Page 16 of His Contract Queen

There is a sudden silence on the other side of the door. It’s so abrupt it feels unnatural, like the air has been vacuumed out of the hallway entirely. For a moment, even the muffled whimpering stops.

Then Aleksandr speaks. “Shall we try that again?”

His tone alone sends a cold ripple down my spine. It’s calm, almost patiently delivered. It’s the voice of someone entirely in control of not only himself, but of the entire room, including the man suffering in front of him.

A shuddering inhale answers him. It’s wet and ragged sounding. It conjures far too vivid an image of a man beaten half-senseless lying on the floor at Aleksandr’s feet, blood dripping from his mouth or nose or both, his face and body badly beaten.

The mental picture alone forces bile up my throat. Aleksandr Volkov is every bit the monster the world claims he is.

“Please…” the man begs.

Another sickening crack splits the air. Not quite the same as the earlier blows, this one is harder, like something solid impacting bone. A dull thud follows. The kind a heavy object, or a body, makes when it hits the floor.

Silence descends again.

My heart squeezes painfully, tightening like a fist.

Is he dead?

The thought flashes through me with horrifying curiosity. For the first time since stepping foot into this estate, the full reality of what I am dealing with settles over me like an omen. This isn’t the embellished story of a villain within the confines of politicalgossip. This is Aleksandr Volkov, the man I’ve agreed to marry, inadvertently showing me exactly who he is.

I’m so busy grappling with that truth that I don’t notice the shift at first. Footsteps move inside the room, drawing closer to the door. By the time realization hits me, it’s already too late. The handle turns, causing panic to punch straight through my chest.

I jump back from the door instinctively, my body moving before my mind can catch up. I search frantically for the darkest corner, any sliver of shadow wide enough to swallow me from view. My breath escapes me in a shaky exhale as I press my back flat against the wall and will myself to disappear entirely.

Light spills into the hallway as the door is pulled open, slicing across the marble floor like a blade. The contrast is blinding, a stark golden beam that seems to reach for me even as I try to shrink from it. My pulse thrashes violently inside my body, each beat screaming in warning as every instinct I possess roars the same message.Do. Not. Move.

“Well,” comes a familiar voice, smooth and devastatingly self-assured. Amusement curls beneath the surface like smoke. “Either you’re terribly lost or terribly curious.”

My stomach drops.

Shit.

His posture is relaxed and almost lazy when he leans against the door frame and turns toward my direction. His eyes, however, are not. They rake over me with interest. The corner of his mouth lifts.

“Midnight stroll?” he asks lightly.

He knows I was here eavesdropping, but… strangely, he doesn’t look angry. If anything, he looks entertained. As though catching me like this isn’t a transgression but a discovery he’s delighted to make.

My heart is hammering so loudly, I’m certain he can hear it. I swallow it down, forcing the panic down as I school my expression to remain as neutral and unthreatening as possible. “I… couldn’t sleep. I thought a walk might help.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, the sound low, almost sympathetic. “Insomnia? How tragic for my bride-to-be.”

He pushes off the wall slowly, stepping closer with the kind of controlled grace that makes him feel larger than he is and more dangerous than anything I’ve ever known. I try not to let it get to me or shrink back and let him see the instinctual urge to turn and run.

Running would be pointless. Suicidal, even. But every cell in my body screams to create some distance as he closes the gap between us.

My eyes flick downward briefly, mainly on instinct, drawn to the hand at his side and narrowing in on the object held loosely in his grip.

A tire iron.

Slightly bent in the middle, as though something or someone absorbed the force behind it. The end is speckled with a dark color that the low hallway light can’t quite disguise. However, I don’t need to touch it to know what coats the steel. If I did, I know without a shadow of a doubt it would still be wet.

My stomach twists painfully.

“Wandering near private meetings after midnight is a bold way to cure sleeplessness,” he adds, his voice deceptively mild.

Heat rises in my chest, mortification, fear, and fury tangled into a single tight knot. He’s not accusing me outright, but this is obviously a warning. Publicly, he’d humiliate me, perhaps even punish me for eavesdropping.