Page 23

The next few days went by like a blur, the walls suffocating me now even more than before. Sergei hadn’t spoken to me since the day I confronted him in his office about Lucas. I had only asked a harmless question, but my jailer saw it as disrespectful.

My wrist still hurt from the way he gripped it so tightly, furious that I cared for another man other than him.

Sergei was obsessed with me—he proved it that day, and that made him dangerous.

Hurting my wrist seemed like the least he’d do to me over some petty jealousy.

He was not a man that I wanted to toil with.

Surviving in this hellhole would require a lot more than just my hatred for him; it would require patience, caution, and wisdom.

Impulsive acts and extreme defiance would do little to help my situation.

In fact, they just might land me in more trouble.

And Sergei didn’t seem like a man with a lot of patience.

Better his prisoner than dead. Better here than six feet under, at least for now.

Sergei was obviously a jealous man, and as terrifying as that might seem, I could use it to my advantage. I just had to be smart enough to know where to draw the line—and when to pull the plug.

It was clear to me that I was going nowhere any time soon, and no one was coming to save me either. This was my life now, and so I had to find a way to adapt to this new reality. My fate was sealed already; denying it would do me no good.

But how? How was I going to adapt to this life when I hated this man so much?

Because of him, my family despised me; they had to hide their faces in shame of what I’d done, what he brought to light.

How could I adapt to living with a man who cared about nothing but his business and the power he had over my family?

He never listened to me, never considered me anything more than just a trophy he won in a competition. He didn’t care about me. I was only a pawn in his scheme to destroy my father’s empire, brick by brick.

But even in my confusion, doubts began to creep in, and just like that, the voices in my head returned.

If he’s as evil as you claim he is, why hasn’t he forced himself on you since the wedding night?

the sensible voice in my head whispered.

You said it yourself; he’s obsessed. Meaning he finds you sexually irresistible.

Yet, despite sleeping in the same bed with him, he’s never tried to take you against your will.

Hold on, are we talking about the same man who told me that getting under my skin was almost as satisfying as getting between my legs? the other voice chipped in, the bitter one. In case you didn’t realize, that was a direct hit on my pride as a woman.

He did imply that sleeping with me is satisfying, said the gentle voice, which brings us back to my point: Why not take me at will since I satisfy him?

the voice continued. Think about it: The man gets whatever he wants, whenever and however he wants it.

It’s no secret that he wants me. Yet for some reason, he isn’t making any moves to take me by force. That’s gotta mean something.

I’ll tell you what it means, the bitter voice shot back. It means he enjoys consensual sex—doesn’t suddenly make him a good person.

Ayla, you’ve let hate rot so deeply inside you that it’s corrupted your sight. And now you can’t see things from another perspective. Maybe your hatred has become the only lens you see him through, the sensible voice added, talking directly to me, and with that, both voices went silent.

In desperate need to clear my head, I wandered through the house and made my way to the top-floor balcony I had recently discovered. Maybe the view from up there would be good for me—offer some kind of peace, perhaps. I needed some of that right now.

The moment I rounded a corner down a hallway, I overheard two guards talking below the staircase.

“Hey, did you know that that Italian guy has been released?” one of them asked, voice thick as molasses and just as low, as if savoring the drama in every word.

“Who, Lucas Bianchi?” the other asked, a glint of surprise lacing his tone.

“Yeah, him.”

Lucas? I thought, my eyes widening as I stopped in my tracks. Stealthily, I leaned my back against the wall, eavesdropping.

“I thought the boss said to keep him a while longer,” the second guard added, “Oh, wait, his folks paid off his ransom?”

“See, that’s where it gets interesting, man,” said the first guard, a hint of enthusiasm creeping into his voice. “There was no ransom. No threats either. The boss just said to let him go.”

“Just like that?”

I peeped in their direction in time to watch the first guard shrug his shoulders, lighting a cigarette.

“Just like that,” he said.

“That’s weird. The boss had some really nasty plans for that Italian prick,” the second guard said, sounding more disappointed than confused.

“Guess he had a change of heart.”

“That’s what makes it even weirder,” the second guard added, reaching to clutch the cigar from his colleague’s lips. “Gimme that.”

Lucas is free?

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, my heart filled with delight as a wind of relief blew across my face.

I picked up my pace, walking past the guards who immediately stood sentinel, like they hadn’t been gossiping a minute ago. They greeted me with heads slightly bowed as I passed by, replying with a curt nod.

From what I gathered, the sudden release of Lucas Bianchi was not part of the plan, whatever the plan was. Sergei had moved up the timetable and set the man free without any ransom or bloodshed. And he did that only a few days after I confronted him about Lucas.

Coincidence?

Nah, I didn’t think so.

Maybe he had a change of heart because my words struck him harder than I thought. Did that mean that he listened to me? Did my words matter, did they shift something inside him, even slightly?

This sudden and unforeseen move made my stomach turn, confusion crawling in. It was easier to hate him when he was just a selfish, cold-hearted, power-hungry devil. But this? This made things murky, complicated.

If he truly set Lucas free because of me, then that would change everything. It would mean that I could reach him, that he saw me. Heard me. Which would also imply that I wasn’t just a pawn in his world; perhaps, I was something else entirely.

Interesting how this single act managed to open my eyes to a whole other perspective—a side of Sergei Tarasov that was worth looking into. Maybe that sensible voice in my head was “sensible” after all.

Later that evening, while taking a stroll near the estate’s cool garden—a serene space that I should probably visit more often—I paused mid-step at an unexpected sight.

Sergei.

He crouched low near the ivy-wrapped stone wall, tossing scraps of food from a paper napkin to a scruffy, dirt-matted dog. The poor animal had a limp in one paw, and it looked like it hadn’t eaten in days or even been touched by kindness.

I stood there, appreciating the irony as a man I knew as a devil displayed a rare act of kindness toward a stray dog. Sergei looked different in the scene unfolding right before my eyes. Almost…human.

His tailored black jacket was tossed on a nearby bench, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows. His hands stroked the dog’s fur, gentle and smooth in a way I barely recognized. The expression etched on his face was soft, almost peaceful, and on his lips was a very faint grin.

My eyebrows arched in disbelief, and my breath hitched as I froze in place, wondering who this man was, because this wasn’t the Sergei I knew. He wasn’t the same heartless man who ruined my life and dismantled my father’s empire with one carefully orchestrated attack.

He was different; his usual tension slipped away, revealing an unusual side of him. One that brought a small smile to my lips without my consent. As if sensing my presence, he turned to face me, that faint grin still in place.

I looked away immediately, clearing my throat as I dared to take a step closer. He didn’t say a word, but in all honesty, that smile was beautiful and contagious. I had to purse my lips to suppress mine while drawing closer, unsure of what exactly was pulling me in.

The dog turned toward me, wagging its tail and sticking its tongue out. It hopped around playfully before scurrying to my feet, bumping its head into my leg. I crouched beside it, a broad smile on my lips, my fingers brushing its tangled fur.

“Hey, buddy,” I murmured, caressing its neck. “You look like you’ve been through hell.” I laughed, pulling my head back when it leaned in to lick my face. “Easy there, boy. Let’s get you bathed first.”

Sergei was on his feet by now, his gaze cast on me and the dog as he towered over us.

I lifted my head and met his gaze in a silent plea to at least bathe the animal and feed it properly.

“He likes you,” Sergei said, his signature unreadable expression creeping back in. “He’s yours now.” He walked over to the bench, picked up his jacket, and slipped into it.

I watched him retreat without another word, leaving me confused by his vague statement. My lips parted, as if to ask for clarity, but nothing came out.

What did he mean, that I could keep the dog? Was it a gift? The instruction wasn’t clear, not to mention that it sounded like a command, too. My eyes never left his figure until he disappeared into the building.

That moment, I felt something shift inside me. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was subtle, like a tiny tremor beneath my feet. I looked at the dog, then at the path Sergei had taken, confused about what I had just witnessed.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one being changed by this strange, twisted marriage.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and I shook my head. My heart was as light as a feather for the first time since I arrived here, and for some reason, that terrified me. Sergei was changing right before my eyes; he was gradually showing me a side of himself that not many had seen before.

Why?

I wasn’t sure.

But I was sure of this: Today, he’d ignited something inside me—that flame that had once fizzled out. I felt butterflies in my stomach and a flutter in my chest.

He listened to me and set Lucas free.

He paid attention to my gaze, got my silent plea, and let me keep the dog.

These were attempts to make me feel some sort of happiness.

They were proof that he wasn’t as selfish and cold-hearted as I thought he was.

Maybe that sensitive voice in my head was right all along.

Maybe there was another perspective that I could see this from.

It was possible that there was a version of this man that wouldn’t be so bad, a version that I just might find fascinating.

The stray dog barked in my ear, as if to remind me that we had work to do.

I chuckled, turning to rub his fur again.

“I’m sorry, buddy. Let’s get inside and have you bathed.

” I picked him up, and he whined softly, a glint of pain flashing in his eyes.

My gaze dropped to his wounded paw, and I added with an encouraging smile, “We’ll fix that too.

You’re a survivor, aren’t you? We have that in common. ”

The dog lay quietly in my arms as I headed back into the house, glad to have found a new friend. At least now I wouldn’t be so bored; I had someone to talk to…someone to listen to all my rants and frustrations.

With how complicated things were getting, I’d need him more than ever.