Page 66 of Bound in Possession

Maksim just smirks, completely unbothered by my murderous expression as he rolls off the bed and plants his feet firmly on the floor.

"Go get ready," he commands smoothly, standing up in all his broad, naked glory.

"Now?" I ask, sitting up and pulling the sheet to my chest.

"Yes, now, princess," he says, flashing me a rare, devastating grin as he heads toward the dressing room. "You said you were bored. I'm going to take you out."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

MAKSIM

When Camilla and I arrive at the restaurant, the dining room is completely empty, closed off to the public for the evening. No lingering eyes, no security risks, and no unwanted audience. The establishment is mine, so Dmitri called ahead. A select few of my most trusted staff stayed behind, quietly moving through the shadows to transform the floor into something fitting for the woman sitting beside me.

The space opens up into a stunning, high-arched sanctuary of dark velvet and polished marble. Warm, amber light flickers against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, casting long, elegant shadows across the room. Right in the center of the floor sits a single round table, draped in heavy, seamless white linen.

It is impeccably set.

Dozens of deep crimson roses bleed over the edges of a towering crystal vase, their scent thick and rich in the air. Surrounding them are polished golden candelabras, their dancing flames reflecting off the polished silverware and sparkling crystal stemware. The tabletop is already weighted down with an extravagant spread—platters of seared rack of lamb, fresh seafood, artisan cheeses, and an expensive bottle of vintage red wine sitting in ice.

Camilla looks breathlessly beautiful standing beside me.

She wears a dark, form-fitting dress that clings to every curve I claimed o in our bedroom, her hair cascading softly over her bare shoulders. Looking at her in the soft candlelight, a strange, rare sensation settles in my chest. For the first time in months—maybe years—I feel completely, entirely relaxed. The crushing weight of the Bratva, Viktor's threats, and the elders' quiet plotting all fade into the background.

I pull out a heavy velvet chair for her, waiting until she sits before taking my seat directly across from her.

Camilla looks around the glowing, empty room, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips before her eyes meet mine.

"Thank you for bringing me out, Maksim," she says softly, her voice carrying a quiet warmth that cuts straight through the cold armor I’ve worn my whole life. "This is... incredible."

I clear my throat, shifting slightly in my seat. "Let's eat," I say, my voice a little rougher than intended.

Because if I don't say that right now, I might say something else. Something dangerous. Something my dark, rigid heart won't even begin to understand.

We immediately start eating, the high-end spread tasting exceptional, though my focus remains split.

Every ten minutes like clockwork, my phone pings against the heavy tablecloth. Silenced, but buzzing with short, precise updates from my security team positioned around the restaurant perimeter and adjacent streets.

Camilla has no idea they're out there. I explicitly told my men to be shadows, completely invisible to her. She wanted a private night, a normal night out, away from the fortress, but I simply can't give her absolute vulnerability. Not while Viktor is breathing.

Just as she finishes her food, she grabs her wine flute and takes a slow sip. Her dark eyes fixate on me, watching the subtle movement of my thumb turning my phone screen face down for the fourth time.

She sets her flute down with a deliberate, soft clink.

"If this is supposed to be a real dinner, Maksim," she says, calling me out with that sharp, unyielding gaze of hers, "you have to stop treating it like a security operation."

I let out a slow, heavy sigh, running a hand over my jaw. The instinct to monitor every angle is built into my DNA, but I meet her eyes honestly. "I'm trying, Camilla."

Instead of pulling back or getting angry, she reaches straight across the linen table, her soft fingers wrapping around my large, calloused hand.

"Let's play twenty questions," she offers, a subtle challenge dancing in her eyes.

I frown, staring down at her hand over mine before looking back up at her face. "What the hell is that?"

A bright, genuine laugh spills from Camilla’s lips, the sound echoing softly off the high arched ceiling.

"It’s a game, Pakhan," she says, her thumb lightly tracing the back of my knuckles. "We take turns asking each other twenty questions. You ask me something, I answer truthfully, and then I ask you something. No dodging, no corporate answers, and no bullshit. Just pure honesty."

A quiet chuckle escapes my throat, but beneath it, a sudden knot of tension tightens in my chest.