Page 10

9

Yelena

The day after the wedding is overcast, the kind of gray morning that settles into your bones. I glance at my reflection in the mirror for what feels like the hundredth time, smoothing down the plain white top I’ve paired with designer jeans and black heeled sandals. My latest oversized Birkin bag—an extravagant gift from Alina—sits perched on my shoulder with another unholy gift inside. I still can’t believe Scarlett and Alina, those two scoundrels, thought it funny to gift me with a bright pink dildo with a note that says ‘just in case’ attached to it.

Those two have gone feral.

A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. Aithan is waiting downstairs, no doubt already impatient. His curt “We leave at ten” this morning left little room for discussion. Sighing, I grab my phone and head down.

An uncomfortable silence filled the ride from the hotel to the airport. Aithan sits beside me, scrolling through his phone with the same disinterest he’s displayed since yesterday. I’m not sure if he’s brooding or bored, but I’m not about to ask. Instead, I turn my attention to the window, feigning interest in the passing scenery. The city blurs by in muted tones of steel and gray, a perfect reflection of my mood.

What the fuck is actually wrong with him? Why was it okay for him to devour me when we were strangers, but now that I am his wife, he is acting like he can barely stand me?

We pull up to the private jet terminal, the sleek lines of the Vasilios’s aircraft gleaming against the dull sky. The efficient crew whisks us aboard with minimal fuss, and I settle into one of the leather seats, crossing my legs and pulling out my phone to scroll mindlessly. The jet’s interior is immaculate, all polished wood and chrome accents, but I’ve been on enough private planes for it to feel like routine.

Fifty minutes. That’s how long it takes to get from New York to Philadelphia. Short enough to feel like nothing, but long enough for the silence between us to grow unbearable. I catch Aithan glancing at me once or twice from across the cabin, but he says nothing. Neither do I. My mind drifts to a question I refuse to voice—would things have been different if we hadn’t had that one reckless night together? Would we be approaching this marriage as strangers instead of two people who had already tasted each other’s forbidden fruit?

I know I’m attracted to him. That much is undeniable. But I’ve already thrown myself at him once, and once is enough. If he wants more of me—if he wants to revisit what happened that night—he’ll have to be the one to ask. I won’t make it easy for him.

It’s almost a relief when we touch down and the plane taxis to a stop.

The ride from the airport to his—no, our—house is swift. I stare out the window, noting the quickness of the drive. I could easily jet off to New York and return on the same day if I wanted to. That thought brings an odd comfort. The idea of escape, even if fleeting, feels great.

As the car slows to a stop, I catch my first glimpse of the mansion. It’s sprawling, perched elegantly on a pristine stretch of land that looks more like a painting than reality. The architecture is breathtaking, with clean lines and a sense of grandeur that demands attention without being gaudy. It’s the kind of place that’s meant to impress, and it does. But more than that, it intimidates.

Several people are waiting for us at the entrance. The car door on Aithan’s side is opened first, and he steps out, exuding his usual air of authority. My door follows, and I’m met with polite smiles and curious stares as I step out. Plastering on my sweetest smile, I step forward, determined to set the right tone. These people will probably be in my life now for as long as I live. Starting off on the wrong foot isn’t an option.

A woman in her early forties steps forward, her brown hair pulled back into a neat bun. Her smile is warm but professional. “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Vasilios.”

The title makes me falter for half a second, but I recover quickly, returning her smile. “Please, call me Yelena. There’s no need for formalities. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Of course not, Mrs. Vasilios.” She shakes her head, her smile faltering slightly. “The Elliniki will frown at that. However, my name is Abby. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Abby,” I reply warmly.

Over the next several minutes, I’m introduced to over a dozen staff members. I smile, nod, and exchange pleasantries, committing faces and names to memory. All the while, I’m acutely aware of Aithan standing nearby, silent and watchful. His presence is a constant distraction in the back of my mind, even when I’m not looking at him.

Finally, the introductions are over, and Aithan gestures for me to follow him inside. The ornately carved doors swing open to reveal an opulent foyer that nearly takes my breath away. The high ceilings are adorned with hand-painted frescos depicting scenes from Greek mythology, their intricate details illuminated by streams of natural light pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows. One particular fresco catches my eye—Zeus, hurling his thunderbolt from the heavens, his expression fierce and commanding. I bite back a smirk, wondering if the artist had unknowingly painted Aithan in all his stormy, arrogant glory. The floors are polished marble, and every piece of furniture and decor seems carefully chosen to exude luxury.

“This is… something,” I say, my voice light but not insincere.

Aithan glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m glad it meets your standards.”

I ignore the hint of sarcasm in his tone, choosing instead to admire the craftsmanship around me. It’s impossible not to. Everything about this place screams wealth and power, but there’s an underlying elegance that keeps it from feeling ostentatious. It’s a fortress disguised as a home.

Aithan leads me up a sweeping staircase, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the vast space. My handbag feels heavier with every step, as if the weight of everything I’ve left behind has somehow settled inside it. When we reach the top of the stairs, he stops in front of a door, his hand resting on the knob.

For a moment, we just stand there, the air between us thick with unspoken words. This is it. The moment where reality fully sets in and something inside me begins to rebel with how cold he has been towards me.

“I’d like my own room,” I say, my tone steady.

His brow furrows, and he tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Why would you need your own room?” he asks, his tone light but edged with something I can’t quite place.

I shrug, keeping my face neutral. “I need my own space,” I say simply, as if the answer should be obvious.

“Your own space,” he echoes, the corner of his eyes twitching like he’s fighting back anger. “Am I that intolerable already?”

“It’s not about you,” I reply, lifting my chin. “I just prefer my independence.”

He lets out a short laugh, the sound low and almost amused. “Independence in marriage? That’s a new one.”

I cross my arms, arching a brow at him. “You should try being nice sometime. It might do wonders for your charm.”

He steps back, shaking his head slightly. “Fine,” he says, gesturing toward another door. “This will be yours. But it’s right next to mine. So much for independence.”

I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips as I step past him and into the room. “Thank you, Aithan. Your generosity is overwhelming.”

I don’t miss the flicker of something—surprise? Disapproval? Amusement? It’s hard to tell—that crosses his face. But I don’t give him a chance to respond. I step past him into the room, closing the door softly behind me.

I lean against the door for a moment, taking in the surrounding space. The room is every bit as luxurious as the rest of the house, with its high ceilings, elegant furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the sprawling grounds. As beautiful as it is, the weight of everything I’ve left behind presses against my chest, stealing some of the grandeur from the view.

I think about my family, about Alina, Viktor, Scarlett, and my niece and nephew. They’ve been my constant, my unshakable foundation, and now they’re not just a few rooms away anymore. The ache I feel is sharpest when I think of Scarlett’s babies. The twins, Nikolai and Anastasia, only seven months old, are already the lights of my life. I think about how Nikolai clings to my finger when I hold him, his tiny grip surprisingly strong, or how Anastasia’s laughter fills the room like sunshine. The thought of not seeing them grow up every day, of missing their first words or first steps, tugs at my heart in a way I didn’t expect.

It’s not just the babies I’ll miss. Family dinners with Alina and Scarlett, the way Viktor’s stern facade softens when he’s around us, the teasing banter that always fills the room when we’re together—it’s those moments that ground me, remind me of who I am. And now I’ve traded all of that for this. For a man who clearly doesn't want to get married. The thought sends a pang of loneliness coursing through me, but I push it aside. I made my choice, and I’ll stand by it.

I drop my bag onto one of the chairs and walk to the window, staring out at the perfectly manicured gardens below. A king-sized bed dominates the room, draped in pristine white linens that look almost too perfect to touch. There’s a sitting area by the windows, complete with plush chairs and a low coffee table, and a massive walk-in closet that could probably house my entire wardrobe three times over.

I drop my bag onto one of the chairs and walk to the window, staring out at the perfectly manicured gardens below. This is my life now. This house, this marriage, this man. I will make them mine.

My thoughts drift back to Aithan. His presence lingers, even when he’s not in the room. There’s something about him that’s impossible to ignore, a magnetic pull that both intrigues and frustrates me. He’s an enigma, a man of contradictions. Cold and detached one moment, fiercely intense the next. I don’t know what to make of him, but I know one thing for certain: I won’t let him control me. Not in this marriage, and not in life.

With a sigh, I turn away from the window and begin unpacking the small bag I'd brought with me. One step at a time. That’s how I’ll handle this. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll figure out how to turn this arrangement into something I can live with.