Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Unlike my Lenochka, whose feelings are usually written all over her face, Kristina’s are locked under a makeshift façade.
“If you’re keeping her as a mistress, let me know.” She fakes a smile. “Have a lovely night.”
And with that, she turns and leaves as if nothing happened.
It takes everything I have to continue with the dull event. While I loathe the empty socializing these parties are all about, I need the networking and information they provide.
However, it’s hard—almost impossible—to concentrate when I recall the shock and hurt in those blue eyes. Conjuring those emotions in her was everything that I initially strived for, but now it feels like a rusty knife in my gut.
After some thirty minutes of mindless talking to influential men whose only worth is their networks, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I excuse myself and check it.
Yan: She’s in the apartment.
I should take it out on him for not escorting her out soon enough, but it’s pointless. I couldn’t have kept her in the dark for too long.
Adrian: Stand guard.
Yan: Got it.
The night feels like a thousand years. Lia’s ballet producer comes to talk to me, introducing the French director. He says his prima ballerina is here somewhere, but he can’t find her.
And he never will.
After the night is finally over, I ignore the small gathering Sergei is having with the other leaders and leave. Kolya drives at high speed until I reach Lia’s apartment.
Yan blows smoke from his cigarette and nods from his position in front of the door. I motion at him to join Kolya downstairs, but he hesitates.
“What?” I don’t bother hiding my impatience.
“You said you’d talk about a new plan for Lazlo.”
“This isn’t the time to discuss that, Yan.”
“I’m just saying, we need to do something about this situation.” He tips his head toward the apartment door. “She didn’t seem to be doing so well.”
He leaves before I can say anything.
I put in the code and go inside.
The light flicks on as the door closes behind me.
“Is she really your fiancée?” Lia’s apathetic tone greets me. She’s standing at the entrance to the living room, crossing her arms over her chest and still wearing the blue dress that gives her a softer edge. Her face is flushed, but her eyes are ablaze with a mixture of volatile emotions.
I start removing my coat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she bites out.
“Why not?”
“Whether you’re leaving or staying is up to the answer to my question.”
I throw the coat on the entrance table, not bothering to hang it, and charge toward her. She startles when I grab her by the chin, my hold harsh and firm, prohibiting her from moving.
“You seem to have some misconceptions, so understand this, Lia. Whether I leave or stay is only up to me. You don’t get a say in it, never have and never will.”
Her eyes are wide, lips pale, and chin trembling. She’s obviously scared, but she meets my gaze as she repeats, “Is she your fiancée?”
“Whether she is or isn’t doesn’t concern you.”
“Of course it concerns me! I will not be the other woman!” she strains, trying to squirm free from my hold.
I wrap a hand around her waist and slam her front against me, knocking the breath out of her lungs. “You are whatever the fuck I say you are.”
She shakes her head. “No…no, Adrian. Don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t put me there.”
“Put you where?”
“In this damn position.” She hits my chest with closed fists. “I’m not your whore.”
“I own your cunt, Lia. I own you. Titles don’t matter.”
“It matters to me!”
“Why? You think if you’re my whore, you’ll want me any less? You’ll open your legs for me any less? You’re a slut for me, Lia.”
She raises her hand and slaps me across the face. Hard. The sound reverberates through the silent apartment as the sting etches across my skin.
My vision reddens, but it’s not with the need to hurt her for hitting me. It’s for the reminder of what being hit means. My fucking mother.
I close my eyes for a brief second, tightening my jaw. When I open them again, Lia’s eyes have widened further and tears cling to her lids as if she’s realizing exactly how fucked she is.
Literally and figuratively.
She opens her mouth to say something, but my lips crash to hers. She thins them in a line, her small hands pushing against my chest. It’s her rebellion against me, one that doesn’t last when I bite down on her bottom lip. She tries to fight me, to hold on to her anger, but I tilt her head back to plunge my tongue inside and feast on her. She whimpers as her fists go limp against my chest and a tear slides down her cheek, clinging to my lips until I taste salt.
But that’s not the only thing I taste. There’s also her desperation, betrayal, and lust. I take all of those as I kiss her, sucking her soul from her lungs.