Chapter 17 A Jet, a Dress, and the Devil’s Touch

Chapter 17 A Jet, a Dress, and the Devil’s Touch
A whirring sound breaks the the quiet of the morning, jarring me awake. My body jerks violently, heart hammering against my ribs. The vibration shakes the walls and floor of my room, as though the mansion itself is trembling.
I throw the covers aside, legs shaking as I scramble to the window, breath catching in my throat, eyes wide with disbelief.

Outside, a black jet glides toward the mansion’s private landing strip, coming down in a way so exact it almost looks unreal. The sun reflects off its polished surface, making it gleam like something out of a dream I didn’t know I had. My jaw tightens, and I can barely breathe. A jet? Here? At the mansion?

My mind races, trying to make sense of it. 

Not long after the aircraft touches down, I see Nikolai, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. The driver hurries down, speaking rapidly, but Nikolai barely moves or even nods. 

I stumble backward from the window, my legs wobbling, and collapse onto the bed. Palms pressed to my face, I try to steady the chaotic rhythm of my heart. Any trace of sleep is gone after witnessing that. So much for a peaceful start to the day. I close my eyes, willing the mattress to swallow me back into oblivion, even for a few fleeting minutes.

But then, I hear the sound of the door handle twisting. My pulse spikes violently. I freeze, every muscle taut, senses sharpening. The door opens. And there Nikolai steps in, almost impossibly poised, exuding the kind of dominance that makes my insides clench with a mixture of fear and… something else I refuse to name.

I sit up immediately, body coiled and ready, my mind bracing for whatever he had come here for.

He chuckles softly at the sight of me, amusement curling in the corners of his mouth. "Our ride is here,” he says, voice low. “And here you are… not even ready.”

I frown, confusion tightening the muscles in my chest. “What ride?” 

He cocks his head, that sly, calculating smile teasing his lips, eyes glinting. “Forgetting about our honeymoon so quickly?”

Honeymoon? Oh God. It’s today. My chest tightens at the thought, heart hammering like it wants to escape.

“Is… Is the jet for…” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud makes it more real.

He tilts his head, that slow, calculating smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, wife,” he drawls, the word rolling off his tongue. “For our trip there.”

My head spins. A private jet just for me? For us? How wealthy was he? My mind struggles to catch up with the reality of it. The trip. The kiss. The lie I will have to live just to get Adrian out of jail.

I press my palms to my face for a moment, trying to steady my thoughts, my panic, my shock. Nikolai had gone to extreme lengths again, all while keeping me trapped in his world, under his control. And yet… I can’t deny the flutter in my chest at the sheer absurdity and beauty of it. The rooftop dinner, the private jet. It’s all almost surreal.

“I’m not ready,” I murmur, finally looking up to meet his gaze. My voice wavers despite my effort to stay composed. “Can you give me some time?”

His eyes soften for a fraction of a second, a trace of mischief lingering beneath his gaze. “The world can wait for you, dear wife,” he says, the words smooth, curling around my senses. “Take your time. Your dress for today will be sent to you soon.”

And just like that, he turns and leaves. I slump back onto the bed, my chest heaving slightly, trying to calm the mixture of relief and confusion swirling inside me. Little gestures, small words like that… they strike deeper than I expect. A part of me feels warmth at his thoughtfulness. If everything were different, if I weren’t bound to my own heart already, I might have allowed myself to loosen up around him. But I have someone I love, someone who matters more than all the luxury, the games, or the impossible charms of Nikolai Volkov. 

Just as he said, a maid appears at the door a few minutes later, carrying my dress and a tray of food. I don't recognize her. She’s new, not Hannah, not anyone I’ve seen before. I mutter a soft 'thank you' and she curtseys, leaving the room quietly.

I set the tray down but my attention is drawn to the dress first. Black. Backless. Nikolai had picked something different today. No purple, just a bold, daring dress, paired with a small set of jewelry. I stare at it for a moment, a mix of awe and unease twisting in my stomach. It’s beautiful… but I’ve never worn anything like it.

With a shaky sigh, I place the dress aside and move toward the bathroom. He had promised not to watch the feeds while I bathed, but could I really trust him? My mind races with doubts, but my hand tightens on the doorframe. I have no other choice. If I want this over with quickly, if I want the five days to pass and Adrian to be freed, I have to play along.

I step inside, letting the warm water wash over me, letting the steam cloud my thoughts for a moment. When I finally step out, I quickly dry myself and slip into the dress.

The reflection staring back at me steals my breath. The dress clings to every curve, accentuating my body in ways I never dared before. The back is open... completely exposed, not even a rope or lace to preserve a bit of modesty. I feel a rush of heat crawl up my neck. It’s sultry, daring… too much, perhaps. My first instinct is to rip it off immediately, hide myself, but I remind myself why I’m doing this.

The door twists open, and my heart jumps. Nikolai steps in, as calm and commanding as ever. His eyes find me immediately, twinkling with something I can’t quite read. Admiration? Desire? Mischief? 
I don't know.

“You look… heavenly,” he says, his voice low, husky, even. His eyes roam over me, drinking in every curve, every line. My stomach tightens, my cheeks burn, and I immediately feel shy. Bare, exposed. Like a painting left in the gaze of its painter. The awareness that a man is seeing me like this, really seeing me, makes me shrink inwardly.

I try to gather my courage, to speak without trembling, though my voice feels small against the weight of his gaze. “Why… this choice of cloth?” I ask, trying to mask my nerves with a tone of curiosity. “It’s… too exposed.”

He pauses for a moment, tilting his head, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Too exposed?” His voice is calm, almost teasing, but there’s a depth to it that makes my heart skip a beat. “You look perfect, Liora. Exactly as I wanted.”

I bite my lip, unsure whether to be embarrassed or infuriated. My body feels warm under his stare, and a part of me wants to shrink further into myself, hide the curves that the dress so cruelly accentuates. Yet, another part of me, an infuriating, rebellious part, feels a strange flutter of pride. That he wants me to look like this… that he notices every detail… it unnerves me, yes, but it also makes me impossibly aware of his obsession.

His eyes shift to the bed, to the silver jewelry laid out neatly. A necklace, a set of bangles, and an arm cuff. For a moment, he studies them quietly. Then, without a word, he walks toward them slowly like he’s already made up his mind about something.

He picks up the necklace first, then the bangles, and finally the arm cuff, examining them one by one before turning back to me. My brows furrow as I watch him approach, the jewelry clinking softly in his hand.

“What are you doing?” I ask, frowning and taking a small step back. My heart starts to beat faster. He’s not… planning to put them on me himself, is he?

He glances up at me, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Isn’t it obvious what I want to do, dear wife?” His voice is calm, smooth, but there’s something dangerous underneath it. Something that makes my breath hitch.

“I can wear it myself,” I say quickly. I don’t want him that close. Not right now. Not when I can barely think straight around him. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even answer. He just keeps walking toward me until he’s standing so close that I can feel his presence all around me.
Then, without asking, he takes my hand.

His touch is cool and firm, and for a second, I want to pull away. But I don’t. I just stand there, frozen, while he slips the silver bangles onto my wrist one by one. They fit perfectly, clinking softly as they fall into place.

His focus doesn’t waver as he moves to the arm cuff next. The metal feels cold against my skin, but the way he handles it gently feels strangely warm. Like he’s afraid to hurt me. My chest tightens at the thought, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what to make of this softer side of him.

“Turn around,” he says suddenly.

My throat dries. My heart thuds in my chest, but I do as he asks, turning slowly until my back is facing him.

“Loosen up, wife,” he murmurs from behind me, his voice low and close enough to make me shiver. “I will never hurt you.”

Easier said than done. How can I loosen up when his breath is brushing against my neck like that? When the air between us feels charged and heavy and too full of something I can’t name?

I stand stiffly, staring at the wall, while his hands move to the back of my neck. His fingers are careful as he lifts my hair and fastens the necklace around my throat. The metal is cold against my skin.

Then something changes.

His hands don’t move away. Instead, one slides down, resting lightly on my waist. The other follows a second later, wrapping around me fully until I’m pulled gently but firmly against him. My back hits his chest, and I freeze.

My breath catches. I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my spine, the warmth of him pressing into me.

“What... what are you doing?” I whisper, my voice breaking slightly.

He doesn’t answer.

I try to move, to step away, but his arms tighten, holding me in place. “Let me go,” I say, my words barely above a breath. “Nikolai—”

Before I can finish, his head dips lower. I feel the soft brush of his lips against my neck.

My body goes completely still. 

My eyes widen, heart pounding so hard it feels painful.

The world seems to stop.

His lips linger just long enough to make my skin burn. Then he straightens slowly, his mouth close to my ear.

“Perfect,” he whispers, his tone low, sending a chill down my spine.

And just like that, he lets go.

I turn around quickly, my hand instinctively flying to my neck where his lips had been.

My heart won’t stop racing and my knees feel suddenly weak.

What... what the hell was that?