Chapter 20 Marlena
He lifted me off the ground and my legs crossed around his waist, still kissing me the whole time as we approached the bed.
Eventually, he broke off the kiss and we had eye contact for a moment. The room felt smaller then, and every sound seemed to be more magnified – our breathing, the rustle of fabric, the little gulp in my throat when I swallowed.
I watched him with half-lidded eyes as he slowly got on his knees infront of me, my heart thudding against my ribs.
His hands ran down the side of my body, stopping at my ribs and digging in gently. I found myself moaning, even though it was a simple touch.
Then, still with his eyes on mine, he traced a line with his fingers down my legs until they stopped at my ankles.
Gripping them in one sudden movement, he lifted my legs until they were up on the bed frame, spread out completely for him.
I gasped from shock, then my cheeks went red at the realisation of the fact that he had a full view of my sex, only covered by flimsy panties that were already soaked through by my wetness.
He didn't touch me immediately. No, while my cheeks burned from embarrassment, he unashamedly admired me.
His hands were still around my ankles, his thumb pressing into my skin as his gaze darkened.
The heat of his attention alone was enough to make me squirm.
My breath hitched as I watched him come closer and closer until his face was only inches away from me and he could feel the heat radiating from my core.
With one last look ate, he stuck out his tongue and ran it over my flimsy thong.
My hands shook as I let out a moan helplessly.
I wanted more – no, I needed more.
His fingers found their way to my waist where the waistband of my panties lay and he pulled them off in one swift movement.
Now, he had full view of me.
“Fuck,” I heard him curse under his breath and that alone could have made me climax.
Once again, he ran his tongue along my wet slit and sensation bloomed low in my body, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs.
I cried out softly, hips lifting on instinct, but his grip tightened immediately, steadying me and holding me exactly where he wanted me.
“Oh–” the sound barely made it past my lips when he started his ministrations with his tongue, stealing my breath finally.
He seemed to learn my reactions as he went, adjusting with quiet precision. When I gasped, he lingered. When my thighs trembled, his hold became more secure, anchoring me as the feeling built and built, coiling tighter with every breath I took.
My head fell back, my throat arching as my control slipped away in waves.
I could feel myself coming undone, every nerve alive, every thought dissolving into sensation.
“Oh, my God, Nikolai,” I moaned breathlessly as the pleasure built up inside of me
He didn't stop until I was shaking as my orgasm took over me. He didn't stop either until I recovered and pushed him away slightly.
By the time he finally drew back, his eyes held unadulterated desire.
He got off his knees, his eyes still on me as he started working his belt loose.
My breath caught again as I watched his belt come undone and he tossed it away on the floor.
But as he worked on the button of his pants, his phone rang, cutting off the tension suddenly. With a bit of reluctance, he grabbed his phone and cleared his throat.
“Hello?”
I watched his expression became more serious as the person on the other end spoke, his gaze still fixed on me.
“Sure. I'll be there in a couple of minutes,”
When the call ended, he gave me one last look before he turned towards the door and left.
No explanation. No apology. Not even a backward glance.
Just gone.
I lay there, still trembling, still exposed, the sheets tangled around me and my body humming with unfulfilled need.
The silence he left behind felt crushing.
I pulled my knees to my chest, suddenly cold despite the heat still radiating through my skin.
He'd left me, again and somehow, this felt worse than the wedding night. At least then, he'd given me a choice.
This time, he'd just walked away mid-moment, like I was something he could pick up and put down at will.
I hated him. God, I hated him but I hated myself more for wanting him back.
We returned to Manhattan the next morning in suffocating silence.
Nikolai sat beside me in the car, working on his phone, his jaw tight. Whatever business had pulled him away last night had put him in a foul mood.
I stared out the window, watching the Hamptons blur into highway, trying to understand what the hell had happened between us.
The fight. The confession. The way he'd touched me like I was the only thing that mattered, then nothing.
Back at the penthouse, he disappeared to his floor without a word.
I went to mine and locked the door.
That evening, I video-called Luka.
His face appeared on screen, and my breath caught.
He looked really good. There was color in his cheeks and brightness in his eyes. He was sitting up without looking like it cost him everything.
"Mar!" His smile was genuine, wide. "You look terrible."
I laughed despite everything. "Thanks. You look amazing."
"I feel amazing." He shifted the camera to show me his hospital room. I could see flowers, cards, a window with a view of Swiss mountains. "The treatment is working. My white blood cell count is almost normal”
Tears blurred my vision. "Luka, that's –"
"I know." He wiped his eyes, grinning. "I'm going to live, Mar. I'm actually going to live."
For a moment, everything else fell away. The lies, the arrangement, the confusion about Nikolai – none of it mattered compared to this.
My brother was going to survive.
"I'm so proud of you," I whispered.
"Proud of me? You're the one who made this possible." His expression turned serious. "Which brings me to my question."
My stomach tightened. "What question?"
"Do you love him?"
The words hung between us, simple and impossible.
"Luka –" I started.
"It's a yes or no question, Mar. Do you love Nikolai?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again but nothing came out because I didn't know.
How could I love someone who'd blackmailed me? Used me? Left me alone and wanting in a bed at the Hamptons?
But how could I not feel something for the man who'd given me choices? Who'd shared pieces of his broken past? Who'd kissed me like I was oxygen and he was drowning?
"I don't know," I finally admitted.
Luka studied me through the screen. "That's not a no."
"It's not a yes either."
"Mar, if he's not treating you right –"
"He is. He isn't. It's complicated." I rubbed my face. "Can we not talk about this?"
"Fine." But his eyes stayed worried. "Just promise me you're taking care of yourself. Not just me."
"I promise."
After we hung up, I sat in the dark penthouse, Luka's question echoing in my head.
Do you love him?
I didn't have an answer but I had too many questions.
About Vivienne and the engagement that Nikolai never mentioned. And there was only one way to get answers.
At two AM, I crept up to Nikolai's floor.
His bedroom door was closed, no light showing underneath. Either he was asleep or still on the forty-sixth floor working.
I moved past his room to the study.
The door was locked, but locks had never stopped me before.
Back in Paris, Dominic had taught me more than forgery. He'd taught me how to pick locks, disable alarms, move through spaces like a ghost.
"Artists need access," he'd said. "And sometimes access requires creativity."
I pulled two hairpins from my hair and worked the lock until I heard the soft click.
The study was dark except for city lights filtering through the windows. I used my phone's flashlight, keeping it low.
Nikolai's desk was neat . Files organized, papers stacked precisely. Nothing personal except a laptop I wouldn't be able to access.
I opened drawers but there were only financial documents, business contracts, nothing about Vivienne or his past.
Then I found the locked drawer, bottom right, disguised to look like part of the desk's design. I almost missed it.
This lock was more complex. It took me five minutes and a bent hairpin before it finally gave.
Inside was a single manila folder.
I pulled it out, hands shaking, and opened it.
The first page was a background check. On me. Every detail of my life documented – addresses, jobs, Luka's medical records, even my mother's prison term.
Nothing I didn't already know he had.
I flipped to the next page.
Financial records. Wire transfers. Bank accounts in Switzerland, the Caymans, Monaco.
Some of the names I recognized from my forgery days. They were dealers I'd worked with and buyers who'd purchased my pieces.
My stomach dropped.
Nikolai had been tracking my forgery operation for years, long before he'd found me in Paris.
But why?
I kept reading, my heart pounding louder with each page.
Then I found an old and faded photograph, tucked in the very back of the folder.
It showed a young, beautiful woman with dark hair and eyes like mine.
My mother.
Elena Rousseau.
But she wasn't in prison. This picture looked like it was taken before everything fell apart.
She stood beside a man in what looked like an art gallery. He was tall, dark-haired, handsome in
that sharp, dangerous way.
He looked like an older version of Nikolai.
My hands shook as I flipped the photo over.
On the back, in faded ink: Elena and Dmitri,
Moscow 1995.
Dmitri.
Nikolai's father.