20. Annalise

20

ANNALISE

I brush my fingers along my lips, the tingling sensation from my intimate encounter with Nikhil refusing to fade. The memory of his touch sends shivers down my spine, a mixture of fear and desire that I can’t quite shake off.

I shouldn’t be this attracted to him, to a man who kidnapped me…well, if I can even call it kidnapping. I’ve willingly stayed to be close to my daughters.

“I’m ready to go,” Isabella says the second she lays eyes on us, a bit of attitude evident in her eyes.

“Isa—” I stop talking when she shoots me a dark look.

She’s mad at me.

Why?

Probably because I just let her brother eat me out in the changing room of a shop with customers coming in and out.

She probably thinks I’m a slut.

“I’ll go bring the car around,” Nikhil offers, unaware of the tension in the air. He walks off, leaving me and Isabella.

“Hey, I?—”

She’s quick to cut me off. “Actually, let my brother know that I’m going to head over to Monique’s with Chelsea. He’ll know who that is.” She doesn’t give me the chance to say anything, briskly walking away without another word.

I feel like an idiot. Isabella has been so kind to me, and I just ruined it.

When Nikhil returns, he frowns, and gestures to ask where Isabella is.

“She went out with Chelsea?” I say.

He rolls his eyes. “She should have told me.”

“Who is Chelsea?” I ask Nikhil.

“A friend of hers.”

“I think she’s mad at me.”

“Who cares?”

“I do.”

“Annalise,” Nikhil says at last, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Um, I guess I could eat,” I respond, grateful for an excuse to stop overthinking.

“Good,” he replies, a hint of approval in his tone. “There’s a place I’d like to take you. Somewhere we can talk privately.”

“Alright,” I agree hesitantly, trying to keep the uncertainty from showing on my face. With each passing moment, it becomes more apparent that there’s so much I don’t know about this man or the world he inhabits. And yet, the part of me that’s drawn to him—the part that still feels the lingering heat of his touch on my lips—can’t help but yearn to unravel those mysteries.

The silence in the car stretches on, growing thicker with each passing moment. I watch as the cityscape outside the window gradually fades into a blur of lights and shadows, my heart pounding in my chest like a ticking time bomb.

As we continue to drive, I can’t help but notice how the buildings around us grow older, their fa?ades worn by time and weathered by the elements. The streets become narrower, lined with trees that cast eerie shadows on the pavement below. If I didn’t know any better, I might mistake this part of town for something straight out of a gothic novel.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. Nikhil simply offers me a mysterious smile, his blue eyes glinting in the dim lighting.

“You’ll see,” he murmurs cryptically, his hand resting on the gearshift as he navigates the car expertly through the darkened streets.

Soon enough, the car slows to a stop in front of an imposing structure, its age evident in the cracked stone walls and moss-covered steps leading up to the entrance. I glance at Nikhil, searching his expression for any hint of what awaits us inside, but his face remains inscrutable.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” I question hesitantly, eyeing the building with a mix of apprehension and awe.

“Trust me,” he replies, his voice steady and reassuring. As he opens the door and steps out of the car, I take a deep breath, gathering my courage before following suit.

It’s only when I step out onto the cobblestone sidewalk that I truly grasp the gravity of our surroundings. Armed guards stand sentinel near the entrance, their expressions grim and unwavering as they survey the area with cold, calculating eyes. Fear knots in my stomach, but I force myself to push it aside, instead focusing on the warmth of Nikhil’s presence beside me.

“Stay close,” he instructs quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument. I nod, swallowing hard as we approach the guards together. Their gazes sweep over us, sizing us up in an instant before settling on Nikhil.

The heavy door looms before us, its dark wood and intricate carvings both intimidating and alluring. Nikhil’s hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me forward. As we approach the entrance, two imposing guards step into our path, their eyes boring into us with suspicion.

“Доступ запрещен,” one of them growls, barring our way with a massive arm.

Nikhil doesn’t hesitate, his voice firm and authoritative as he responds, “Я Нихил Волков. Эта женщина со мной.”

I wish I knew what they were saying.

Clearly, it’s effective.

The guards exchange quick glances, tension thick in the air, before they relent, stepping aside and granting us access.

As we cross the threshold, the atmosphere shifts dramatically. The dimly lit corridor opens up into a grand dining hall, illuminated by glittering chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the opulent space. My eyes widen at the sight, taking in the rich fabrics draping the walls and the gleaming silverware adorning each meticulously set table.

“Welcome to Королевский ужин,” Nikhil murmurs in my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine.

I can hardly believe it—this place is a far cry from the foreboding exterior. It’s like stepping into another world, one inhabited by the wealthy and powerful. I spot men and women dressed in elegant attire, their conversations punctuated with laughter and the clinking of glasses.

“Is this where you usually dine?” I ask tentatively, feeling out of place amidst this display of extravagance.

“Sometimes,” Nikhil replies nonchalantly, leading me further into the restaurant. “It’s one of the few places where we can enjoy some privacy.”

I steal a glance at him, wondering what kind of man could feel so at ease in this kind of environment. He seems unfazed by the luxury and the watchful eyes of the patrons, his focus solely on me.

“Come,” he says, guiding me to a secluded table near the back of the room. “Let’s enjoy our dinner.”

As I take my seat, I can’t help but marvel at the stark contrast between the world outside these walls and the one within. And as Nikhil’s piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, I realize that maybe—just maybe—I’m starting to understand the allure of the Volkov brothers and the dangerous, thrilling life they lead.

The soft murmurs of hushed conversations and the decadent aroma of rich, savory dishes surround me, heightening my awareness of just how out of place I am in this lavish setting. My fingers nervously tap against the delicate white tablecloth as I scan the room, taking in the opulence that seems to stretch endlessly before me.

“Are you alright?” Nikhil’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts. His gaze is steady on mine, concern etched into his ever-expressive eyes.

“I-I don’t know if I belong here,” I admit quietly, my words tinged with insecurity. “Everyone looks so…sophisticated.”

“Annalise—” Nikhil’s tone is gentle but firm. “You are every bit as deserving of being here as anyone else. And besides,” he adds with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I got a dress for you from the boutique, remember?”

His assurance does little to quell the imposter syndrome gnawing at me, but I appreciate his attempt nonetheless. The mention of the dress, however, sends a fresh wave of anxiety coursing through me. “Where—where is it? Do I need to change into it now?”

“Go to the bathroom,” he instructs, his hand gently squeezing my shoulder. “It’ll be waiting for you there.”

As I rise from my seat, I can’t help but feel the weight of a hundred scrutinizing eyes upon me, their curious gazes boring into my back. My heart races with each step I take, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor like a ticking countdown to some unknown fate.

My heart races as I enter the dimly lit bathroom, every nerve in my body tingling with anticipation. As soon as I step inside, a silent woman appears before me, holding a stunning dress that seems to shimmer in the low light. Her gaze never meets mine; her eyes are downcast, and she remains wordless as she hands the garment over to me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the rustle of fabric and the steady drumming of my heartbeat.

The woman gives a slight nod, still avoiding eye contact, before slipping away like a phantom. It’s clear that she knows who I am—or rather, who I’m associated with. The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning, sending shivers down my spine—I’m being treated as part of the elite due to my connection with the Volkov brothers.

As I change into the dress, my thoughts race alongside the pounding of my heart. I can’t help but be amazed by the influence the Volkov name has on those around us. I’ve always known their power and wealth were immense, but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely. It’s a world so far removed from my own, yet here I am, enveloped in its seductive embrace.

I study my reflection in the mirror, the elegant dress hugging my curves and accentuating my features. A part of me wonders if I should feel guilty for enjoying this newfound status, even if only temporarily. But another part of me—a larger part—whispers that I deserve to feel beautiful, to experience a taste of the luxurious life I’ve been thrust into.

With a deep breath, I smooth out the fabric one last time, preparing myself to rejoin Nikhil in the opulent restaurant beyond these walls. I may not have been born into this world, but I’ll be damned if I let it intimidate me.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I feel as if I’ve entered a different world. The hushed whispers and clinking glasses echo around the room, adding to the mysterious atmosphere. My eyes immediately search for Nikhil in the sea of impeccably dressed people, my pulse quickening with anticipation.