Page 6

"No." My voice was absolute, leaving no room for negotiation. "Ginnie, you're Isabella's baby sister. I promised her I'd take care of you, but not like this. Put away those pathetic tricks."

Her face went ghostly white, her carefully constructed seduction crumbling. Maybe it was desperation, maybe embarrassment at being exposed, but she blurted out, "But I love you, Gennady! I loved you even when Isabella was still alive! I just never had the chance to tell you!"

Those words were like lighting the fuse on a powder keg.

I spun around, fury in my eyes enough to tear her apart, the room's temperature seeming to plummet to freezing. "What did you just say?" My voice was terrifyingly low, each word like an icicle.

Ginnie finally realized she'd crossed an absolute line, her eyes filling with terror. "I-I meant—"

"You meant," I stepped closer, overwhelming pressure making her retreat instinctively, "that when my wife was lying in that hospital bed, suffering Satan's own torture, when she trusted you, treated you as her closest family, confided in you and depended on you, you were already plotting in your heart how to take her place and crawl into her husband's bed?!" My voice wasn't raised, but it carried destructive force, each word hitting her like a physical blow.

"No! It's not like that! I was just—" She stammered incoherently, tears mixing with terror streaming down her face.

"You know what I hate most?" I stopped in front of her, looking down with eyes holding no warmth, only pure, bone-chilling disgust. "Deception. Betrayal. And you—you not only betrayed her sisterly love for you, but now you want to use my love for her to deceive me?"

"Gennady! Listen to me—" She tried one last desperate struggle.

"Get out." Those three words carried tangible killing intent, freezing the air. "Now. Before I change my mind."

The vein at my temple pulsed violently from extreme restraint, but Ginnie kept pouring gasoline on the fire.

"Gennady, you can't treat me like this! Isabella—" she screamed hysterically, trying to grab that last straw.

"Don't say her name!" I cut her off sharply. That forbidden name spoken by her at this moment was like salt in a wound, the rage in my voice almost tangible. "Dimitri!"

Seconds later, Dimitri pushed through the door.

"Escort Miss Ginnie to her room." My voice was hoarse with suppressed fury. "Make sure she's gone by morning."

"Yes, Boss." Dimitri approached Ginnie. "Ma'am, please come with me."

Ginnie looked at me with a mixture of anger, desperation, and resentment, but finally followed Dimitri out of the room.

The room fell silent again, but the air still reeked of her nauseating sweet perfume, like invisible filth clinging to every inch of space and my senses.

That smell, mixed with the ashes of betrayal and the humiliation of being played, made the rage building in my chest nearly explode. Even more infuriating was that my body still maintained some state of arousal—three years of celibacy had made me hypersensitive to any form of stimulation.

This disconnect between body and mind made me even angrier.

I jerked to my feet and strode toward the private bathroom connected to the study. I needed to wash away this suffocating scent, and more importantly, wash away the contaminated feeling left by that brief but dangerous moment of weakness.

Icy water cascaded down as I stood under the spray, letting the bone-chilling streams pound my body. Water droplets slid down the tense muscle lines, trying to wash away the lingering sensation of Ginnie's fingertips and the physical reaction she'd deliberately provoked.

I closed my eyes, the water's roar drowning out everything else in the enclosed space. The ice water gradually calmed the agitation that had been forcibly stirred up and then forcibly suppressed, but it also made me aware of an unsettling fact—I'd been without a woman's touch for too damn long.

Three years. Three full years of celibacy, not because of any noble loyalty, but because I hadn't met anyone worth it. The women who tried to get close to me were either after power or money—not one genuinely attracted me. Their greed and scheming were written all over their faces, disgusting.

But tonight, Ginnie's seduction reminded me of one fact—I was a man, a man with normal needs.

Hot water replaced the cold, steam filling the space, muscles relaxing slightly under the warm flow, but the ice in my heart and will to control everything only solidified further.

After drying off, I put on a dark velvet robe, the belt tied loosely, chest partially exposed, still carrying the bathroom's heat.

I walked to the study's large floor-to-ceiling windows and poured myself a glass of aged Burgundy. Outside, scattered city lights twinkled in the darkness, outlining my cold and dangerous kingdom.

I took a sip, the deep red liquid releasing slightly bitter tannins on my tongue like some kind of sobering agent. The exhaustion still penetrated to my bones, but the irritation Ginnie had brought and that stirred-up physical agitation had been forcibly suppressed back into the unfathomable depths of my heart under the alternating hot and cold water.

What replaced it was a deeper, almost nihilistic emptiness. Maybe Ginnie was right, maybe I did need a woman—but definitely not one like her. What I needed was someone who could truly attract me, someone who came to me out of pure desire, not for power and money.