“I won’t be home for dinner tonight,” he finally says.
I don’t know what I expected. Something meaningful, maybe. Something real. But it’s not that. Just more distance and disappointment. More of this hollow ache I hate admitting he causes.
My fork stalls halfway to my mouth. “Oh, really? Working late again?”
Or fucking someone else?
“Yes.” His response is clipped, not even an ounce of warmth. “Is that a problem?”
No. Of course not. I don’t care what you do, or who you do it with.
But the thought of him with another woman, touching her the way he touches me, sends a hot, bitter rage tearing through me.
I shake my head, gripping the fork painfully tight. “No problem at all. The less I see of you, the better.”
I mean to sound indifferent, but it doesn’t come out that way. It feels like something splinters in my chest as the words leave my mouth. Something I won’t be able to glue back together.
He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me. Long enough that it punctures something raw inside me.
“I’m glad.” His lips wind a fraction. “I’m here to make you happy, lyubov moya.”
What the hell does that mean?
I really need to start learning Russian.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a black credit card, placing it on the table between us. “This is for you. Use it for whatever you need. Go shopping. Take a spa day. Buy a new car if you want to. It has no limit.”
I stare at the card like it’s some kind of insult. “I don’t want your money.”
He leans back, something close to amusement tugging at his lips.
Without hesitation, I shove the card back toward him. His gaze darkens as he rises and closes the space between us. That familiar scent of his cologne clings to him as he stops in front of me, tipping my chin up between his fingers and forcing my eyes to meet his.
“Like it or not, you are a Marinova now. You represent me. So act like it.”
I force out a humorless laugh. “And what exactly does that mean? What do I represent? A violent man who terrifies everyone who crosses his path? A man who traps a woman in a marriage she never wanted?”
His eyes narrow, the warning in them unmistakable, but I don’t care. I’m too tired of holding my tongue.
“You’d rather see me miserable than let me go,” I press, my voice trembling with something too jagged to name. “And forwhat? Because I did my job? Because I put people like you in prison?”
I stand slowly, lifting my chin, and those deep, dark eyes never leave mine. The air between us thickens, charged with something volatile. One wrong word, and this entire moment could ignite.
His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, all silent and still, watching me with that unreadable expression like he’s already dissected everything I just said. My ribs tighten around each breath, the heaviness of his silence more unnerving than any threat.
I shake my head, turning to walk past him. “I’m done here.”
“But I’m not,” he growls.
Before I can take another step, his hand wraps around my wrist and I’m yanked forward and spun into him so fast my breath catches. My chest collides with the solid wall of his body as he pins me there, one arm banded tight around my back, the other gliding up, fingers tipping my chin until his mouth hovers near my ear.
“You really don’t know what you do to me when you talk like that.” His warm breath tickles against my skin. “So bold. So defiant.”
I swallow hard, every nerve ending on fire.
“But watch how you speak to me, moya ptichka. Because there are consequences.”
“And what are those?” My pulse thuds in my throat.
