Page 7

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting the room in streaks of gold and gray. Valentina stirred, her body reluctant to move, cocooned in the unexpectedly soft embrace of the bed.

For a moment, she forgot where she was, her mind hazy from the best sleep she’d had in ages—sweet, deep, and uninterrupted. The sheets were warm, crisp, and unbelievably soft against her skin—even more comfortable than her pink sheets back at home. Something she never thought possible.

Then it hit her. She was in his room. On his bed.

Her eyes snapped open, scanning the unfamiliar space for any signs of him. The nerves in her ears were on high alert, waiting to pick up any signs of him having a shower.

But she was alone. The room was tidy—infuriatingly so—with no sign of chaos. Everything seemed prim and proper, set in place, not a single thing out of order.

Her jaw tightened as she sat up, the faintest hint of his cologne rising from the sheets and the blanket wrapped around her body. She leaned in, pressing her nose to the fabric, and breathed in his scent—a clean, woody smell, with just enough spice to linger.

She pulled away, frowning and looking around for invisible cameras, resisting the urge to sniff harder—refusing to acknowledge how annoyingly good his scent was.

Her fingers clutched the edge of the comforter as she swung her legs off the bed, resolutely ignoring the small sigh of contentment her body threatened to betray. She told herself that there were more important things to think about than to acknowledge how the faint scent seemed to wrap around her like an unwelcome embrace.

Her bare feet met the cool floor as she stood, brushing off the sensation of comfort that lingered from the night. This wasn’t about him. She was tired. That’s all. Besides, she had every reason to. After what went down last night, the least she could do was get a good night’s rest.

Val quietly opened the door and exited the room, her mind running with different thoughts of where Ilya may have possibly gone. It wasn’t like she cared or anything. She just didn’t think it was polite of him to bring her here against her will, only to abandon her the next day.

But those thoughts vanished when her nose picked up an aroma before she even reached the kitchen—warm, buttery, and rich with the faint sweetness of maple syrup. Her stomach tightened, a low ache reminding her she hadn’t had food for the last eight hours.

Valentina steeled herself, brushing off the tempting scent as she rounded the corner of the stairs.

Then she saw him. Standing at the stove, shirtless, with a pair of low-slung sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips. His back was to her, pale skin, broad and annoyingly sculpted, muscles flexing effortlessly as he flipped something in the pan, like a domestic god.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, and there was a faint sheen of steam in the air, the smell of coffee swirling all around her.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he said without turning around before she could blink. His voice was deeper than usual, warm like honey but laced with an unmistakable smugness. “Sleep well? You looked cozy in my bed.”

Valentina scowled, hating how her mouth went dry at the sight of him, how her eyes shamelessly ogled him from behind. Then he turned around, leaning against the counter with his usual infuriating ease, a plate of pancakes in one hand.

Valentina was not prepared for what she saw.

His chest was broad and well-defined, each muscle subtly outlined beneath smooth skin that caught in the morning light just right. His shoulders were strong, tapering to a lean torso with a faint dark trail disappearing beneath the low waistband of his sweatpants.

Every inch of him was fit, a body honed with just enough imperfection to feel real. Ilya Nikolai was temptation personified, with a casual confidence that made looking away nearly impossible. And Valentina hated him all the more for it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, ripping her eyes away from his body even though her treacherous brain was against it. “I’m ready to go.”

Ilya placed the plate on the table and squirted maple syrup on it. “Go where?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’m ready to go home.”

“It’s not safe yet,” he replied, casual as ever, as he snapped the cap of the bottle shut. He grabbed a spatula and began arranging bacon beside the pancakes, the rich aroma wafting closer, making Val’s stomach twist again.

“I don’t care. I’ll take my chances.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“You’re marked, Valentina. You’re not safe. You’ll be followed wherever you go.”

“I’ll sneak in,” she argued. “It’s my home we’re talking about. I know every corner, every blind spot. No one will see me.”

Ilya laughed, low and infuriating, as he slid the pan off the heat. “Sneak in? What is this, some kind of spy movie? You think they won’t have eyes on you the second you step outside? Be serious.”

Val clenched her fists, her frustration bubbling close to the surface. “You think this is a joke, don’t you?”

“I do,” he replied, amusement in his tone. “A very funny one, in fact.”

“You don’t get to decide what I do. I’m not staying here.”

He turned back to face her, his expression losing its smug edge, replaced by something heavier. “You’re not leaving, Valentina. Not until I know you’re safe. Sneaking in is not only a dumb idea but a dangerous one. I’m not going to let you do that.”

His words hung in the air, thick with tension. Her pulse quickened at the way he said her name, so firm, so deliberate. She hated how it made her stomach flip, and not just from hunger.

“Don’t act like you care,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “This isn’t about me.”

“You’re right,” he said, his tone softening just enough to unnerve her. “It’s not just about you. But if you step out that door right now, you’re putting more people in danger than just yourself. You’re not a prisoner, Val. Come here, sit down and eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said through gritted teeth, but a loud growl erupted in her stomach, cutting through the tension like a slap. Her cheeks burned instantly, especially when his eyes darted from her face to her stomach.

“Sure,” he chuckled, cleaning his hands with a napkin. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out. I make orgasmic pancakes.”

Val looked away, her cheeks hot as he left her alone in the kitchen and headed for the living room. Instead of feeling disgusted by his crude comment, she was undeniably turned on, heat scalding her inner thighs like lava.

She ran her hands down her face, letting out a sigh as she surrendered to her stomach’s need for food. She would eat and give it a few more hours. Surely, by that time, the coast would be a little clear for her to go home. The sooner she was out of there, the better—for her sanity, if nothing else.

Grabbing the plate and the freshly made cup of coffee he’d set out for her, Val turned on her heel and headed for the living room. She made a beeline for the couch farthest from him, sinking into it with a determined huff.

The large LED TV was already on, displaying the familiar opening scene of her favorite show. Normally, she’d be thrilled, but today, the screen blurred into meaningless colors and noise.

Val focused on cutting into the pancakes, trying to ignore the weight of his presence in the room. She could feel him moving, the occasional scrape of the coffee table, or the clink of his fork against his plate grating on her nerves.

His casual dominance was maddening, as though he knew exactly how much he was affecting her and relished every second of it.

Her eyes flicked to the TV, trying and failing to follow the plot. She noticed everything: the way his pants clung to his thighs, the lint at the waistline, the way he tilted his head as he watched the show, the thickness of his eyelashes, how they rested on his cheek when he looked down at his plate.

She noticed the few old scars scattered across his back, the six defined abs on his stomach, the deep V on his hips, the old wound on his neck—the same she had noticed that night. A frown touched her brows as she remembered everything that transpired between them after that

She chewed slowly, deliberately avoiding any glance at him before he could catch her. But it didn’t help. The tension in the room was charged, crackling silently between them like static, neither of them addressing it, both pretending it wasn’t there.

It was driving her crazy with every second, and the thought of staying back for a couple more hours seemed impossible.

Her stomach twisted—not from the pancakes, which tasted annoyingly good—but from the emotions she couldn’t unravel. Frustration. Restlessness. Something sharper, too, like resentment.

This wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to sit around and wait for someone else to dictate what she could or couldn’t do. Especially not someone like him .

Her thoughts raced back to her father’s estate and an idea formed. Sneaking back was reckless, sure, but she knew that property better than anyone. She’d spent the last twenty-five years of her life there. She’d snuck out to more parties than she could count, even when her father placed an insurmountable security to prevent her from doing so.

The guards, the blind spots, the hidden entrances—it was practically second nature to her. She wasn’t about to let Ilya dictate her safety, not when everything she needed to sort out this mess was out back there.

Like he knew she was cooking up an escape, his teasing voice floated in the space around them. “Something on your mind, Valentina?”

“No,” she said curtly, her fingers tightening around the fork. “Even if there was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Of course,” he chuckled softly, the sound irritating her as he got to his feet and headed to the kitchen. “I’m going to take a shower, Princess. Care to join me?”

“You wish,” she shot back, her pulse ticking faster as sensual images began to form. “And don’t call me princess.”

His feet bounded up the stairs, his voice following as he disappeared. “Whatever you say, my queen.”

“Jesus,” Val murmured as soon as he was gone, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She stood up, her guts stirring uncomfortably as she ran her fingers through her hair.

It had only been a few minutes, yet his presence managed to rattle her this much. She couldn’t even bear the thought of staying back.

Fuck him. I’ll do this my way , she thought as she quietly padded the stairs. She wasn’t sure just how far away they were from the Romano estate. She also didn’t have a phone to call an Uber, so the odds were against her.

But , if she was lucky enough to snag his car keys while he was in the shower, she could hightail out of there before he could even realize what was going on.

With that thought in mind, Val gently opened the door to his room, her movements quick and silent as she slipped through the narrow opening. The room was empty, sheets still disheveled from her sleep.

The bathroom door was shut, the sound of rushing water masking her footsteps as she tiptoed to the bedside table where the keys sat, waiting for her.

Easy. Just get out before he’s done .

Her heart raced as she approached the table, her fingers trembling as she snatched the car keys. But as she turned toward the door, the shower abruptly shut off.

Panic surged in Val as she quickened her steps, slipping out of the room immediately. Her bare feet barely made a sound against the floor. She made it to the hallway, almost at the stairs, when a shadow loomed behind her.

“Going somewhere?”

She didn’t think. Her feet carried her quickly as she took off in a sprint, skipping steps like she was in a video game. But Ilya was there, impossibly fast as he outran her, still glistening from his shower and only in his pants.

He came to stand in front of her, blocking her completely.

“Fuck off,” she cursed, pushing at his invading chest. “If you think I’m going back in there, then you’re terribly mistaken. I’m not staying one more minute here. I want to leave. Right now. ”

“Fine,” he nodded, his jaw clenching. Then he caught her wrist, spun her effortlessly, and before she could even gasp, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put me down!” she hissed, thrashing as he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“No chance in hell,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a smirk in it that made her blood boil.

Val kicked and struggled, but his grip was unrelenting, his strength maddeningly solid as he carried her down the stairs.

“You sick son of a bitch!” she screeched, her voice sharp and furious as she pounded her fists against his steel back. Her hair flew wildly across her face, tangling in her vision, but she didn’t stop struggling.

Her heart hammered erratically in her chest, each beat a mix of rage and something she refused to name.

“For someone who thought of sneaking into an estate, your attempt at stealing my keys was surprisingly unimpressive,” he said, his grip on her thighs tightening, firm and inescapable, his calloused fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her hips.

He kicked the front door open, shocking her as he strode toward the driveway instead of taking her back inside like she thought he would. The roughness of his hold sent heat coursing through her, frustratingly at odds with her anger.

He chuckled, a sound she felt vibrating in his wet chest. “But I’ll admit that it was kind of cute to watch.”

Despite the storm of emotions raging within her, a traitorous pulse began to thrum between her thighs, throbbing harder with every brush of his hands as they settled dangerously close to her ass. Her breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that she hoped he didn’t notice.

She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the humiliation and fury instead of the betraying heat that simmered beneath it all. “Put me down, you bastard!” she snarled, though her voice trembled, giving away far more than she wanted.

He remained deaf to her protests as he approached his vehicle. “You really thought this would work?”

Val fumed. “Why can’t you just suck it up and accept that I don’t want to stay here?”

“Fine,” he said, opening the passenger door with one hand while still holding her securely. Her cheeks burned with humiliation as he set her down, his hands gripping her shoulders to keep her in place. “Then we’re staying somewhere else.”

She glared up at him, furious and breathless. “I hate you, Ilya Nikolai. You make me sick.”

“Good,” he replied, his smirk twisting into something darker, more cutting. His sharp, dark blue eyes bore into hers, unyielding. “But you know what makes me even more sick? It’s the fact that this isn’t just about you anymore. Those men? The ones that came after you? They’re connected to Ivonov.”

Her breath caught, her brows snapping together at the mention of an enemy of the Nikolais who had been under the radar for as long as she could remember. “Aleksander?”

“The very one,” he said flatly, his expression hard. “And they came after you because they think you’re close to us. We see you as family, so you’re an easy target.”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “To them, you’re leverage. And you’re lucky I intercepted the situation before it got worse.”

Valentina reeled, her mind spinning. Her knees threatened to buckle as his words sank in. “How do you know this?”

His dark gaze pinned her in place. “Because they’ve already been identified. And your father…” he paused, something unreadable flickering in his eyes as Valentina’s gaze snapped to his. “He knows what happened. He agrees it’s best for you to stay hidden in our care—for now.”

Val froze, her stomach twisting in knots. “My father—he agreed to this?”

Ilya’s smirk returned, colder now. “He didn’t have that much of a choice. Aleksander doesn’t stop, Valentina. If you go home, you’ll only be painting a target on your back, those of your siblings and his.”

Her heart thundered, her father’s betrayal slicing through her, as her pulse roared in her ears. She didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to accept that her father had not only callously stripped her of her right to choose and make her opinions of her own safety known but also entrusted it to the one man she despised the most.

Suddenly, she felt small. She was the baby of the house all over again, even in front of Ilya.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she said, her voice shaking with defiance.

“No,” Ilya said, his voice deceptively calm. “But right now, you don’t have a choice. So, get in.”