She's restless tonight. I can see it in the way she moves, the way her expression keeps shifting. Something is troubling her dreams, and I want to know what it is. Want to hunt it down and destroy it, whatever it is that won't let her rest.
I stand there for a long time just watching her breathe, learning the rhythm of her, the patterns of her sleep. And I know, with absolute certainty, that I'm completely lost.
I've always been called a monster. My father called me that with approval. My enemies have called me that before they died. Even my allies, the men who work for me and profit from my violence, they call me that when they think I can't hear.
And they're right. I am a monster. I've done monstrous things, and I'll do more before I'm gone. I’ve never cared that others think that of me.
When it comes to her, I don’t care, either. I'd be any kind of monster if it meant I could have her.
She's mine. She doesn't know it yet, but she is. She's been mine since that moment in Boston when our eyes met across the sidewalk. From that moment it became clear that I was never going to let her go. In the end, she'll be mine completely, the way she already is in my head, in every dark corner of my soul.
Finally, as her sleep turns more restless, I force myself to leave before she wakes up and sees me there. I move through her apartment one last time, touching nothing, leaving no trace. At the door, I pause and look back, memorizing the feeling of being here, of being close to her.
Then I slip out into the hallway and disappear.
—
The next morning,while I’m taking a remote meeting, Svetlana calls me.
Seeing her name on my personal phone surprises me. She seems to subscribe to—or at least have been instructed to follow—the idea that she should play hard to get and I should chase her. She rarely calls or texts me, and when she does contact me, it’s usually through someone else.
I also haven’t heard from her since the gala.
I ignore her the first time, and the second. But when she calls a third time, I excuse myself from the video call and step into the hallway.
"What?" I don't bother with pleasantries.
"Ilya." Her voice is cool. "We need to discuss the arrangements."
I reach up and pinch the bridge of my nose. She doesn’t need to elaborate on what she means by that. I’m very well aware of ourarrangement, and the fact that she’s been expecting a ring on her finger for a few months now. I think she thought I’d do it at the Christmas gala we attended.
But I hadn’t really wanted to go through with the marriage then, and I have absolutely no intention of it now.
I won’t insult Mara by asking her to be my mistress. She’ll be mine, entirely and completely, and I won’t ask her to share me with a wife. I don’twantany other woman. No woman could make me come the way just watching Mara, just being in her bedroom with her lingerie in my fist, can. No flesh and blood woman compares to just the sight of the one I want.
My jaw tightens. "There's nothing to discuss. We’ll talk about it when I get back to Boston.”
I’m going to end it, but I know it’s to my benefit not to do it yet. Ending it right now would mean dealing with politics that would pull me away from New York and Mara.
"My father disagrees. He's expecting an announcement within the month. He was expecting onelastmonth.”
"Then he'll continue to be disappointed."
There's a pause. When Svetlana speaks again, her voice has an edge to it. "You agreed to this, Ilya. My family is counting on it. You can't just?—"
"I can do whatever I want," I interrupt. "I’ll talk to you when I come back to Boston. I’m dealing with business here. That’s what your father wants you to marry me for, isn’t it? My business connections? So let me work, and we’ll talk about timing when I’m back.”
"He won't accept that."
"He'll have to."
There’s another pause, longer this time. "Is there someone else?"
The blunt question catches me off guard. Svetlana is many things—cold, calculating, ambitious—but she's not stupid. Of course she's noticed the change in me, the distractedness the way I've been pulling away from the arrangement even more so than usual. I was detached before, but more in the way that men of my status often are. Marriages are for power, not love, so I’m sure she didn’t expect deep affection. But I also can imagine she’s picked up on the difference.
I let out a sharp breath. "That's none of your concern.”
"It is if it affects our agreement."
