Page 17

The night stretches on, an endless blur of sharp glances, hushed whispers, and glasses of expensive champagne that do nothing to ease the tension coiling in my stomach.

The Sharov women—elegant, poised, and effortlessly intimidating—watch me like a pack of wolves, their expressions neutral on the surface but brimming with disdain just beneath. Their eyes rake over me with scrutiny, assessing, measuring, waiting for me to slip up, to fail.

I keep my posture straight, my chin lifted just enough to appear composed, but I feel it—how out of place I am, how much they resent my presence. To them, I am an outsider, a Spade, a woman whose only worth is whatever political leverage my marriage to Mikhail brings.

My polite smiles grow tighter with every forced conversation, every hollow pleasantry exchanged over glittering glasses and suffocating perfume. I nod at the right moments, laugh when I’m supposed to, but the effort is draining.

Eventually, I slip away.

The grand hall is vast, its golden chandeliers casting an opulent glow over the extravagant event, but I search for the quiet, the untouched corners where the noise doesn’t press so heavily against my skull.

I find one near a towering marble column, away from the clusters of guests engaged in their power plays and whispered politics. My fingers tighten around the stem of my half-empty champagne flute as I exhale slowly, trying to loosen the knot of tension wound tight in my chest.

I shouldn’t let them get to me. I knew this would happen. Still, the weight of it settles uncomfortably in my bones. I glance around the room, searching for familiar faces, for him.

Mikhail. It’s ridiculous how my eyes find him so quickly.

He stands at the far end of the hall, deep in conversation with a group of men who radiate the same quiet menace he does. He’s completely at ease, one hand in his pocket, the other swirling the dark liquid in his glass with casual indifference.

He looks good. Unfairly so. The tailored black suit fits him perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it a stark contrast to his dark features. His hair, always kept just slightly tousled, makes him look effortlessly powerful. Every movement, every slight shift of his expression, exudes control.

Yet, as if sensing my gaze, his sharp eyes flick up—directly to me. My breath catches. For a moment, I forget where I am.

Then his lips curve into a knowing smirk, like he knows exactly what’s running through my mind.

Heat creeps up my neck, and I quickly look away, focusing on the cool press of the champagne glass against my palm.

This is a mistake. I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t crave his touch, his attention.

Mikhail appears beside me without a sound, his presence as commanding as ever. Even without looking, I feel the shift in the air, the way his body radiates authority, control. A fresh wave of nerves rolls through me, but I force myself to stay still, to pretend his nearness doesn’t send a shiver down my spine.

“Impressive earlier,” he murmurs, his voice low, dark. “Not many would dare put Denis in his place.”

I turn my head slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes are sharp, unreadable, yet something in them gleams with quiet approval. It sends a strange flicker of satisfaction through me—something I refuse to acknowledge.

I swallow, my exhaustion settling deeper into my bones. “I’m just… tired,” I admit, my voice softer than before. I don’t have the energy to keep up appearances anymore, not tonight.

His brows lift slightly, as if my honesty surprises him.

I hesitate, then exhale slowly. “Can we go home?”

His expression remains unreadable, but his silence feels expectant, like he’s waiting for more. I sigh and add, almost hesitantly, “I miss Luka.”

The kitten’s name feels strange on my tongue, like I shouldn’t be bringing up something so soft in the middle of this world—his world.

Something shifts in Mikhail’s demeanor. The sharp edges in his expression dull slightly, his posture relaxing just enough for me to notice. He doesn’t scoff, doesn’t mock me for it. Instead, after a long pause, he gives me a single, decisive nod.

“Let’s go.”

I blink, caught off guard by his immediate agreement, but I don’t question it. Without another word, he extends a hand—not demanding, just waiting. A choice.

I hesitate only for a second before slipping my fingers into his.

His grip is firm, warm, and with quiet certainty, he guides me through the glittering chaos of the event, leading me away from the weight of the night and back toward something—dare I say—safe.

***

The estate is quiet, a contrast to the extravagant chaos of the event. The moment I step inside, the tension in my shoulders begins to ease. No more prying eyes. No more whispered judgments.

I set down my purse and immediately move toward Luka’s small bed in the corner, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The little kitten lifts her head sleepily, blinking up at me before letting out a small, demanding meow. I smile, crouching down to run my fingers over her soft fur before moving to fill her bowl with food.

As I straighten, I lift my hands to my shoulder and tug at the zipper of my dress, just enough to loosen the fabric, allowing me to breathe. The material shifts, sliding off my shoulder slightly, baring a teasing sliver of skin, my collarbone, the curve of my back—

“Stop that.”

The deep, husky growl freezes me mid-motion.

I turn slowly, my heart already pounding, my fingers still on the zipper.

Mikhail stands several feet away, his gaze locked on to me, dark and unreadable, but there’s no mistaking the heat behind his stare. His jaw is tight, his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he’s restraining himself.

“I….” I trail off, confused. “Stop what?”

He takes a step forward, and suddenly, my back meets the wall. My breath catches, the proximity making my pulse stutter.

His arms brace against the wall on either side of me, trapping me in. His body is close—so close I can feel his heat, his sheer presence suffocating. The scent of his cologne wraps around me, strong and intoxicating.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick, rough with restraint.

A shiver rolls through me.

I should push him away. I should say something sharp, remind him that I do know what I’m doing, that I’m not some naive girl who doesn’t realize the effect she has on him.

The truth is, I don’t.

I don’t know why my breath comes faster, why my body reacts the way it does to the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s starving.

I swallow hard, my lips parting, but no words come out.

Mikhail’s gaze drops to my mouth, and something shifts in the air. The heat between us turns thick, unbearable.

Then, he moves.

One moment, I’m pressed against the wall, and the next, his lips are on mine.

The kiss is demanding, urgent, his mouth claiming me in a way that makes my knees weak. His hands grip my waist, his body pressing flush against mine, and I feel everything—the hardness of his chest, the heat of his skin, the sheer dominance in the way he takes control of the moment.

A whimper escapes me before I can stop it, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His fingers slide into my hair, tugging gently as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against mine in a way that makes my entire body tighten. My hands lift to his chest instinctively, gripping the fabric of his suit, but I don’t push him away. I pull him closer.

We break apart only when I’m gasping for breath, my lips swollen, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Mikhail studies me, his breathing uneven, his gaze hooded with desire.

Then, without a word, he bends slightly, gripping the backs of my thighs and lifting me effortlessly into his arms.

I let out a soft gasp, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck, my legs curling around his waist as he carries me toward our room.

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp as I hit the mattress, the soft fabric beneath me doing nothing to cushion the sheer force of how Mikhail throws me onto the bed. My body bounces slightly, my heart hammering, every nerve in my body alive with anticipation.

Before I can even process the moment, he’s on me.

Mikhail climbs over me with a predatory grace, his weight pressing me down into the mattress, trapping me beneath him. His hands find my wrists and pin them above my head, his grip firm, possessive.

“You drive me insane,” he mutters against my throat before his lips claim my skin.

A sharp nip at my collarbone makes me shiver, heat pooling deep in my stomach. I want the way he makes me feel—helpless and powerful all at once.

His mouth is everywhere, kissing, biting, claiming. He doesn’t hold back this time. He’s not gentle like before. His hands are rough, his touches demanding, and I meet every bit of it with equal intensity.

A moan escapes me when his fingers dig into my hip, pulling me closer.

“You’re enjoying yourself, hmm,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot, teasing.

I bite my lip, refusing to answer, but he lifts his head, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Say it,” he demands.

I tilt my chin up, defiant. “Make me.”

His low growl is the only warning I get before his lips crash against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs.

I give in. Completely.

Mikhail doesn’t hesitate. His grip tightens on my wrists as his mouth crashes down on mine again, stealing the very breath from my lungs. It’s not a kiss meant for tenderness—it’s raw, consuming, a battle of tongues and teeth. My body reacts instinctively, pressing against him, meeting his dominance with my own quiet defiance.

I arch beneath him, tugging at my hands, but his grip doesn’t falter. A smirk curves against my lips between the frantic kisses. “You’re not afraid of me, love?” he murmurs, his voice dark and full of something wicked.

I meet his gaze, my chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. “Should I be?”

His eyes flash, and without another word, he lets go of my wrists and grips the neckline of my dress. The sound of fabric tearing fills the air.

A gasp leaves me as cool air rushes over my bare skin, my dress splits open with brutal ease. The torn material pools around me, leaving me exposed beneath his heated stare.

I like the way he looks at me. Like I belong to him. Like he owns me.

Then he’s undoing the buckle of his belt, his thick cock springing free. Somehow he’s even thicker than I remember, veiny and girthy and already leaking precum.

I gasp, reaching for it. I lead him to my soaked entrance, grinning as I take him to the hilt. He fills me, twitching and hot, and I moan with need.

While he fucks me, my fingers find the buttons of his shirt, my impatience matching his own as I rip it open, sending buttons flying. My hands trail down his torso, tracing the firm ridges of muscle, the heat of his skin branding my fingertips.

Mikhail’s sharp intake of breath is the only warning I get before he’s on me again, his lips and teeth grazing the delicate curve of my throat.

I push against him, flipping us so that I straddle his lap, the shredded remains of my dress slipping from my shoulders. His large hands grip my waist, his touch searing, grounding me against him.

Then, I drop down and fully seat him inside of me. God, he’s so thick I feel like I might be split open.

“You’re playing with fire,” he growls, his voice thick with hunger.

I smirk, dragging my nails down his chest, rocking forwards while I watch as his muscles tighten beneath my touch. “Maybe I like the burn.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbles from him before his hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat to him once more. His mouth finds my pulse, biting down just enough to make me gasp.

I claw at his back, my nails raking over his skin, and he groans in response, his grip on me tightening.

This isn’t sweet. This isn’t soft. This is fire and possession, hunger and desperation. I know, deep down, I’ll never be the same after tonight.

Mikhail’s grip on my waist tightens as he pulls me closer, his body hot and firm beneath mine. His breath is ragged, matching my own as we move together.

His hands roam over my body as he thrusts, rough and unyielding, as if he’s memorizing every inch of me, marking me as his. I meet him touch for touch, matching his intensity, refusing to be overpowered.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling just enough to draw a deep groan from his lips. His response is immediate—his mouth finds my collarbone, biting down just enough to make me gasp.

I arch into him, the heat between us unbearable, suffocating.

His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips as he rolls us over, pinning me beneath him once more. His weight presses me into the mattress, grounding me, trapping me in a way that makes my heart race with anticipation.

His lips find mine again, hungry, desperate. I lose myself in him, my back arching, desperate to get as much of that delicious cock as possible.

I don’t know how much time passes before the fever between us fades into something slower, softer. Mikhail’s breathing is deep and steady as I rest against his chest, my fingers tracing lazy circles over his skin.

I come not with a scream or a cry, but with a gentle gasp as he brings me to my peak. My eyes slip closed, head tilted back, as my whole body tingles with release.

Mikhail grunts once, twice, as his own release fills me to the brim. There’s an odd comfort in it, that mingles with the desire.

His hand strokes absentmindedly down my back, his touch still possessive even in the quiet aftermath.

I fight to keep my eyes open, but exhaustion pulls at me, dragging me down. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like a prisoner. I feel… safe.

The thought lingers in my mind as sleep finally claims me, still wrapped in his arms.

Chapter Seventeen - Mikhail

I wake with a start.

For a moment, I don’t move, lingering in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, my body still warm from the memories of last night.

Julie. The way she had felt beneath me, soft but unyielding, fire and defiance wrapped in silk. The sounds she had made, the way she had touched me, the way she had given herself to me, not just in surrender but in equal hunger.

I exhale slowly, running a hand over my face before reaching out toward her side of the bed—only to find it cold. Empty.

A flicker of irritation cuts through my lingering satisfaction. I prop myself up on one elbow, scanning the dimly lit room. The sheets are slightly rumpled, proof that she had been here not long ago. But now, she’s gone.

She wouldn’t have run. Not after last night. Still, a part of me tightens at the thought.

I throw the blankets off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before pushing myself up. She’s probably in the kitchen or maybe entertaining that damn kitten again.

Shaking off my irritation, I make my way to the bathroom. The water is scalding as I step into the shower, but I welcome it. I let the heat wash over me, washing away the remnants of sleep, but it does nothing to rid me of the phantom sensation of her skin against mine.

By the time I step out, towel wrapped around my waist, I feel more like myself again. I dress quickly, sliding into my usual tailored suit—black, sharp, and perfectly fitted. There’s business to handle today, a meeting that requires my full attention.

Something feels… off. The house is too quiet. Even in the mornings, there’s usually some movement—guards outside, maids shuffling around, Julie’s hesitant presence as she tiptoes through a world she still doesn’t fully belong to.

Today? Nothing.

I adjust my cuff links, eyes narrowing slightly as I step into the hallway. Silence presses down around me, and I don’t like it.

The moment I step into the kitchen, the tension in my gut coils tighter. Empty. The counters are pristine, undisturbed. No sign of Julie.

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders back, forcing away the unease threatening to take root. This isn’t unusual. She has more freedom now—she could be anywhere within the estate. Maybe she’s in the sitting room, wrapped up in a book, or taking another one of her walks around the gardens.

Yet, something about the silence gnaws at me.

I move through the house, my steps measured but quick. The sitting room is untouched, the cushions neatly arranged, not a single book out of place. The dining hall is the same—untouched, lifeless. I rake a hand through my hair, irritation mounting.

“Where did she go?” I mutter, feeling the sharp edge of frustration digging in.

She wouldn’t have run. Would she?

My jaw clenches. The thought shouldn’t bother me this much. If she was foolish enough to try and leave, I’d find her. I always find what belongs to me.

The tightness in my chest has nothing to do with ownership.

I turn sharply on my heel, my gaze sweeping the vast space of the estate. The maids are off today. The guards remain stationed outside as usual. Nothing seems amiss, but the absence of Julie unsettles me.

She’s been adjusting, softening. Last night had changed something between us. I had felt it in the way she had reached for me, the way she had let herself want me.

Now, she’s nowhere to be found. A flicker of something unfamiliar stirs beneath my ribs, something dangerously close to concern.

I move with more purpose now, stalking through the halls and toward the glass doors leading to the garden. If she’s anywhere, she’s outside.

The moment I step onto the stone path, the breeze cool against my skin, my eyes sweep over the stretch of green.

Then, I see her.

She’s kneeling in the grass, her back turned, hunched over something in her lap.

I don’t think. I move. My voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Julie? You think you can just—”

She turns before I can finish. I stop cold.

Her face is streaked with tears, her expression one of pure anguish. But it isn’t me she’s afraid of.

It’s the kitten she’s cradling in her lap. The small, frail thing barely moves, its tiny body weak and limp. A weak mew escapes its throat, barely a sound at all.

Julie looks up at me, her lip trembling. “She’s sick,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

I watch as she clutches the kitten closer, desperation thick in her tone. “I found her like this here… something could happen to her.”

The fury simmering inside me vanishes the second I see her face. I hesitate.

The logical part of me—the ruthless side that sees vulnerabilities as weaknesses—tells me to brush this off. It’s a kitten. It doesn’t matter. The other part, the part I don’t like acknowledging, knows I can’t allow Julie to be upset.

Now, Julie holds it like the most precious thing in the world, her desperation digging under my skin in a way I can’t shake.

Her lip trembles. “Please,” she whispers, lifting her gaze to mine.

Something stirs inside me. Damn her. I don’t like this feeling.

The weight of her plea settles in my chest, pressing against the barriers I’ve spent years building. I should say no. I should shut this down before it turns into something more.

I don’t. Instead, I let out a slow breath and mutter, “Fine.”

Julie’s eyes widen slightly, but I hold up a hand before she can say anything else. “Don’t try anything funny.” My voice is sharp, but the threat lacks its usual bite.

She nods quickly, pressing her cheek against the kitten’s fur in silent gratitude. I watch her a moment longer, my jaw clenching as I wrestle with the unfamiliar sensation creeping through me.

Julie isn’t manipulating me. She isn’t playing a game. She’s just… Julie.

I cringe, but say, “Luka will be fine, you know.”

Julie sniffles, her grip on the kitten tightening. She looks up at me, blue eyes glassy with tears, her lip trembling as she strokes its tiny head.

“You don’t know if she’ll be okay,” she whispers, voice unsteady.

I exhale through my nose, jaw tightening. She’s right. I don’t. I can’t have her falling apart like this.

I shift slightly, glancing away before looking back at her. “She’ll be fine,” I repeat, my voice gruff.

Julie sniffles again, pressing her lips together, unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”

I resist the urge to sigh. Comfort isn’t something I do, and yet, here I am, kneeling in the grass, trying to ease the worry of the woman I married by force.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” My tone is sharper than I intend, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she wipes at her tears and stares at me as if trying to decide whether she believes me or not.

Finally, she sighs and loosens her hold, her fingers trembling as she lets me take the kitten from her.

I cradle the small, frail creature in my hands. It barely stirs, its breath shallow but still there.

Julie watches me, her gaze still pleading.

I don’t give her more false reassurances. Instead, I pull out my phone, pressing a number. “Get a car, we’re going to the vet.”

Julie exhales shakily, nodding, as if my command is the only thing keeping her upright.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but it does.