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I push open the heavy oak door, only to be crushed with disappointment at the resounding emptiness of it. What was I expecting? To find her in the living room, curled up with a book? To hear her say we could eat dinner together?

Like every night, every room is empty. Apart from just one: Hers.

From the moment we got home after the wedding, she’s avoided me like the plague. She has breakfast after I leave. Dinner in her room. If we accidentally bang into one another, any attempt at conversation is shut down fast and hard by some lame excuse or the other.

Where is she hiding this time? My beautiful, stubborn wife seems determined to avoid me at all costs.

Shrugging off my jacket, I head to the kitchen. Maybe I can lure her out with the scent of her favorite meal. As I gather ingredients for borscht, I can't help but chuckle at the irony. Here I am, one of the most feared men in the Bratva, reduced to cooking soup to win over a girl.

"Natalia?" I call out, my voice echoing through the halls. No response. Of course.

As the borscht simmers, filling the air with a rich aroma, I set the table with our best China. The candlelight flickers, casting dancing shadows across the crisp white tablecloth. Perfect for a romantic dinner—if only my wife would deign to join me.

"Natalia, are you hungry?" I try again, straining to hear any sign of movement upstairs.

Nothing but silence greets me. Frustration bubbles up inside me, warring with my protective instincts. I want to give her space, to prove I'm not the plague she thinks I am. But how can I when she won't even look at me?

I ladle the steaming borscht into bowls, arranging a plate of pirozhki beside them. The table looks inviting, intimate. Everything a newlywed couple could want for a cozy evening in.

Except we're anything but a normal couple. This marriage was forced upon her, a political alliance she certainly didn’t want. I know this from her own words and the research I did into how the proposal came through. But I'm determined to make it work.

After all, we are married for life, and there’s no reason why ours shouldn’t be a happy one.

If only she'd give me a chance.

I listen intently, trying to detect any movement from upstairs. The house remains stubbornly quiet, but I know Natalia's up there, probably plotting her next escape. A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. She's clever, my little wife, always finding new ways to evade me.

I stride to the study, retrieving a bottle of Natalia's favorite wine—a sweet Riesling I'd noticed her eyeing at our wedding reception. Uncorking it, I pour out a glass and carry one upstairs.

As I walk up, I imagine Natalia's stubbornness in action. She's probably curled up with a book, steadfastly ignoring her growling stomach. The image both frustrates and endears her to me.

"Enough," I decide, knocking gently.

“Natalia?” I ask.

No response.

“Nat. I know you’re in there.”

Footsteps. I hear footsteps. The door swings open and Natalia stands before me, her brows turned inward. “Don’t call me that,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her.

I try not to notice how low her top is cut. I keep my eyes on her face, afraid of the heat simmering down my neck.

“Don’t call you what?” I ask, confused.

“Nat,” she says. “It’s Natalia to you.”

I shrug. “Okay, Natalia ,” I grin, knowing it’s probably annoying her. “I made us dinner and seeing the state the kitchen was in, I’m guessing you haven’t eaten.”

“I’m fine,” she says, though her eyes linger on the wine.

Disappointment crushes me. What the hell was I expecting, though?

“Well, take the wine, at least,” I force the glass into her hands. She sips it, slowly, waiting for me to leave.

“There’s food downstairs if you want,” I say in a parting note and turn around when I hear… her stomach rumble.

I turn, eyebrow raised, only to see her blushing.

“Fine,” she says, avoiding my gaze as she walks past me. “I might as well eat now.”

“As you wish,” I say softly, trying not to scare her, but my smile speaks volumes.

***

The dining room glows with soft candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the meticulously set table. I adjust the silverware one last time, my fingers twitching with nervous energy. Across from me, Natalia sits rigidly in her chair, her chocolate brown eyes darting everywhere but my face.

"How’s the Pirozhki?" I ask, desperate to break the suffocating silence.

Natalia's fork scrapes against her plate. "It's fine."

I suppress a sigh. "I remembered you mentioned liking rosemary. I hope I didn't overdo it."

Her gaze finally meets mine, a flicker of surprise in those expressive eyes. "You… remembered that?"

I nod, encouraged by this tiny victory. "Of course. I want to learn your likes and dislikes, Natalia. We're married now, after all."

The moment shatters. Natalia's face hardens, her jaw clenching. "Right. Married. Because I had so much choice in the matter."

"Natalia, please," I begin, but she cuts me off.

"No, Denis. You don't get to play the caring husband now." Her voice rises, fierce and defiant. "You're just like my brothers, thinking you can control every aspect of my life!"

I feel my own temper flaring, but I force it down. "That's not true. I'm trying to—"

"To what?" Natalia interrupts, pushing her chair back with a screech. "You agreed to an arranged marriage, only because you knew you could control your future wife. Why else would one sign up for this? You knew my family would be involved and that you don’t have to put in any work because they’ll make sure this marriage lives on."

Her words sting, but I can see the hurt and frustration burning in her eyes. This isn't just about me—it's years of pent-up resentment spilling over.

"I'm not your jailer, Natalia," I say, keeping my voice low and steady. "I want to be your partner. As for agreeing to the marriage, it was the right thing to do."

She laughs, a bitter sound that twists my gut. "Partner? In what universe is this arrangement anything close to a partnership? And in what world was it the right thing to do?"

I watch her, this beautiful, fierce woman I'm determined to understand. Her chest heaves with emotion, her cheeks flushed. Even in her anger, she's captivating.

"You're right," I admit, surprising us both. "This isn't how either of us would have chosen to start a marriage. But, I did what I thought was best for our families. Family always comes first, and now, you’re a part of mine. What you want matters, Nat. We're here now, and I'm trying to make the best of it. Can't you see that?"

She huffs and puts down her fork, not responding, glaring right at me.

I lean forward, my gray eyes locking with her brown ones. "You don't know me yet, Natalia. I'm not the monster you think I am."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "Oh, please. I know enough about the Bratva to—"

"No," I cut her off, my voice firm but not unkind. "You know about the Bratva. You don't know me."

For a moment, I see a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. It's gone in an instant, replaced by that fierce defiance I'm growing to admire.

"And what makes you so different?" she challenges, taking a step closer.

I rise from my chair, closing the distance between us. The air crackles with tension, and I can't help but notice how her breath catches as I near.

"Why don't you give me a chance to show you?" I say, my voice dropping to a low rumble.

Natalia tilts her chin up, refusing to back down. "I don't need you to show me anything, Denis. I need you to let me live my life!"

"Your life?" I repeat, feeling my own frustration building. "The one where you sneak out and put yourself in danger?"

Oh shit. I didn’t mean to bring it up, but it’s been playing on my mind. For weeks now, she’s been sneaking out at random hours. She thinks I don’t know, but the security cameras send an alert whenever someone enters and exits the house.

Her eyes flash dangerously. "I can’t believe you’re spying on me! I can take care of myself!"

"I’m not spying on you!" I counter, stepping even closer. We're inches apart now, the heat from her body radiating against mine. "But I worry about your safety. You know how dangerous it is for us out there and from where I'm standing, you're acting like a reckless child.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Natalia's eyes widen, then narrow in fury. But beneath the anger, I catch a glimpse of hurt that makes my chest ache.

"Is that what you think of me?" she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "As someone incapable of making decisions for herself? As someone incapable of knowing what’s safe and what’s not for her? You’re suffocating me, Denis. Just like my brothers did! The next thing I know, you’ll have men at my heels at all times. Is it so damn hard to want a life without being followed around?"

I open my mouth to respond, but she's already whirling away, storming up toward her room.

***

I toss and turn in bed, sleep eluding me as Natalia's words echo in my mind. I can't shake the image of her hurt expression, the way her eyes flashed with anger and disappointment.

"Damn it," I mutter, punching my pillow in frustration. I want to keep her safe, but at what cost? The memory of her accusation stings: "You're suffocating me, Denis!"

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "Am I really no better than her brothers?" I wonder aloud, the question hanging heavy in the air. The silence of the night offers no answers and only amplifies my inner turmoil.

As dawn breaks, I haven't slept a wink. I drag myself out of bed, hoping a strong cup of coffee will clear my head. But as I pass Natalia's room, I notice the door ajar. My heart races as I push it open, finding the bed empty and neatly made.

"Natalia?" I call out, my voice echoing through the quiet house. No response. I check the kitchen, the living room, and even the garden. Nothing.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. "She's done it again," I growl, running a hand through my disheveled hair. I'm about to call my men when I spot a note on the refrigerator:

"Gone to run errands. Don't send out a search party. –N"

I crumple the note in my fist, torn between anger and a reluctant admiration for her boldness. As I slump into a kitchen chair, her words from last night resurface: "I need you to let me live my life!"

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. Maybe she's right. Maybe I am suffocating her. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me winded and uncertain.

I stare at the crumpled note in my hand, smoothing it out as I consider Natalia's words. Her fierce independence, so different from the women I'm used to, both frustrates and intrigues me. I admire her spirit, even as it challenges everything I know.

"Damn it," I mutter, rubbing my temples. "I need to change my approach."

I stand up, pacing the kitchen as I think. My instinct is to protect her, to keep her close, but that's clearly pushing her away. I need to find a balance between keeping her safe and respecting her autonomy.

"What if…" I pause, an idea forming. "What if I give her more freedom, but on my terms?"