Page 1 of Her Rustanov Husband (Ruthless Bullies #2)

“Reunited and It Feels So Messy AF”

Skye

You called me up last night, like, “Bae, bae, give me one more chance”

Said you miss that spark — like I don’t know your dance

Tryna make fetch happen like we’re not dead history

But I’m not that girl no more — I’m finally, finally free

Get out-get out my DMs — don’t text or call

History ain’t on this test —

I’m adulting, standing tall

Never, ever getting back with you

Read my lips, hon: I’m gone-gone-gone-gone-GONE!

At the age of twenty-eight, I didn’t just sing, I screamed along with my favorite sasha x kasha song after running into Yom Rustanov, my ruthless ex-fiancé, throwing a drink in his still- way-too-ridiculously-handsome face, and then storming off to get beyond-wasted with Tess, my new conference friend.

“Okay, girl, we are too lit!” Tess giggled after we stumbled out of the Halo Arena back into the main lobby of the Benton Grand, still belting out the famous identical twins’ hits at the top of our lungs.

“We better get you back to your room if you still want to deliver your friend’s speech tomorrow morning. ”

That was the last thing I remembered before waking up completely naked in my hotel bed with a jolt… then a groan. A killer hangover pounded against my skull, and noisy liquid static fizzed inside my head. My body felt like it had been stitched together from heavy sandbags, every seam aching.

And yet, beneath all that pain, one thought immediately went off like a fire alarm: the keynote speech I was supposed to be giving on Merry’s behalf this morning! With a Q&A afterward.

Oh God. What time is it?

Rubbing my throbbing temple, I raised my left arm to check my watch—then froze.

What in the…?

I blinked hard, but the hallucination on my third left finger didn’t vanish.

A ring.

A massive emerald-cut diamond, platinum bands encrusted with smaller stones. The split-shank design wrapped my finger like a crown, a quarter-million-dollar showstopper custom-designed for one hand.

Mine.

As humbly as I lived these days, I recognized the expensive piece of hardware in an instant.

Because it was the same ring I’d handed back to Yom Rustanov almost six years ago.

Actually …

I flicked my eyes to the date and time glowing on the GoNoTo smartwatch I’d worn since college.

Exactly six years ago. To the day.

The liquid static in my head abruptly cut out. That was when I realized it wasn’t noise at all.

It was water.

The sound of a shower. Someone…

Oh God.

I sat up, clutching the sheets to my chest. Someone was in the bathroom. Showering in the hotel room I had booked for myself.

I’d barely had time to process that realization when my ex strolled in with a towel around his shoulders—chiseled, powerful, dripping wet… and stark naked.

“Good morning, Lydia.” Toweling his dark hair, Yom regarded me with that infamous Rustanov smirk—more sneer than smile.

My breath stuttered, and it took me a few choking tries before I managed to ask, “What did we do last night?”

“So very much, supruga .” He crawled onto the bed and leaned in close, lips hovering. “Want to do it again?”

Did I…?

Heat bloomed through me, my head tilting on instinct to make space for his longer, pointier nose. Six years later, my body still had the script etched into its muscle memory: good-morning kisses that almost always became good-morning sex.

But …

“No. No! Not, today, Satan!”

Every good reason I had to not let myself fall under this man’s spell again came rushing back. No, not a man. A monster in human clothing. I had to remember that.

Dragging the sheet with me, I scrambled out of bed and planted my feet on the carpet.

“There is no need to be so formal, zayka .” Yom’s light-gray gaze raked me up and down. “You have nothing to hide from me after last night.”

Wow, his grammar was so much better now. He no longer flogged the present participle like a mule to glue his sentences together. Had he gotten a tutor? How long had it taken to get to this level with practice?

I almost opened my mouth to ask before my brain jerked back to the speech I was supposed to give in…

Oh God, the ADHD was really ADHDing this morning. I had to… I had to…

I checked my watch again, and my stomach dropped when I saw I had less than twenty minutes before I was expected on stage to deliver the opening keynote for the second day of the EmpowerHer Summit.

I set a timer for eighteen minutes on my watch, then scrabbled to figure out next steps.

I had to find my phone to text Tess that I might be late.

No—getting dressed came first.

No—taking my ADHD meds came first!

But where were they? My usual bedtime habit was to set them down by my phone with a glass of water, so I’d remember to swallow them as soon as I picked up my phone. But where was my phone, even?

The three-item travel charger I’d set up on the room’s desk before the concert was completely empty.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

This was like half my recurring nightmares come to life, down to my ruthless ex-fiancé showing up right before I had to give a public speech I was ill-prepared for.

Wait… Was this in fact a nightmare?

I jabbed my index finger into my palm, heart full of hope…only to sink when my hand stubbornly refused to let it pass through, the way that one lucid dreaming book I’d read had promised.

So. Not a dream, then. Dammit!

“Tell me how I can help, supruga ,” sadly-not-just-a-dream Yom commanded me from the bed. “It is obvious you are discombobulated this morning.”

Discombobulated . That was a word I’d taught him six years ago. He hadn’t known the concept before we started sharing a bed. Couldn’t even tell me the Russian equivalent for the way I felt when I hadn’t set myself up for a decent beginning to my day.

After my first morning meltdown before a presentation for the Black Women in Other Space seminar, he’d taken it upon himself to make sure everything was in a logical place when I woke up, and that there was always time for good-morning kisses before whatever I had scheduled.

I’d felt so taken care of when we were together.

But that was the part of our relationship I tried not to remember. And you know what? I definitely didn’t have time to reminisce on what a great friend he was only pretending to be with—oh crap, how a whole minute gone by already?

Okay, forget modesty. Thank goodness for the clarity that urgency brought on.

Ignoring the huge Russian hockey player in the room, I sniffed under my armpits to make sure I could get away with not showering before my speech.

I could, barely. I smelled faintly of the deodorant I’d put on before meeting Tess to pre-game for the sasha x kasha concert… and of a cologne that matched Yom’s scent profile exactly. Dark, expensive smoke clinging to my skin. And refusing to let go.

Flashes of memory tried to break through then—his large hands on my body, lips caressing my neck. “ Zayka, zayka, zayka… ”

But no. Don’t go there.

I was at T-minus fifteen minutes to get to Convention Hall C, where the EmpowerHer Summit was being held.

I didn’t have time to figure out how I ended up in bed with the ex I’d gone out of my way to never see again.

Throwing open the wardrobe door, I breathed a sigh of relief when I found the ecru Ponte dress Merry had loaned me hanging up, with a bra and shapewear shorts clipped neatly onto the hanger.

Thank goodness I’d done one thing ahead of time before going out last night.

That relief curdled into dread, though, when I glanced over my shoulder and saw Yom had climbed out of bed. Now he stood between me and the bathroom door.

It was either waste time trying to dash past him to the bathroom or let go of my modesty and get dressed as quickly as I could.

With time ticking down until my speech, it wasn’t really a choice. Taking a deep breath, I dropped the sheet and did my best to pretend I didn’t feel the burn of his intense gray gaze on my body.

It wasn’t the same one he’d explored every inch of back in college.

I had stretch marks all over now—on my stomach, hips, and thighs.

The pale light-brown lines had even staked out territory on my butt.

Meanwhile, Yom still look like something commissioned to be chiseled out of marble.

I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as I hastily wriggled into my shapewear.

I’d been meaning to get on some kind of exercise and eating plan for… well, like, five years now. But I could barely fit in fun days with Merry and Chris, much less regular workouts.

And sure, there’s that famous quote about nothing tasting as good as thin feels. But, no offense, the model who said that was British. You’d never catch a Minnesotan claiming thin tasted better than a Culver’s burger with fried cheese curds and a turtle sundae custard on the side.

And now I was hungry. But no time! I had to get to the EmpowerHer Summit—and away from Yom Rustanov.

“I will help you with this.”

Suddenly, the Russian nightmare I’d been trying to ignore was behind me, sliding the zipper up before I could twist my sore body into place.

His knuckles skimmed my spine, raising goose bumps, and a traitorous heat coiled low in my belly, despite the vow I’d made to never let this man touch me again.

After he was done, he placed his hands on my waist and leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Hello, zayka .”

How many times had he come up from behind and greeted me just like this? It had been his favorite way to sneak up on me when I didn’t see him coming—which was most of the time.

That damn familiar warmth tightened my skin, and I suddenly found myself fighting the urge to sink back against his chest so he could wrap his arms around me.

“I—I have to go!”

Was I telling him or myself? Either way, I sidestepped to safety out of his reach and repeated the declaration. “I really have to go.”

“Are you sure, zayka ?” Yom lifted an eyebrow, his gaze dragging over my body in a way that left a heat-signature trail. “Do you truly wish to walk away without knowing…?”

He hunched down and dipped his head to make sure we were on the same eye level as he finished his question. “Do you not wish to know what I made you do last night?”