Twenty

Twenty

The drive to his mansion felt cold. Amy sat at the very edge of the chair, putting as much distance as she could between them, her eyes locked on the view outside the window, even as the apartment faded out of sight.

Mikhail's jaw tightened as he watched her. Somehow, her silent fury was worse than any kicking and yelling she could have done. He knew he had to say something, but what? Apologize? He scoffed at the thought.

Yeah, like he hadn't just sapped away every last bit of agency she had in the most brutal way possible.

"We're here," Daniel announced. The huge metal gates slid open, allowing the car to drive through. Daniel parked at the garage, the huge mansion of the bratva boss towering in front of them.

Amy stepped out without a word. She didn't take Daniel's offered hand, didn't look back as she marched towards her new prison that was bathed in neon lights, a huge chandelier hanging in the front hall, a spiral staircase winding upward. She definitely didn't spare Mikhail a glance.

But she was well aware of his presence right behind her.

A middle-aged man, who she guessed to be the butler, dressed in a suit and striped pants, climbed down to the foot of the stairs to meet them, bowing to Mikhail.

"Show her to her room, Carl," Mikhail instructed.

"This way," Carl bowed again, ushering her forward. She followed, not that she had a choice, her bag tucked under one arm.

He hadn't even given her the chance to pack, whisking her away into what she considered his version of hell, promising her that all her stuff would be completely moved by tomorrow.

"Amy..." Mikhail called out as she reached the top of the stairs.

She clenched her fist, struggling with the natural urge to turn and see what he wanted, and the determination to hurt him in the only way she knew how to.

Squaring her shoulders, she ignored him, turning a corner.

"This is the theatre room, here is the gym..." The butler said, going out of his way with a guided tour as he led her down the corridor.

"...a spare room, another spare room..."

Amy could barely hear him now, his voice fading into the background as she burned with anger. Anger at being here against her will. Anger that she couldn't escape.

"And this is your room."

Her mind was pulled back to attention as he stopped in front of a door, Amy nearly running into him.

"Beside yours is the master's," he offered, gesturing towards the door right beside hers. She could feel the discomfort rising in her stomach.

Of course he had his room right next to hers.

"The master also made a private chamber on the next floor for the both of you, but you could be staying here for the while."

Private chambers, she thought, letting out a laugh despite herself. Mikhail sure knew how to dream. She won't be sharing a room with him, not in a lifetime, she swore fiercely, stepping into the large room.

There was a huge bed, a reading table, a shelf of books and a wardrobe with clothes, the latest brands, all designers and all her size. Amy's lips twitched. She slammed the wardrobe shut, putting down her bag on the shelf.

"The master said to call you for dinner, Miss," a young lady called, opening the door slightly, peering inside.

"Well, the master can have dinner by himself," Amy replied in a huff without turning back.

And two days after, she was still locked up in her room, going to work very early, acknowledging Mikhail's existence only when it was absolutely necessary.

But she related well with the servants. Maybe that was the thing that drove him insane. He found her in the kitchen once, laughing at a joke the chef made, but once he stepped in, she stood up and marched out, not sparing him a glance.

"Daniel will drive you," Mikhail tried again one morning. It was the third day. She stepped out of her room at 6am, all dressed in a short black long sleeve gown. Amy paused at the doorway, half of her wanting to walk back in and slam the door in his face.

"I can find my own driver," she snapped, walking past him. The first words she spoke to him in two days.

Mikhail tightened his fist. There was only so much he could take. He could reach out and grab her now. Pull her back, pin her against the wall and see if she could keep that hatred on her face when he claimed her lips, when she was trembling and melting under his touch.

"Damnit!" He cursed, slamming a fist into the wall.

That night, Daniel walked into his room, holding out a folded letter.

"Boss, Collin is hosting another one of his weekly parties. He's hoping you can join in the fun."

Mikhail straightened up from the reading chair where he had been staring into space, taking the letter from him.

Daniel waited for the boss to decline the invite, knowing fully well that Mikhail never indulged in parties. Not in two years.

"Get the car ready," Mikhail muttered, squeezing the card into his pocket.

Daniel blinked. "Y...yes sir."

————

The bass thumped through the crowded club, the walls vibrating with the blaring sounds. Mikhail barely registered the music. He sat slouched in the VIP section, bringing the cold glass of whiskey to his lips.

Four empty bottles stood on the table. More than he had consumed in months. The alcohol burned down his throat but never enough to dull the image of Amy.

Collin slid into the leather seat beside him, with a bright smile that revealed a gold tooth. "Didn't think you'd show up."

"Didn't think so myself," Mikhail muttered, dropping the now empty glass.

Collin gestured towards the ground floor where several blonde ladies danced around the pole. "Look at that, Mikhail, pure perfection. Drinking is only half of the fun..."

"Not interested," Mikhail cut him off before he had a chance to finish.

"Come on, Mik. When was the last time you actually had fun?" Collin waved over a waitress, a small smile playing on his lips.

Mikhail let his glass get refilled, his eyes darted over to the dance floor, glazing over the women for a moment, then back to Collin. "Not interested."

He brought the alcohol to his lips again, the liquid doing little to soothe him, his voice tight with a warning edge.

Collin raised his hand in mock surrender then leaned back, crossing his legs, observing his friend closely. "So... How's your wife, hmm? Settling in well?"

Mikhail's jaw clenched. He drowned the rest of the whiskey, setting it down with more force than intended. "She's adjusting."

"You should bring her around sometimes," Collin offered, taking a drink from a passing waiter.

"She doesn't like crowds," Mikhail replied bluntly.

"Aw, don't be selfish. Shy, innocent, delicate..." He tilted his head to one side, taking a sip from the drink. "I'm interested."

Mikhail stood up, tugging on his jacket. His movements were sluggish, the alcohol working in his veins, but the glint in his eyes was enough to kill. "I'm still one bullet away from blowing the brains of the last guy that came close to her," he said. "I'm done here."

He got back to the mansion past 12 am, the building asleep, only the sound of his heavy breathing as he made his way upstairs. His plan was to crash into bed, sleep off the alcohol and hopefully have better luck tomorrow, but when he spotted Amy walking into her room, a book in hand, something primal stirred in him.

"Still up, little wife?" He opened the door, stepping inside before she even turned back.

Her eyes widened in shock, the book falling out of her hand.

"Get out," she said in a sharp whisper, taking a step back as he advanced till her back hit the wardrobe.

"Why? So you can push me away again?" Mikhail asked, his voice rough. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, pressing herself harder against the surface as his hand came to rest beside her head.

"Do you know what I've been thinking of all evening, Amy?" he asked, his voice low. He took a deep breath, inhaling the faint traces of her perfume and something uniquely her.

She was so close now.

He could see every tremor in her bones, every hitch in her breath while she pretended to hate him. Not tonight.

"About my wife," his second hand came to her waist, fingers brushing against her skin over the nearly transparent nightgown.

"And how much I've been patient." He hissed, his breath getting heavier, a low growl escaping his lips. "Let you keep that job. Let you put up that fucking attitude, respected your damn privacy while it drove me fucking crazy..."

"Mikhail... You're drunk," Amy whispered in a shaky plea, her heart racing.

He leaned closer, their lips almost touching when something—her bag—crashed down the shelf. Mikhail tore his eyes off her.

He bent down, picking a piece of paper that peeked out of her bag. His movements suddenly more focused despite the alcohol.

"Someone in LA is here to meet you, Amy Williams."

He stared at the paper for a long time, his expression getting darker. The silence stretched between them. When he finally looked up at her, the alcohol-fueled desire was replaced with something else that screamed danger.

"How long have you had this, Amy?"