Page 5

Her eyes are wide and flooded with fear as she stares up at me.

I can feel her shaking, my hand wrapped around her throat, tight enough to hurt, but not tight enough to cut off her air anymore.

I’ve made my point. I can see that she understands me clearly.

This innocent act needs to stop.

Her playing the victim is not going to work on me.

She’s fucking good at it, though.

Her words still loop in my mind, the first moment we spoke in my office that night. The night I was going to kill her father. She said she was there for her father’s promise. She basically confessed to being in on his scheme.

This pretend shock. The tears. The shake in her voice and the heavy breaths. She’s good at this.

My heart clenches in my chest. I’m staring at her for too long. Her fake innocence is getting to me. The softness of her eyes, the fear in her expression. It’s not real, Nestor. Don’t fall for it.

I shake my head and drop my hand away from her throat.

“Do we have an understanding?” I say roughly.

She reaches up to touch her throat, her delicate fingers brushing over the red marks on her skin. Her nails are painted a pretty shade of pink, bright and cheerful. “Yes,” she whispers, not looking at me.

I wave my hand towards where Argyle is waiting.

“Continue,” I say.

He goes on with the wedding as though nothing has happened.

Lara says her vows, makes her promises, and signs the documents without a single word of resistance.

She is subdued and quiet while I thank Argyle and tell him to file away the original paperwork. He slides a copy of our marriage certificate into an envelope for me, and the entire process comes to an end.

We are married.

It’s official.

I smirk, clutching the envelope in my hand.

“Come on, wife,” I say with amusement in my voice, chuckling as I set my hand on her lower back and push her towards the door.

She squeaks in protest but doesn’t argue.

If I weren’t so skeptical of her brilliant acting, I would say she’s in shock.

Although she doesn’t really need to act like she’s in shock, she might genuinely be in shock that she couldn’t talk her way out of this mess.

I bet she’s manipulated her way out of many situations in her life.

Just like her father.

I wouldn’t have killed her, though.

It would have been pointless. I didn’t mean the threat, but I’m glad she took it seriously, because I was losing patience with her.

She’s quiet all the way down to the parking area, and she’s quiet as I hold the car door open for her and she climbs inside.

It’s only when we pull out onto the road that she finds her voice again.

“Nestor, whoever you are, can you please, I’m begging you, please just tell me what this is about? Why did we just get married?” she asks, her voice small.

“I told you to stop this bullshit game, Lara. Stop playing the innocent victim. You know exactly why we got married,” I snap.

“I don’t,” she shouts, her voice finding strength in her anger.

“Really? You don’t anything about the shit that happened with your father. You just happened to arrive at my building right at the same time as he did. For no reason at all. Please, for crying out loud. Move on. It’s done. Deal with it.”

“But I didn’t come to that building for whatever reason my father gave you. He lied to me to get me there,” she says in desperation.

I snort. “Lying seems to run in your family, sweetheart.”

The evening rush hour has started, and we’re sitting in a line of cars waiting to turn off the main street. I sigh loudly, my temper wearing thin. It’s been a long day, and I’m bored with this conversation. She needs to take her bullshit somewhere else. It’s already done. Give it up.

“Nestor…Rostov,” she says, my name thoughtfully. “The tech company. Rostov Technologies. That’s you? You own that company?”

Fuck, she’s so good at this.

“I own three hundred and eighty-seven companies in this city alone, Lara. And you know that’s not the primary business.”

“Primary business?” she mutters, biting at her lip.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “This conversation is over.”

“It can’t be over, because I still don’t know what’s going on,” she shouts, her fists clenched in her lap. She’s wavering between anger, frustration, and impatience. One moment she’s confused, and the next she’s shouting at me.

I don’t know what game she’s playing at, but I’m not falling for it. These questions are probably just her fishing for information from me. I shouldn’t engage, not until I can figure out what her hidden motives or plans are.

We pull into Sunset Strip, the road leading to my mansion.

She should be grateful I’ve taken her in. She’ll be living in a luxurious home, surrounded by servants, living a luxurious life. She should be thanking me. Not complaining.

“What does my father owe you?” she asks me for the hundredth time.

“Stop. I told you this conversation is over,” I snarl angrily, driving through the security gates and up the long driveway towards my front steps.

Her eyes go wide as she takes in the home she is about to start calling her own.

“Get out. Don’t bother trying to run, there are guards at every exit,” I warn her, putting an end to that idea before she’s even formed it in her mind.

She stands frozen next to the car, the passenger door still open.

Impatiently, I grab her arm and tug her forward, slamming the door, then pulling her up the steps towards the front door.

My doorman pulls it open for me and nods politely. “Good evening, sir. It looks like we are going to have a wonderful sunset this evening.”

“It does, Pax. You can tell the chef to serve dinner on the upstairs balcony.”

“Yes, sir,” he nods again.

“Look, if you can just explain to me—"

I tug her harshly in front of me, holding her tightly and forcing her to look at me.

“Not another fucking word, Lara. I’ve had enough of this now.

I was going to have you enjoy dinner with me upstairs, but I think you need to go into your room and think about how you really want to handle this situation.

For the last fucking time, this innocent victim act is not working,” I growl angrily, my face hovering inches above hers.

Her eyes are wide and sparkling with tears again.

I shake my head.

Enough is enough.

Dragging her up the stairs, I take her to the guest bedroom. I’ll need to have my men arrange some things for her, but for now, she can sleep in here. It has the basics. She can’t complain.

I shove her through the door, and she stumbles over the edge of the white fluffy rug, catching the corner of the bed to steady herself.

“Make yourself at home,” I say sarcastically.

“Are you always such a rude asshole?” she snaps at me, her blue eyes fierce, and angry, and beautiful.

“You have no idea,” I laugh, then slam the door shut, locking her in.

As I walk away, I hear banging and shouting from her room, but I ignore it. Tonight has been long enough already. I’ve got the problems with Miron to deal with, the problems with her father, the mess he made with my allies, the debt to settle with them—and now I’ve got to deal with her, as well.

I’m done for today.

The chef should have my dinner ready in the next thirty minutes. I have enough time to take a hot shower and try and wash away some of this stress, and then I’ll watch the last of the sunset from my balcony.

***

The hot water from the shower soaks my body, easing the tension in my shoulders.

My muscles are tight. This marriage idea was such a spur-of-the-moment thing that I didn’t even have a chance to think it through properly or prepare for it.

Now I have a beautiful woman living in my house, my wife , and I haven’t processed it at all.

She is gorgeous, though.

This bullshit with the pretending not to know what’s going on—it’s getting old. It has to stop.

Her father is a compulsive liar, though. He will literally say anything to get out of trouble. Flipping from one story to the next, even if he contradicts himself in the same sentence. Everything she learnt, she learnt from him, so I have to assume the worst with her.

She might have been in on the idea with him, but I reckon she had no plans of actually becoming someone’s wife today. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t go through with it?

Well, she’s just going to have to get used to it.

I wonder what she’s doing now?

I flick the shower off and wrap a white towel around my waist, walking through to the bedroom and pulling my closet open. Maybe I should check on her.

Dammit.

I should just leave her. She’s been enough of a pain today already.

No, I should check. I can invite her to sit with me for dinner if she’s calmed down.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a black shirt. While I’m out, I strictly wear suits, but in the house I can be more relaxed.

Showered, feeling refreshed and less stressed, I head across the hallway to her room.

Lifting my hand to knock, I notice the door is slightly open.

What the fuck? I swear I locked it.

I push it and it glides open easily.

And the room is empty.

“For fuck’s sake,” I groan loudly.

Running downstairs, I call out for my head of security.

“Jake?”

“Sir?” he arrives quickly.

“The girl. She’s not in her room.”

“I was just coming to find you, sir. My men caught her in the back garden. They are escorting her to the front now.”

“Dammit. How did she get out of a locked room?”

“I’m not sure. You can ask her in a minute.”

There is a lot of noise and commotion as the guards pull Lara around the side of the house towards the front door.

“You have no right to keep me here,” she’s shouting at one of them. “I have a life, and a home, and I want to go there.”

“Lara, please calm yourself,” I say quietly. My voice makes her spin towards me, her eyes fuming.

“I won’t calm myself. You can’t lock me away and expect me to just sit there and accept it.”

I chuckle. “You have no choice. This is your new home now.”

She narrows her eyes at me, shooting daggers.

I know I’m antagonizing her, but I can’t help myself.

She’s cute when she’s angry, and now that I’m fresh and relaxed, I’m kind of enjoying her disapproval.

“Join me for dinner,” I demand, turning away from her.

“No,” she huffs. “I’m not hungry.”

I turn back to face her. Reaching up, I grab her jaw and pull her close.

“Sweetheart, I will force-feed you myself if I have to. We are not playing the hunger strike game today.”

Her eyes go wide, her lips part, and my body stirs to life watching her.

I clench my jaw and let her go. “Walk with me, Lara.”

***

She hardly touches her food at dinner and she hardly speaks at all. But I enjoy having her there with me, just to look at. In her silence, she is incredibly beautiful. After dinner, I make sure to lock her bedroom door properly this time.

But even after double-checking, I am still woken in the morning by the frantic voice of one of my guards, yelling outside my bedroom window. I hurry to the balcony and peer down into the garden.

Several men are shouting up at the back garden gate.

My heart sinks when I spot Lara, halfway up the metal feature, climbing over the steel bars.

“Fuck,” I shout, bolting out of the room in nothing but my sweatpants. Barefoot, I run across the garden towards the gate, my heart racing as I skid to a stop beneath it.

“Get down,” I yell at her.

“No,” she shouts back, almost at the top. But her hands are shaking. She’s scared. It’s not very high, but if she falls, it’s going to hurt.

“You’re going to break a leg if you fall from there, Lara. Stop being an idiot.”

“Leave me alone.”

Her foot slips, and she tries to grab the bar to secure herself, but her hand misses and she’s falling backwards. She screams loudly.

I step forward and catch her in my arms, angry that she put herself in danger.

Her body lands against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her.

She looks up at me with shock in her eyes, which quickly turns into fear and panic.

“Hey, calm down, you’re okay,” I say, holding her tighter.

Her breathing is sharp and fast. Her hand reaches out and grabs my arm, her fingers digging into me.

“Lara, look at me. You’re okay,” I say again. Her eyes meet mine.

Her body is soft against me, her scent washing over me.

She looks bewildered as I turn away from the gate, not willing to put her down because she feels too good in my arms.

She hasn’t said anything, and her eyes are still wide.

“Are you afraid of heights?” I ask, carrying her back towards the house.

“I-I-I shouldn’t have climbed the gate,” she whispers so softly I can barely hear her.