“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “About Alexei. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know that doesn’t?—”
“Don’t.”
His voice is so cold and sharp that I actually recoil.
He turns to look at me for the first time since we got in the car, and the rage in his eyes makes my blood freeze.
“Don’t you dare say his name,” he snarls. “Don’t speak about him or apologize for what your family did. Don’t pretend you give a damn. You will never—” He stops himself, jaw working like he’s physically restraining the words. “You will never mention my brother’s name again. Do you understand?”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” I manage, my heart pounding. “I understand.”
He turns back to the window, and we don’t speak again for the rest of the drive.
The silence is awful. Oppressive. It presses down on me until I can barely breathe, and all I can think is,This is my life now. This is what forever looks like.
When we finally arrive, I understand why they call it an estate and not just a house.
It’smassive. A fortress-like mansion on isolated grounds surrounded by high walls and iron gates that close behind us with an ominous clang.
The building itself is beautiful in a cold, imposing way.
It’s more castle than a home.
Security cameras are everywhere, mounted at regular intervals along the walls and roofline.
Guards patrol the grounds, their figures dark against the manicured lawns.
It’s not a home. It’s a prison.
And I’m the prisoner.
The SUV stops at the front entrance, and Dimitri gets out without a word. He doesn’t open my door or offer me his hand. He just waits while I struggle with the heavy door and my voluminous dress, nearly tripping on the steps.
The front door opens, and an older woman appears. She’s in her sixties with iron-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her expression is cold and unwelcoming and she looks at me like I’m something unpleasant she’s been forced to deal with.
“Your room is upstairs,” Dimitri says flatly, not looking at me. “Mrs. Kozlov will show you. Third door on the right. Stay out of my way.”
He starts to walk away, heading deeper into the house, and panic floods through me.
“Wait—”
He stops, but doesn’t turn around.
I don’t know what makes me say it. Desperation, maybe. Or some naive hope that there’s a way out of what I know is coming. But the words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Are we—” I gesture helplessly between us, my face burning with embarrassment. “I mean, we just got married, so aren’t we supposed to?—”
I can’t finish the sentence. Just fucking end me right here and now.
Dimitri turns around slowly and there’s something dark in his eyes that makes my stomach drop.
“Oh, we’re going to consummate this marriage, Mrs. Volkov,” he says quietly. Each word is precise and deliberate. “I need it to be official and binding. But don’t mistake it for anything more.”
The way he says it—so cold, so clinical—makes me feel sick.
