His breathing stutters. Clara takes a step forward as if to intervene but stops herself, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Apologize,” I order.
He hesitates. I tighten my grip.
“I’m sorry,” he sputters, not daring to look at her.
She lifts her chin, nods once. “Don’t let it happen again.”
I release him so abruptly he stumbles. He backs away fast, practically running down the hall.
When he rounds the corner, I finally turn to her. Her gaze meets mine, steady despite the tension. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us crackles with everything unsaid.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she mutters.
“Yes,” I answer, jaw clenched, “I did.”
She crosses her arms. “You can’t fight every man who talks to me.”
My eyes narrow. “Watch me.”
She holds my stare, throat working as she swallows. I expect her to argue, spit some cutting reply, but she just shakes her head in disbelief and walks away.
I stay there a long moment, breathing slow and heavy, trying to force myself back into control. But the control doesn’t come. All I can think about is the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. The way he dared to stand too close.
Every man who glances at her earns my silent wrath. That one earned something much worse.
***
Later, in my office, I’m pacing like a caged animal when Nikolai walks in without knocking—one of the few privileges I allow him.
He shuts the door behind him and folds his arms.
“You need to calm down,” he says.
My jaw works. “Don’t start.”
“I will,” he replies, unshaken. “I heard about Mikhail.”
“He’s lucky he walked away.”
“You threatened to kill him.”
“He deserved worse.”
Nikolai sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Lukyan, this isn’t you. You’re out of control.”
My fists clench. “She’s my wife. He disrespected her.”
“He spoke out of turn. Fine, but you’re acting like any man who breathes near her is marked for death.” He pauses, tone shifting. “I supported this marriage because I trusted your judgment. Now I’m wondering if I was wrong.”
Something inside me snaps.
My fist slams into the table before I even register the movement. Wood splinters beneath my knuckles. Papers scatter. The glass of vodka topples, spilling across the grain.
Nikolai doesn’t flinch. He just watches.
I drag a hand over my face, breath shaking. “Don’t question me.”
