“I didn’t want it like this,” I say quietly, not sure she’ll even hear me. “I know what I’ve taken from you.”
Silence.
A few rooms away, the maids clear away the remnants of the ceremony—empty glasses, crumbs from a breakfast no one touched. In another life, there would have been music and laughter. In this one, only the echoes remain.
I slide down to sit against her door, knees drawn up, hands clasped in front of me. For a long time, I say nothing. I think of everything I could promise, every reassurance that would sound like a lie. I am not a man who brings peace. I never have been.
After a while, I speak again, voice lower, words meant only for her. “You’re my wife now. That means you’re untouchable. No one will come for you—not Ivan, not anyone else. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Who is he, anyway? You’re so intent on keeping me safe from him, but I don’t… I don’t even know why you hate him.”
For a long moment, I don’t answer. Then, “He was my second in command. He betrayed me, and killed the woman I love.”
“So, you were in love?”
“It was years ago, but yes.”
She doesn’t look at me. I clench my fists against the memories, against the hot anger coursing through my veins.
I wait, hope flaring in my chest for a response—a word, a footstep, any crack in her resolve.
Clara stays silent. The rejection is gentle, but absolute.
Eventually, I stand. My knees protest. I press my hand one last time to the old wood, then force myself to leave her in peace. I walk away, every step heavier than the last, feeling the loss settle into my bones.
Down the hall, I pass Nikolai, who watches me with guarded sympathy. He doesn’t offer advice or comfort. He knows better than to think I want it.
“She’ll need time,” he says quietly.
I nod. “I know.”
He glances back toward Clara’s door. “She’s not like the others. She won’t just accept this.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t want her to accept it. I want her to be safe and happy.”
“Then let her breathe,” Nikolai says, almost gently. “Give her that, at least.”
I nod again, swallowing the urge to turn back and beg for forgiveness I know I’ll never earn. I go to my own room, hands shaking, the silence closing in around me.
For the rest of the day, I avoid the east wing. I don’t send for her. I don’t ask the staff for updates. I bury myself in business: contracts, phone calls, threats to rivals who still don’t know the lines they’ve crossed.
But nothing fills the empty space where she should be.
That night, I pass her door again. The light is on. I pause, hand hovering over the handle. I imagine her inside, fighting the urge to tear the dress from her body and scream at the world that trapped her.
I do not enter. I do not force her to face me.
Tonight, we’ll have our wedding night. For now, I give her the space she needs.
Chapter Fifteen - Clara
The house is silent, the kind of silence that makes every heartbeat seem louder, every breath deeper. I sit in the half-lit room, gown pressed smooth over my legs, mind reeling from the day, the vows I never meant, the future I never chose.
The storm has passed, but something lingers in the air: the taste of lightning, the memory of a promise that was never really a promise at all.
A quiet knock comes at the door. I jump. The housekeeper appears, her face shadowed, her voice careful. “He’s waiting, Mrs. Sharov.”
Mrs. Sharov. The name sends a pulse through me: fear, defiance, hunger tangled tight. I follow her down the darkened hall, feet silent against old carpets, every step echoing inside my chest. She pauses at a heavy wooden door. Lukyan’s room. Not mine. Not ours. Just his.
