me that didn’t sound like control.

Still, it’s not enough to make me forget who he is. What he’s done. What I’ve seen .

“You must be very patient,” a woman says to me later, her diamonds glinting like knives. “Kolya is… intense.”

I sip my champagne and smile, just a little. “Patience is part of my training. But intensity doesn’t scare me. Men who hide behind manners do.”

Her brows rise—just a tick—but she laughs, a genuine sound. “Oh, you’ll be fun to watch.”

Kolya watches me the entire night.

Not just with the cold possessiveness I’ve come to expect—but something else. Something darker. Like he’s seeing me in a new light. Like every word I speak, every glance I deflect, only draws him in tighter.

He pulls me aside once, into a quieter corner of the ballroom where the music hums low and the light softens. His hand slides along my waist, settling on my hip.

“You enjoy this,” he murmurs near my ear.

“Enduring this, maybe,” I say tightly. “Enjoying it? Hardly.”

His mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “You looked like you belonged here.”

I turn my head, our faces suddenly close. “You mean I looked like I belonged to you .”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

I step back before the heat rising in my chest turns into something worse. Something I can’t hide.

I need air.

The ballroom is too warm. Too loud. The music swells in my chest, and Kolya’s hand hasn’t left my back in hours. He keeps his palm there like he’s pinning me in place, like if he let go for even a moment, I might slip through the cracks in the floor and disappear.

He’s not wrong.

Disappearing feels impossible in this dress. Every pair of eyes lands on me like they’ve been trained to. Every whispered conversation seems to turn just as we pass. The silk clings to my legs, my spine, my ribs. It doesn’t breathe, and neither can I.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, barely looking at him.

Kolya doesn’t stop me. He just gives a nod, slow and unreadable, before returning to the men clustered around him—men in tailored suits with heavy watches and heavier secrets. Men who nod at him with smiles that never reach their eyes.

I slip through a side door and into the corridor beyond, heels tapping quietly against polished marble. The coolness of the hall wraps around me like a second skin, merciful and sharp. My lungs finally expand.

I lean against the wall and close my eyes, just for a moment. One breath. Two.

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

My eyes fly open.

The voice is familiar. Too familiar. I turn slowly, and there she is. Alina Carter.

Auburn hair swept into a loose knot, green eyes lined in soft gold, lips curved in a smile I don’t trust—but also don’t hate. She’s shorter than I remember, maybe because I’m wearing heels, or maybe because she’s thinner than she used to be. But the smile is the same. So is the spark in her gaze.

“I—Alina?”

She laughs softly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I blink, stunned. “I feel like one.”

Her brows knit. “Elise… what the hell are you doing here?”

I want to ask her the same thing, but the words don’t form.

Instead, I take her in—her expensive dress, her glittering clutch, the quiet confidence in her stance. She belongs here, somehow. She fits. Not like me.

“I’m with—” I hesitate. I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to see her face change. “Kolya Sharov.”

Her smile fades. Slowly. Carefully. “With?”

I nod once, the movement stiff. “Engaged.”

To her credit, she doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t look away. But I can see it all happening behind her eyes—the shock, the confusion, the calculation.

“Elise,” she says gently, “I heard rumors, but I didn’t believe them. About you. About him. You—you’re really—”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then, “Are you okay?”

It’s the way she says it—low, soft, like she already knows the answer. Like she expects a lie.

I force a smile. “Define okay.”

She doesn’t press. Maybe she knows better than to push. Maybe she sees something in my face that makes her pause.

“I didn’t think I’d see anyone I knew tonight,” I say instead, needing to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—else.

“Neither did I.” Her tone turns careful. “My uncle’s involved with some of the Russian investors here. Real estate deals. I got dragged along as the token pretty face.”

I nod. “Sounds familiar.”

Her eyes flick to my ring. “I didn’t know you were—close to someone like him.”

“I wasn’t,” I say quickly. “It just… happened.”

That’s not the truth. Not all of it. It’s the closest thing I can manage with my pulse still rattling against my ribs.

Alina steps closer. Her voice drops. “If you ever need anything— anything —you come to me. Okay? I’m not part of this world.”

I almost laugh.

Neither was I. I nod again, slower this time. “Thanks.”

I mean it. For a second, just a breath of time, it feels like the world outside still exists. That someone remembers who I was before Kolya. That maybe, I’m not entirely alone.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, reaching out to squeeze my hand once.

Then she disappears down the corridor, heels tapping like echoes of a life I almost had.

When I return to the ballroom, Kolya is watching the door.

He always is.

His eyes find me instantly, and his jaw ticks just once when he sees who I was talking to. I don’t explain. I don’t offer anything. And he doesn’t ask.

As he takes my arm again, leading me deeper into the noise and heat, I feel it—the leash tightening.

***

The air in the car is thick with tension, heavier than before. Neither of us speaks.

Kolya’s hand rests on his thigh, fingers drumming in a slow, relentless rhythm that mirrors the pulse now thrumming between my legs. My skin still hums from the weight of his arm around my waist all evening, the slide of his hand along my spine. The memory of it burns in places I’m trying hard not to think about.

I hate how aware I’ve become of him. Hate how I notice every movement, every shift of his body. The way his shoulders roll beneath a suit tailored to perfection. The faint scent of expensive cologne and something darker beneath it—gunpowder and sin. It’s been branded into me now. I don’t even know when it started. Only that it’s always there.

We pull up to the estate and step out in silence. The sky above is clouded, a pale haze of moonlight breaking through just enough to illuminate the marble steps. I move ahead of him, needing to put space between us, needing the distance.

It’s a mistake.

The second we’re inside, I feel him behind me—close. His steps deliberate, controlled. Like a predator deciding if now is the moment to strike.

I should run. Say something sharp. Hide in one of the endless guest rooms and wait for the electricity crackling between us to fizzle out.

I keep walking, heart pounding louder with every step.

He catches me in the hallway. A dim, golden strip of light from a wall sconce paints shadows across the length of his jaw. Before I can turn, before I can even breathe, his hand grabs my arm and spins me.

I’m slammed gently— firmly —against the wall.

The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. My eyes flash upward.

He’s already there.

His body presses into mine, not enough to hurt but enough to command. Enough to remind me what he is. Who he is. How dangerous it is to want him the way I do.

His mouth is on mine before I can speak.

It’s not a kiss. It’s possession.

His lips crush against mine, all heat and teeth and barely held control. His hands are rough, sliding down my waist, gripping my hips like he wants to tear the dress from my body. I respond without thinking—lips parting, head tipping, hands fisting in the front of his shirt.

He groans into my mouth, low and guttural, the sound vibrating against my chest.

There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing sweet.

It’s violent in its hunger. Messy. Clumsy. Perfect.

His thigh wedges between mine and I gasp, arching up into him. The pressure is maddening. My body betrays me with every pulse and shift, every desperate little sound I can’t keep trapped in my throat.

I want more.

His mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing skin just hard enough to sting. My legs go weak, my knees wobble, but his hands are already under my thighs, lifting me. I’m weightless for a second before my back hits the wall again.

He holds me there like I’m nothing. Like I’m everything.

His mouth returns to mine, slower now. Deeper. His tongue strokes against mine and I moan again, shame and need tangled too tightly to tell apart. One of his hands slides up, fingertips brushing the underside of my breast. I shudder.

“Having fun?” he whispers, and I can only groan as his cock twitches against my thighs.

Every time I remember the blood on his hands, the ruthlessness in his eyes… I also remember how he looked at me tonight. How he made the world stop spinning every time he touched me.

His dominance terrifies me, but I want it.

I crave it.

When he presses his hips into mine and I feel the thick heat of him through layers of clothes, I nearly break. My body pulses in rhythm with his breath, both of us caught in something we can’t name.

My head falls back against the wall. I let out a shaky, desperate breath.

He freezes. Then he pulls away. Just a little.

Our lips are still close. Our bodies still pressed together. But he doesn’t move further. Doesn’t take.

He just stares at me.

His pupils are blown wide, his mouth swollen, breath coming in uneven bursts.

I watch him fight it. The need. The hunger. The urge to finish what we started.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I press my back harder into the wall, trying to slow my pulse. Trying to quiet the ache between my thighs. Trying to breathe.

He runs a hand down his face, jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I laugh—bitter, breathless. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

I don’t sound angry; I sound wrecked.

He leans in again—close, but not touching. His mouth brushes my ear.

“You don’t belong to anyone else,” he whispers. “I’ll remind you every time you try to forget that.”

I don’t let him walk away this time.

He steps back like he always does—his mouth swollen, breath ragged, guilt or restraint or whatever the hell that tension is already settling over his face. I see the flicker in his eyes, that split second of war inside him, and for once, I don’t care.

I grab his wrist before he can leave.

His eyes snap to mine. Surprise flashes through them—brief and sharp—but I don’t flinch. I don’t look away. I step into him, slow and deliberate, my fingers sliding up the center of his chest to the collar of his shirt.

My voice barely rises above a whisper. “You don’t get to touch me like that and then disappear into the dark like it meant nothing.”

His breath hitches. “Elise—”

“No.” I rise up on my toes, pressing my mouth to his.

This time, I’m the one who kisses first, and he breaks.

The control I’ve seen him wear like armor—every gesture, every movement, always calculated—shatters beneath my hands. He groans into the kiss, deep and guttural, one hand grabbing my waist and yanking me against him so fast the breath leaves my lungs. The other tangles into my hair, tilting my head, giving him access to every inch of me.

His mouth is hot, greedy, everywhere.

I run my fingers beneath the lapel of his jacket, dragging them down his chest, feeling the muscles flex beneath the fine fabric. He shudders when I touch him. Kolya Sharov , the man who commands rooms without speaking, who’s had blood on his hands and a gun in his palm every time I’ve seen him angry—he trembles for me.

The realization steals my breath.

“You drive me mad,” he murmurs, mouth grazing my jaw, breath hot against my skin. “I should’ve left. I tried to.”

“You didn’t,” I whisper, sliding my hand lower. “You stayed.”

His head falls forward until our foreheads touch, and I feel the rapid thud of his heart where our chests press together. There’s something about this—something unhinged and delicate at the same time. It feels like standing on the edge of something that could swallow us both whole.

“I want you,” I say before I can stop myself.

Kolya curses under his breath, his grip tightening. “If we don’t stop, I won’t.”

My reply is simple. I kiss him again.

Faster this time, more desperate. My hands wander beneath his jacket, down to his waistband. I can feel the heat rolling off him, the tension barely contained in the way his body pins mine to the wall again. My hand slips between his thighs and I work him quickly, both of us panting now, my head tipped back to see the look on his face.

He lifts my thigh around his hip, his breath catching when our bodies align and I grind onto him, using my own hand as delicious friction.

His mouth moves against my neck, and I tilt my head back with a gasp, letting him taste my skin, letting him own it for just a moment.

We’re past the point of no return. He comes into my hand with a startled gasp, and it’s a beautiful sound. How come gushes over my palm, my wrist, and I sigh as my own orgasm hits.

We take a moment to relax, breath mingling.

Then, a quiet sound—footsteps.

He freezes. I freeze.

A figure rounds the corner at the end of the hall. "Excuse me, sir. There’s somebody at the door for you.”

The doorman stops when she sees us.

Kolya doesn’t step back. He doesn’t even pretend to be innocent. His hand is still around my thigh. His chest still pressed to mine.

I meet his gaze, and for one breathless second, everything stills.

“Thank you,” Kolya says finally. “I’ll be right there.”

His expression is unreadable, but his eyes lock on to mine like a tether.

Kolya exhales roughly, pressing his forehead into my neck for a second longer. “That was too close,” he mutters.

I don’t answer.