The words land with more weight than I want to admit. They shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t owe me anything—not his time, not his attention, not even a damn dinner. This marriage was never about love or a partnership, and it sure as hell wasn’t built on mutual respect. So if he wants to stay gone and let work take priority over me, that’s fine. I can’t be upset about something that was never real to begin with.
I press my lips together, pulse tight in my throat, and close my hand around the phone until my knuckles ache. Then I toss it onto the couch with a bit too much enthusiasm.
Seconds later, one of the maids appears. “Would you like some tea?”
Just what I need.
“Green tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course.”
I drift into the den and curl onto the far corner of the sectional, tucking a throw blanket over my lap. The floors gleam, the artwork is museum-worthy, and every surface whispers wealth.
The home is beautiful and immaculate. But it doesn’t feel like mine.
When the tea arrives, I cradle the mug between my palms, letting the warmth soak into my skin while my thoughts circle the one man I shouldn’t want, but do anyway. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
What I could use right now is something as simple as a friend. Someone to talk to, to tell about my day, about the notes I’ve been getting, about how exhausting it is wanting something real with someone who lives in a world so completely opposite of mine.
I finish the rest in slow sips, the tea lukewarm now but still decent. Heavy footsteps approach, and I glance up to find another guard.
“They’re here,” he says. “The clothes. They are in your room.”
“Thanks.”
I set the mug on the end table and head upstairs to my bedroom, where clothes hang from portable stands and more wait in bags on the floor. I let my fingers glide over silk and satin, tailored seams and sculpted waistlines, wondering what Aleksei will see when he looks at me in these. A possession? A prize? A placeholder?
The clothes fit beautifully. Too beautifully. Pencil dresses, evening gowns, tops, skirts, blouses and high-waisted slacks, blazers that sharpen my shape.
I look in the mirror and barely recognize myself. Like I’m playing dress-up in a world that isn’t mine.
Once I’m done, I peel the clothes off like I’m shedding a costume. Like if I move quickly enough, I can shake off whatever version of myself was starting to believe I belonged in them.
I hang the pieces I’m keeping and leave the rest on the rack, telling the guard to return them or have whoever brought them come collect them.
When dinner rolls around, I hesitate. The thought of sitting alone at the far end of that ridiculously long dining table makes my stomach turn.
I’ve eaten alone more times than I can count. I’ve spent years by myself, when the silence didn’t bother me, when solitude was a choice, not a consequence. But tonight, it feels different.
Tonight, it feels like punishment.
Maybe it’s the size of this house. The way the quiet stretches too far and echoes too loud.
Or maybe it’s him. The way Aleksei has wormed his way into places I didn’t think anyone could reach, his absence somehow heavier than his presence ever was.
I shouldn’t crave the company of a man who married me out of vengeance, out of some twisted game of power. But I do.
And no matter how hard I try to fight it, I’m not even sure I want to be free of him anymore.
ALEKSEI
It’s after midnight when I step through the door, removing my boots and leaving them by the door. I tell myself I’m heading for one of the guest rooms. That’s the plan. Sleep alone. Keep my distance.
But my feet don’t turn right. They carry me left and down the hall, toward the master suite.
Toward her.
I should make some attempt to stop, but it’s the last thing I want. The last thing I need. I want to feel the way she breathes beside me, her warm skin on mine. All the things I never imagined myself wanting, especially from her.
