ANA
I hesitate to open my eyes, even though the sunlight has already flooded the room, casting long beams of warmth across my face. I’ve been lying here, awake, for what feels like hours, but it’s probably only been fifteen minutes. Still, I don’t want to move. There’s no reason to. In my old life, weekends meant something. I would’ve called my father, maybe spent the day at his house helping him with the legal tedium of his business. Or I’d have gone grocery shopping and stocked up on things I enjoyed. My weekends had a purpose back then. But none of that matters here. Not in this empty, echoing house. Not in this cold, new life where the rooms are too big, silent, and suffocating. I sigh, throwing the covers off and rolling out of bed with the grace of a sloth, letting myself collapse onto the floor with a dull thud. The pain is minimal, just enough to remind me I’m alive. I drag myself upright, rubbing the spot on my arm that hit the ground harder than intended. “Why did I do this?” I mutter to the empty room, even though I already know the answer. It wasn’t a choice. Not really. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth like a robot going through the motions, then step into the shower. The water is too hot, scalding my skin, but I stay under it until I feel like I might start peeling away. I guess I’m hoping to scrub off the sense of regret that clings to me like a second skin. But it doesn’t work. It never does. Afterward, I throw on soft cotton shorts and an oversized plaid shirt. Comfortable. Easy. And utterly devoid of any significance. I sit on the edge of my bed, running my fingers through my hair, staring at nothing. I could go to the office. At least that would give me something to do. But my bosses have been insufferable ever since I got married. They’re convinced I should be using my time for some kind of romantic honeymoon bliss. “Why don’t you go home? Enjoy this period while it lasts. Marriage becomes a chore after the first year—though I’m sure yours will be different.” My boss said that to me just last night, not bothering to hide his confusion at why I was still in the office at nine p.m. If only he knew. My stomach growls, interrupting my thoughts. Great. Another reminder that I’ve been living on scraps for weeks. Dragging my feet, I head downstairs, gripping the railing as if the steps might give out beneath me. The house is eerily quiet. Dmitri has been AWOL for almost three weeks now, and while I should probably be worried—or at least curious—I’m not. If anything, his absence is a blessing. The less I see of him, the fewer chances there are for my blood pressure to spike dangerously. In the kitchen, I open the pantry and pull out a loaf of bread and some eggs. I make myself toast and an omelet. I eat in silence at the kitchen island, and then clean up after myself. The monotony is numbing. And then it hits me.What now? I can’t just go back upstairs and stare at the ceiling. I need something to occupy my time, to fill the hollow hours that stretch endlessly ahead of me. Shopping. The idea pops into my head out of nowhere. I’ve never been one for retail therapy, but it’ll kill a few hours. I change into a summer dress, throw on a knitted sweater, slip into some flats, and grab my bag. Before I leave, I scribble a note for Janet, letting her know where I’m headed. Not that it matters. Not that anyone cares. Bloomingdale’s.The one place that has everything I could possibly need, though I hardlyneedanything. Clothes, shoes, cosmetics—they’re all distractions, but at least they’re distractions that don’t talk back or expect anything from me. I wander aimlessly through the aisles, stopping at the cosmetics section. Perfumes. I need something that will soothe my mind, something to help me forget that I share a house with a man who makes my skin crawl. As I browse, one of the sales associates recognizes me and approaches with a smile. “Good morning, ma’am. Welcome back. Looking for something specific today?” I tap my chin, pretending to consider. “I need something that puts me in a Zen mood. You know, the kind of Zen where no one, not even the most insufferable person in your life, can bother you.” The woman’s smile falters slightly, her confusion evident. I quickly realize I’ve said too much. “I’m joking,” I add with a forced laugh. “Just something new and fun will do.” She nods, pointing out a few options—Spring, Agua, Chanel. I end up choosing Sol de Brazil and place it in my cart, eager to move on from the awkward exchange.As I turn, I catch a glimpse of a man standing a few feet away, watching me. He’s dressed in a full suit, which seems wildly out of place on a Saturday. Our eyes meet, and he quickly looks away.What the hell?I frown, glancing around. What’s a guy like him doing here? It doesn’t make sense.But then again, none of this makes sense. My life hasn’t made sense in weeks.I shake my head, trying to brush it off. “None of my business,” I mumble to myself as I turn around, continuing down the aisle.But something about the man lingers in my mind. Maybe it’s the way he looked at me—like he knew something I didn’t, like there was some invisible string tethering him to me. Or maybe I’m just paranoid, which wouldn’t be surprising given the circumstances. After all, I’m living in a nightmare I didn’t choose.I try to shake it off, losing myself in the racks of clothes. Ten minutes go by as I sift through Alice and Olivia pieces, trying to decide whether buying something new is even worth it. A d
She pauses. “Is everything okay?”“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice tight. “He wasn’t answering, and now I can’t even dial his number. Could you call him? Don’t tell him I asked you to.”“Of course. I’ll do it right now.”I hang up, and the wait feels like an eternity. Seconds turn into minutes, and I catch myself biting my cuticles—an old habit I’d kicked, which seems to resurface whenever Dmitri’s involved.My phone rings. The moment I hear it, I snatch it up, pressing it to my ear. “Yes?”“You were right, his phone’s still off,” Daria says, her voice careful. “But I called his second line, and he picked up. He told me to tell you he’s fine.”I freeze, processing her words. Hissecond line? I didn’t even know he had another phone.“Did he say anything else?” I ask, the knot in my stomach tightening.“No, Ana. Just that he’s fine.”My forehead wrinkles in confusion, and anger begins to simmer under my skin. “He didn’t say he’d call me back?”She hesitates. “No.”I’m about to say somet
DMITRI“Dmitri Orlov,” Igor announces as he strides into my office, grinning like the fool he is.I know exactly why he’s smiling. He’s just secured a deal usingmyname, thinking I wouldn’t catch on. But I did. Of course, I did. I let him believe he’s clever, though—it’s far more entertaining to watch him dig his own grave.For now, I play along. I turn off my laptop and close the file on my desk before rising to meet him. “Let’s go to the conference room. The others are waiting.”Igor’s grin falters just slightly. “You don’t look like a happy man, Dmitri. Trouble at home?”I shoot him a sidelong glance, my voice cold. “Would you like trouble inyourhome, Igor?”He chuckles nervously, his bravado faltering. “I didn’t mean to pry. Just concerned.”“You don’t need to be concerned. You’re here for business, nothing else.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “Alexey and Bianchi are already seated, and your business is… lesser, compared to theirs. Let’s not waste more time. Time is money, I
I’ve been staying in my penthouse in the city, keeping my distance to avoid getting tangled up in emotions I never intended to feel. Since the wedding, things have changed. I find myself thinking about her at random moments. The defiance in her eyes when she tells me I have no right to control her life. The stubborn set of her chin when she demands I fight my own battles, leaving her out of it.I shouldn’t be thinking about her, but I do. Too often.The worst part? I wasn’t even angry when she called me a hypocrite for doing exactly what her father did, only with more power. I should’ve been, but all I could think about was how she masked her fear and stood toe to toe with me, unflinching. No one’s ever done that before. Not even Alexey, who came crawlingwith an apology after today’s meeting to avoid the inevitable consequences.But Ana got under my skin. She told me shehatesme. Those three words echoed in my mind all night, twisting and turning until I couldn’t sleep. Why the hell do
ANA“Mr. Benjamin,” I say, rising from my desk as the door opens. He walks in, all smiles and swagger. I know who he is immediately—one of those state-level politicians who once ran for governor and lost spectacularly. His opponent was just more conniving, more willing to play dirty.“Mrs. Orlov,” he greets me, extending his hand with that politician’s grin. It’s wide, practiced. His shake is too firm, borderline painful. I pull away quickly and rub my hand against my skirt, sitting back down and reminding myself this is just another client.“I’ve read through your case, Mr. Benjamin,” I start, trying to keep it professional. “I want to assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to?—”“You’re married to Dmitri Orlov, aren’t you?” he interrupts, leaning in with that same grin.I nod, my stomach tightening. I hate when people bring up my marriage, especially in the office. It’s like they don’t see me anymore—just his name, attached to mine.“Nice,” he says, still smiling, like he’s
“You should go change,” Freya says, completely oblivious to my seething anger. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”Oh, they’re going to get something alright. But it’s not going to be what they expect.Still in my office clothes, tired and annoyed, I storm through the front entrance. If Dmitri wants to make me play hostess, he’s about to regret that decision. I’ll show these guests exactly who I am—no fancy dress, no smiles, no playing the obedient wife.But instead of finding a crowd in the living room, I run straight intomy husband.“What’s going on?” I snap, barely keeping my voice level. “Why did you invite people without telling me? I come home to strangers ogling me like I’m some prized possession.”His expression is infuriatingly calm. “Does it matter?” he says, shrugging. “All you need to do is go upstairs, put on one of your pretty dresses, and play hostess.”“Hostess? What am I, your trophy wife?”His face hardens, and his next words cut deep. “Why do you think I married you? You’
DMITRIEven though it’s been a week, I can’t shake the image of Igor holding Ana’s hand. It’s etched into my mind, like a splinter I can’t dig out. Every detail from that night keeps replaying in my head—her in that emerald dress, her body practically sculpted by the fabric, the way the neckline teased just enough to drive me mad.I remember how I first saw her that night, walking into the garden like she owned the place. The dress clung to her curves, her cleavage perfectly framed, leaving me hard as a rock just from looking at her. The way she carried herself was infuriatingly captivating, each step drawing every eye in the room, mine included.I told myself it was nothing. That I didn’t care. After all, I’d thrown that damn party to show her exactly what she was—a trophy. Nothing more. But when I caught one of the men staring at her too long, a possessive anger surged inside me.Why the hell would I be jealous?I don’t even like her.Or so I keep telling myself.It doesn’t matter,
“I know you don’t want a scene,” she purrs. “I’d hate to cause one.”“You’re walking a fine line, Lucia,” I warn, my patience wearing thin. “This isn’t the time or the place for your games.”She taps her chin thoughtfully, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “What if I told you that your wife seems already… occupied?”That catches my attention. I scan the room, trying to find Ana, but she’s nowhere in sight. Lucia, ever the snake, points toward the far end of the room, where a large potted fern obscures part of the seating area.“Over there,” she says, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. “Looks like she’s enjoying herself.”I follow her gaze and spot Ana, lounging on a plush couch, surrounded by three men. One leans in, whispering something in her ear that makes her toss her head back and laugh, carefree and radiant. Her hair has come loose, spilling over her shoulders, and for a moment, I’m frozen, watching her like a predator stalking his prey.My fists clench at my sides, a cold ra
I never considered myself a saint, but growing up, a part of me hated it when Jayden called the Lord’s name in vain. I was uncomfortable with anyone doing it, and because it felt wrong, it made the hairs on my neck rise, so I’d caution him. But now, I felt nothing but satisfaction as I watched Timur—not hate or caution…justsatisfaction.His gaze faltered, and he leaned against the wall, tugged down the zipper of his pants, and—in a blinding flash—he pulled out his—“Put a finger in your pussy for me,Pchelka.”I couldn’t concentrate, not when he offered me a full big-screen-worthy view of watching him wrap his hand around his veiny hard-on.“Serena.” His commanding voice and the huskiness, combined with the sound of my name, brought me back to focus.On its own accord, my finger moved towhere I badly ached for him, and, like the first time, I slipped inside through my slickness. An involuntary moan left my lips, and my eyes fluttered, but he didn’t even give me a chance.“Eyes on me.”
Through my reflection in the mirror, I watched my cheeks flush a deeper shade of scarlet, and my body tingled in excitement. I didn’t even know when I laughed out loud.What are you thinking, Serena?And yet, despite the million and one reasons I had to desist from taking any step closer to the bed, one reason posed to be the most convincing, forcing me to abandon thoughts about right and wrong until I lay my back on the soft mattress, spread-eagle style:I missed him.“Oh, Serena.” I heard the nerves in my voice and pinned my eyes to the smooth ceiling above me.Clutching the sheets with one hand in a vise grip, I spread my legs wider. The cold air hit my skin, causing goosebumps to rise, and I turned toward the window, only realizing now that a rainstorm had picked up outside. I should have shaken off the stupid idea that brought me to the bed in the first place, got on my feet, and moved to close the shutters. Instead, I pulled the bed covers over my legs and lowered my back into t
SerenaFingering the hem of my dress, I stared at the soft fabric and looked back at the mirror. Blue eyes met mine, golden hair poured below fair shoulders, and I blurred out the image of soft curves and bare hips.Countless times, especially in high school, I’d been called a prude.It wasn’t true. Or maybe it was. I didn’t squeal or gush over pictures of slippery hard abs or full naked men as they did or swooned over R-18 magazines they snuck into class. I couldn’t remember ever being a big fan of nudity, not even where I was concerned. I just didn’t know how to…reactto provocative images or thoughts.Sad, but needless to say, it contributed a lot to my not having many friends.I shook my head in an attempt to get rid of the distracting thoughts. Then, I stared again at the mirror.Throughout everything I’d been through in recent times, I was still me. I was the same person who watched her parents break apart, the same girl who had to step into the shoes of both parents to cater to
TimurThe dreams should have been the first sign. After I noticed that they’d been gone for more than a week, I should have known. Thinking about it now, I almost couldn’t remember the artistic red splash on the wall or the face that owned those lifeless eyes. A new kind of nightmare haunted me. This one was a living nightmare, with perfect lips, perky tits, blonde hair, and blue eyes. Saying I was screwed wasn’t even going to cut it.Fuckedbetter suited the context, and it wasn’t helping that I suddenly remembered Nikolai’s question.Why didn’t I sell her off, leave her in the sea of sharks to feast on? Then, I wouldn’t have to deal with fighting off the provocative images and sounds from my mind that I’d practically guided her to plant there. Her well-being wouldn’t be my fucking business; none of her would concern me. But simply, the thought sent a violent fire that spread up my back, forcing me to straighten up on the chair.My gaze on the desk hardened, and I directed my anger tow
The mirth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by an inferno of undiluted desire. Without looking at me, he recited the third piece of our own secret mantra.“Have me.”The tip of his veiny erection—which was very hard and big—rubbed against my sex before easing into me. My eyes fell shut, shock waves rolling down my body as I tensed, my walls clamping around him.“Fuck…” he cursed, a smooth roll of Russian pouring from between his lips. Almost resisting him, I clenched down on him so tightly, struggling to adjust to his full size, and his jaw flexed. He caressed my bare ass, muttering incoherently in his foreign accent while he squeezed gently.Finally, with gritted teeth and holding back a drop of tears, I relaxed.He watched me, his eyes boring deep into my soul as we moved together. I felt my world shift. I was aware of every gasp, every sigh, every flicker of pleasure that danced between us. I surrendered to the fire that burned brightly within, trusting him to guide me through the
He was all man and no emotions, with a very inviting chest, a chiseled torso, and a mouth that held back nothing. Whenever Jayden cursed, it sounded dirty, but the same words pouring out from this man sent tingles to my toes.Nodding, I gulped. “I understand.”“Want me.” His fingers brushed my cheeks so lightly as his eyes stared into the depth of my soul. “Have me. Need me.Those are the only things I want you to think about. I’ll handle the rest.”Want me.Have me.Need me.I was already breathing fast, and my clothes were still on.This moment between us reminded me of the first time I had welcomed the sixth graders to class. Only now, he felt like the teacher and I, the new student. And this was like class.He was going to handle the rest, he said. All I had to do was immerse myself in the waves of tumultuous passion for thisman, whose gaze licked the length of my body as though it were a delicious lollipop.“Are you okay now?”Startled, I looked back at him, rattled on my rocker t
Then, the moment came.As his lips brushed softly against mine, the kiss was gentle, almost reverent. In that fleeting moment, I felt the wallsof my heart begin to crack, and I wasn’t sure at the time, but something in me wanted more.****We went into the house at separate times for a quick shower and a change into something smoother. Klavdia practically had to force me out of the room when all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep the rest of my life away.He had some of his people set up and organize one of the large halls in the house to be decorated. Before now, I didn’t even know such a chamber existed in the same building, and slowly, it started to sink in, what Klavdia said about being the lady “…of all of this.”I could hardly believe it as I stepped into the grand ballroom. It was jaw-dropping magnificent. The air was thick with the intoxicating blend of expensive cologne and the sweet aroma of floral arrangements. Russian laughter—if there ever was such a thing—and mu
SerenaI didn’t like it.Not the dress, the tears. They just kept rolling freely, and Klavdia had already warned me to wipe them off and not ruin my makeup. Somehow, she reminded me of my grandmother. She died of a stroke when I was six. I didn’t remember much abouther except that she was low-key stuck-up, had long white hair, and never smiled. And she gave great advice, like telling a six-year-old, “Whatever you do, don’t get knocked up before you get married.”Needless to say, years later, I didn’t have to do much to follow that advice.Klavdia seemed like the type, too, but I doubted that we’d ever get to the stage where we’d share bits and pieces of our lives over cups of tea and biscuits, and I’d get to know if she had grandchildren.She also said I wasn’t supposed to let mysoon-to-be husbandsee it. He’d already made it very clear that he found tears sickening.Carefully dabbing the tears off under my eyes, I fixed my mascara and eyeliner, aiming to reappear brand new, like a gif
TimurThe air buzzed with the familiar energy of drunkenness, wasted lives, and ecstasy.The club lights pulsed low, a hum settling over the crowd as we made our way through the reserved spot with “VIPs ONLY” dangling beside the plush red ropes. The place was high-end and sleek in design, with black marble, plush leather seats, and a bar that stretched half the length of the room. Neon blue lights traced along the walls, flashing a glow that glinted off the glassware and tinted everything a cool, metallic hue.One of Rafayel’s contacts owned the club.I nodded, assessing the bubbling life. Not bad.My brother’s laugh cut through the bass-heavy music, and I turned in time to see him share a handshake with Arlo, both of them already in high spirits. I didn’t need either of them to tell me; they’d probably made some stupid bet on something I wasn’t going to bother myself about.Nikolai followed close, his gaze scanning the room—a man with more restraint these days, but still, he’d undoub