Chapter 110 Chapter 110 The Truth
My eyes flutter open, sunlight pouring into my room, too bright, too real. For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting everything settle.
I need to have this talk with Ivan.
I leave today. And before I go back to reality, I need answers. I need to know if he actually wants me… or just the idea of me.
Last night was… tense.
He was waiting for us, like always—standing at the entrance, smoking. But something about him felt different. Older. Like the day had aged him ten years. His mind must have been running wild, filling in every filthy scenario of where I was and what I was doing with Jax.
We had dinner with everyone. He sat across from me, barely making eye contact—yet somehow still staring. Dimitri sat beside their father, far from me. He didn’t say a word to me. Not even when we brushed past each other in the hallway.
I hurt him.
I know I did.
Sending that video to Jax—I wanted to get a reaction. I wanted to shake things up. So why do I feel like shit now that I did?
“Good morning, dushichka.”
Ivan’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him.
“I can’t believe you didn’t run… or kick me out,” his sleepy voice sendings goosebumps over me.
His lips brush my bare shoulder, and I can feel the smile against my skin. His fingers trail slowly up and down my spine until they settle on my ass, gripping me, pulling a low groan from his chest.
That sound…
It melts me.
I close my eyes, leaning into him. My head tilts, giving him more access, and he gently moves my hair aside. When I look at him, his dark eyes are soft—softer than I’ve ever seen them.
His lips meet mine.
And just like that, my body gives in. I move closer, silently asking for more.
Ivan shifts over me beneath the sheets, his touch deliberate, controlled. His fingers spread me open, sliding inside me, stretching me, making my body arch with need. I reach between us and guide him where I want him.
He pushes in deep, all the way, giving me just a second to adjust before he starts moving—slow, sensual, like he’s savoring me.
One hand supports his weight while the other lifts my leg, pulling it up beside him. His lips trail across my skin—my neck, my jaw, my mouth—driving me insane.
I let him take control.
For once, I relax.
And maybe that’s why it hits me so hard—because I’m not expecting it. The pleasure builds quietly, steadily, until it crashes over me like a wave. Heat spreads through my body, from my toes to my fingertips. My lips part, soft moans slipping out into the room.
Ivan lets out a deep, rough grunt as he finishes inside me, the sound vibrating through me.
Then stillness.
He lingers there, watching me, something unspoken hanging between us. The electricity is thick, almost suffocating.
“Marry me,” he says again, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
My heart stutters.
Do what Jax said. Tell him what you want.
“Okay…” I whisper.
The smile that spreads across his face—it’s different. Real. Unfiltered. I’ve never seen it before.
And it wrecks me.
I’m already too deep. He’s already too far under my skin. I don’t think I could pull myself away from him… even if I tried.
“Are you serious? ‘Okay’?” he asks.
“Yes… but there are boundaries.”
That stops him.
He shifts beside me, sitting up, one arm resting lazily over his knee as he studies me.
“Boundaries,” he repeats.
“Yes.” I take a breath. “I want a closed marriage. No third parties.”
The change is instant.
Something dark flickers across his face. Something ugly.
He reaches for his cigarettes, tapping the pack against his palm before lighting one.
“You want a prenup too,” he says coldly. “With an infidelity clause.”
“Yes,” I answer steadily. “And because we both have assets to protect. You more than me… until the rest of my inheritance comes through after I marry.”
He stiffens slightly at that, then exhales smoke slowly.
“I can’t do that.”
My chest tightens. His eyes meet mine, unyielding.
“I like variety,” he says plainly. “There’s no way I could just be satisfied with you.”
And there it is. The truth. Cold. Sharp. Final. It cracks through me, splitting everything open. I close my eyes, fighting the tears clawing their way up. Stay in. Don’t you dare fall.
I slide out of bed, moving on instinct. I have four hours until my flight. Everything is already packed—I just need to get dressed.
Torn jeans. Silk white blouse. My monogrammed Gucci heels.
I move like none of this is affecting me. Like I’m fine. Ivan sits there, watching me, smoking like nothing just shattered. I pull my hair into a messy bun, fingers brushing over the silk Gucci scarf in my hand. I exhale slowly before asking the question I already regret.
“What does she have that I don’t?”
I tie the scarf around my head, adjusting it into place. My blazer hangs over my arm, my other hand gripping my luggage. The silence stretches.
Heavy. Suffocating.
“A womb.”
The word lands like a blade. I freeze. For a second, I can’t even breathe. I just stand there, feeling it slice straight through me.
“Go fuck yourself,” I snap.
I turn and walk out. He follows me—wrapped in nothing but a sheet. Of course he does. The guards we pass try—and fail—not to smirk.
“Come on, baby,” he calls after me. “Was that not the answer you wanted?”
I don’t stop.
Outside, Taylor is waiting by the town car, talking to Dimitri. Dimitri doesn’t look at me when I approach.
Ivan is still behind me. I turn one last time, forcing myself to look at the man I love.
“You asked me to compare you to her,” he says, stepping closer. “I did. Why are you mad? You know exactly what you don’t have.”
His hand reaches out, brushing over my flat stomach.
That hurts more than anything.
Before I can react, movement catches my eye—Vladimira coming around the corner, breathless from a run, Illia Sr. right behind her like a shadow. They are both flushed from their morning activitites. Illia's gaze sharpens instantly, taking in everything—the tension, Ivan’s hand, me standing there trying not to fall apart.
I shove Ivan hard. He stumbles back a step.
“Should I be deprived of kids because you can’t have any?” he spits.
The air goes dead. Gasps ripple around us. Vladimira freezes. Illia’s expression darkens.
“Go. Fuck. Yourself,” I snap again—
—but this time, my voice breaks.