Chapter 15 A Table for Two

Chapter 15 A Table for Two
After what feels like forever searching the bathroom, I find nothing. Every tile, every corner, nothing but cold porcelain and silence staring back at me. Maybe he’s smarter than I thought. Maybe he’s hidden the camera somewhere I can never reach.

At last, I give up. The exhaustion is too much. I turn on the shower and let the cold water hit my skin, shivering at the thought that maybe he’s still watching.

A thought crosses my mind as I wrap the towel around myself. Maybe I could bathe where the servants do. That’s an option I’ll consider soon.

After slipping into the new dress Hannah left, I collapse on the bed.

The sheets are cool beneath me, and before I know it, exhaustion pulls me under and I fall asleep.

When I open my eyes again, it’s dark. The lamp by the nightstand casts a dim halo of light across the room. For a second, I’m not sure what woke me, then I see it.

A figure in the corner.

My heart lurches violently against my ribs. I jolt upright, my breath catching. “Who—”

My chest seizes, a raw, animal panic clawing its way up my throat.
Then the figure steps out of the shadows.

Nikolai.

Relief and dread collide in my chest. I exhale shakily, pressing a palm to my chest.

My pulse races. “You scared me,” I breathe, voice trembling despite myself.

His head tilts slightly, eyes glinting with faint amusement.
“Scared someone else came in?” His voice is low, scraping softly against the quiet room.

I straighten, clutching the blanket to my chest. “Why are you here?”

He moves closer, the scent of his cologne curling into the air between us. “To check on my wife.”

Wife.
The word rolls out of his mouth so easily.

“That wasn’t necessary,” I manage. “Considering you have other girls coming to visit you.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back.
My insides clench. Oh God. Why did I say that?

For a moment, he just stares at me. His face doesn’t move, but his eyes darken slightly, the faintest flicker of amusement passing through them.
Then he smirks.

“Jealous?” His tone is light, but there’s something sharp underneath.
He takes another step closer. “You should have come out earlier. I would’ve introduced you to her… as my wife.”

I swallow hard, my throat tightening. “That… that wasn’t what I meant.”
The words tumble out, shaky and small.

Nikolai’s smile deepens, slowly and dangerously. He leans closer, the distance between us shrinking until I can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against my skin. His scent wraps around me, stealing the air from my lungs.

“No?” His voice drops lower, mocking. “Then what did you mean, moya lyubov? You think I have time for anyone else? You’re the only one who dares to keep me this entertained.”

His eyes stay fixed on mine.
“You don’t need to be jealous,” he says softly, though his tone carries a dark amusement. “If I wanted someone else, I wouldn’t have locked you in my house.”

“Locking me here against my will isn’t right,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “Have you let him out of jail? Adrian.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me, the way a predator studies its prey before deciding what to do with it. There’s something so calm about the way he tilts his head slightly as if he’s amused by my question.

When he finally speaks, his tone is thick with mockery. “Still so worried about him,” he says slowly, almost like he’s savoring every word. “I will… when you keep your side of our deal.”

A frustrated breath escapes me before I can stop it. “I’ve agreed to go on the trip with you,” I remind him sharply, anger seeping into my voice. “Why won’t you let him out now?”

He laughs softly under his breath, a dangerous, knowing sound that makes my skin prickle.
“Now that’s exactly why,” he says, leaning a few inches closer. “You’ve forgotten about the clause so soon.”

My brows knit together. “The clause?”

His eyes darken as that cruel little smile forms on his lips. “The kiss,” he murmurs. “My stubborn little girl won’t keep her word once I let her lover boy out.”

My chest tightens, heat rising to my face. “I promised to,” I say, lips trembling slightly, trying to sound firm even though the words feel small against his power. But somehow, deep down, I know he’s right. The thought of kissing him, really kissing him, while Adrian’s thinking of ways to let me out, feels like betrayal. And yet, what choice do I have?

“Let him out,” I whisper. “I’ll do your demand.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You’ll do it?” His voice turns teasing, though there’s a dangerous edge beneath it. “You make it sound like an obligation, not a choice. When I ask for something, Liora, I don’t want compliance. I want sincerity. If you give me a kiss, I want to feel it. Every second.”

“I’ll never mean it,” I shoot back, my voice cracking under the weight of defiance. “You can’t force what isn’t there.”

He smirks, leaning further. “I can do a lot of things,” he whispers, his breath grazing my ear. “Don’t tempt me to prove it.”

I flinch and shrink away, hating the way my pulse races just from his nearness. I hate him. His confidence, his control, his calmness. He twists everything I say, like it’s all part of his game.

“Let’s have dinner,” he says suddenly, rising from the edge of the bed with that same effortless authority that makes the air around him shift. “I already arranged something.”

I fold my arms, glaring up at him. “I’m not hungry,” I lie, though the betrayal comes swiftly. My stomach growls. A loud, humiliating sound that fills the silence in the room.

Nikolai’s lips twitch. He tilts his head, amusement gleaming in his dark eyes. “Are you sure about that?”

Heat floods my face, and I glance away. “I’ll eat alone later,” I mumble, my voice weaker than I want it to be.

He steps closer, and the temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. “It wasn’t a request, moya lyubov,” he says softly, but his tone carries command. “It was an order.”

I look up at him, caught in the intensity of his gaze. His voice is calm, but there’s danger threaded beneath it.

He leans in, his next words a threat. “Don’t make me carry you all the way.”

If it were any other man, I would have rolled my eyes. I would’ve called their bluff and walked away with a sarcastic remark on my lips. But this isn’t any man.
This is Nikolai Volkov.

And Nikolai doesn’t bluff.

His tone, the controlled cadence of it, tells me he means every syllable. I can almost picture him doing it. Lifting me effortlessly, ignoring my protests, and dragging me wherever he pleases, simply because he can. Because in this place, his word is law, and my defiance is just a spark waiting to be crushed beneath his heel.

My heart stutters once, twice and the silence between us grows heavier.

I swallow the rising lump in my throat and force my voice to stay even.
“Okay.”

The word falls out fragile, betraying me.

It’s just food, I tell myself.
It’s dinner. It’s harmless.

And I need to eat if I’m going to keep my strength, if I’m going to think straight, if I’m going to survive this place long enough to get out.

Most importantly, I have to keep playing along. Every reluctant yes brings me closer to what I need. Adrian’s release.
Once he’s out, he’ll come for me. He has to.

We leave the room together. The long corridor stretches before me, marble floors glimmering with reflections of the chandelier’s golden glow. The air smells faintly of cinnamon and smoke, a rich, almost haunting scent that seems to follow me as I walk.

A pair of servants passes us. They bow immediately, heads lowered, hands clasped in front of them. No one dares meet his gaze. Their fear rolls through the air, a reminder that even here among his own staff, Nikolai rules through power.

The sight drags my mind back to Hannah.
Her trembling hands. Her frightened eyes.

Why did he let her go free?
Why punish Adrian instead?

The questions claw at me, but I bite my tongue. If Nikolai has chosen to let that memory fade, I won’t risk reviving it. The last thing I need is to remind him of something he might regret sparing.

We continue in silence until we reach the end of a hall, where an elevator waits, utterly out of place in the old-world elegance of the mansion. The mirrored doors gleam under the light, and as they slide open, a faint current of cool air brushes my skin.

Of course he has an elevator.
He’s that rich, that meticulous.

We step inside. The space is small and way too intimate.

The soft hum of the machinery fills the silence, but beneath it, I can feel him. His presence. The way it presses against me. I can sense his gaze, tracing the outline of my reflection in the mirrored walls. With every passing minute, the space fills with something heavier than air. Something that clings to my chest and makes it hard for me to breathe.

I keep my eyes forward, glued to the glowing numbers above the door. Anything but his reflection. Anything but that piercing stare that always seems to see too much.

Finally, the elevator chimes.

The doors glide open, and my breath catches.

The air that greets me is cooler, tinged with the soft scent of roses and candle wax. Before us spreads a rooftop, open to the night sky and glittering under the silver spill of the moon.

Far below, the city lights sparkle like tiny stars scattered across the ground, and all around us, roses fill the space. Hundreds of them, their soft petals glowing under the moonlight.

The floor is covered in red petals, spread out carelessly but beautifully. A gentle breeze slips through the room, making some petals curl and lift. All around, dozens of candles burn inside glass lanterns, their flames swaying and dancing like they’re breathing.

A small table sits in the center, covered in fine white linen. Two chairs face each other. A bottle of deep red wine glows in the candlelight. Plates already set. Silver cutlery gleaming like liquid stars.

It’s beautiful. Almost dreamlike.

And that’s what terrifies me most.

For a moment, I forget to breathe. My heart thuds painfully against my ribs as I take it all in. The opulence, the intention, the way everything seems perfectly, unnervingly planned.

When I turn to him, Nikolai is watching me closely, his expression calm. But then, for a fleeting second, his lips curve into something I’ve never quite seen before.

A smile.

Not his usual sharp, knowing smirk. Not the cruel curl of his mouth when he enjoys my discomfort.
This one is soft. Real. Almost boyish, as if he’s proud of what he’s done. Proud that I’m impressed.

It disarms me completely.

“W–what is this?” I whisper, my voice barely holding together. “You… arranged all this?”

He takes a few steps closer. The scent of him reaches me. Clean, masculine and tinged with something dark and woodsy. His presence fills the space easily, swallowing mine whole.

He tilts his head.

“Let’s eat, moya lyubov,” he says softly, his accent curling around the words.

The night wind carries the faint scent of ro
ses. I stand there, stunned, the words caught in my throat.
He looks almost… human in the soft glow of candlelight.

As if for one night, the monster learned how to be gentle.