Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
"He who fears he shall suffer, already suffers what he fears."
― Michel de Montaigne
Caia
Silent and tense, I sat as Romaniev maneuvered into his building's garage, sliding the car into his private spot like he owned the world. The engine cut off, and unsurprisingly, we headed for his place—not mine. Any shred of hope that he'd reconsider? Gone.
We stepped out, my high heels tapping against the concrete in sync with the tension between us. As we approached the elevator, the silence only grew thicker, and I couldn't help but wonder what was running through his mind. Was he patting himself on the back for a job well done? Irritated that I didn't fall all over myself thanking him for the grand gesture?
The gallery was stunning, sure—any artist's dream. But taking it as a wedding gift forced down my throat? Not a chance. The weight of what I'd signed up for hit me like a bad joke that's only funny to everyone else.
The one person who never wanted this, stuck in a marriage she never asked for.
But I made a promise to my babushka to fight for my life, for happiness.
So, fine, I lost this battle. But I'm not about to lose the war.
A sudden shiver shot up my arms, memories of the last time I was at Alexsei's place rushing back. We'd almost had sex. Almost . Until shards of him cracked into my mind, and staying became impossible.
In the elevator, our eyes locked. I knew what he was thinking. His gaze said it all—desire, barely held in check.
"Feeling hungry?" he asked, casual, like nothing was wrong. "I can whip up something."
I shook my head. "I just... I want to sleep."
When the doors opened, I was hit with the familiar scent of lemon and lavender. His place was always pristine, down to the air itself, which I hated because it made everything feel... controlled. Or maybe it was the reminder that this was my new reality.
I tried not to make eye contact with the couch, but I could still feel the ghosts of us from that night. I froze at the entrance, arms crossed, staring at the floor.
"Where's my room?" I asked, praying he wasn't expecting me to share his bed.
"Follow me."
Kicking off my heels, I padded barefoot behind him through long, art-lined hallways. He opened the door to what I assumed was a guest room. Dark brown furniture, white bedsheets—a modern, elegant setup, but completely devoid of personality, like a hotel room no one cared about.
I stepped in, feeling that weird mix of relief and unease. Sure, it was a place to sleep, but could I ever make it feel like mine?
Before I could ask him what time it was, he was already gone, disappearing down the hall.
I sighed, shrugging off my coat and tossing it onto the bed. Then my eyes landed on six oversized bags by the dresser. Curious, I unzipped one. Prada. Of course. Dresses, pants, shirts—expensive, over-the-top, all clearly his doing.
As I scanned the room again, I noticed a door across the room. Closed.
Intrigued, I opened the door to reveal an adjoining bathroom, white marble gleaming under soft light, the scent of eucalyptus lingering in the air. The sleek Italian shower beckoned, offering a momentary escape.
I didn't even bother taking off my dress. I stepped under the stream, makeup mixing with the water as it cascaded over me. Silent tears blended with it, the sobs barely audible, but heavy with everything I hadn't said.
"I, Alexsei Romaniev vow to protect you, Caia Mankiev, from any harm, cherish you, guide you and love you until death do us part."
The words replayed in my head, mocking. I was Caia Romaniev now.
The name felt foreign on my lips, even though it was mine now. It came out effortlessly, but my heart shattered all the same.
I spent the night stuck in the guest room.
After a very long shower, I crawled into bed, hoping sleep would offer some escape. And, I hate to admit it, but I slept like a baby.
This morning, as I opened my eyes to the unfamiliar room, a wave of unease hit me. For a moment, I wondered if I'd been kidnapped, but the truth wasn't much better. What had once been a beautiful space now felt like a polished cage.
Last night, I found a black silk pyjama set in one of the bags. The cool fabric felt luxurious, the long sleeves offering some illusion of protection.
I couldn't help but admit, I loved the Prada.
Wrapped in that silky cocoon, I grappled with the reality of being stuck here.
What were my options? I needed to figure things out, fast .
The distant sound of utensils snapped me out of my thoughts. I splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth with the new toothbrush I'd found, and pulled on a black wool dress from one of the bags. It felt soft, cozy against the chill. Found some sheer tights too.
As I headed to the kitchen, soft piano music and the smell of pancakes drifted through the air, making my stomach rumble.
Then I saw him—shirtless at the stove. His muscles tensed and shifted with each movement, the play of light across his back highlighting every defined ridge. The way he moved, all smooth and confident, made me almost gasp.
I couldn't look away. My gaze followed the curves of his back and the low-slung pants that hung just right, giving me teasing glimpses of his white boxers. He was a walking, talking temptation, making something as simple as cooking feel like a private show.
He must've felt my stare because he turned around slowly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he set a plate on the counter. His blue eyes locked onto mine.
Gosh, why couldn't he look like Shrek, or better yet, Lord Farquaad?
It would've made things so much easier for me.
"Slept well?" Alexsei's deep voice cut through the air, and I nodded in response, still trying to shake off the grogginess of sleep.
Determined to appear composed, I made my way to the sink, pouring myself a cup of water. As I took a sip, the cool liquid did little to calm the nerves that danced beneath my skin. Turning around, I leaned against the sink, my back to the cool surface, watching Alexsei as he skillfully seasoned the food.
He gestured toward the chair in front of him, silently inviting me to join him, and, well, hunger won over any reservations I had.
"So, do you always cook breakfast for ... women?" I tried to sound casual, but my throat felt tight, and I couldn't shake off this weird mix of feeling out of place and vulnerable.
"Only for the one who bears my name. Consider it a special treatment, wife ."
Heat bloomed across my cheeks and neck. To hide it, I dove into my plate, practically inhaling the food he'd made. I was so hungry, I couldn't help but hum when the pancake hit my mouth.
As we ate, there was this weird dance between us—stolen glances and silent exchanges. The room was filled with an almost tangible tension, only broken by the clink of utensils and the soft piano music in the background. It felt like I was stuck in a strange dream where everything was just an illusion.
As I devoured my food, I could practically feel Romaniev's eyes boring into my face. I tried to act like it was no big deal and keep eating, but his intense stare was impossible to ignore.
"Like what you see?" I finally looked up, tossing his own words back at him.
He leaned back, his intense blue eyes locked on me. "I do."
I let out a sigh. "When can I go back to my place?"
One, two, three seconds.
Gosh, his silence was maddening.
His gaze traveled from my eyes to my lips and back again. I could practically feel him enjoying every second of this, relishing the way he was stressing me out. I was his own personal circus, performing on command, ready to entertain him whenever he felt like it.
He stayed silent, sipping his orange juice as if it were the most captivating thing in the world. His arm rested casually on the armrest, his legs spread slightly.
Despite my best efforts to stay focused, my eyes wandered over his sculpted chest, thick arms, and lean abs, each breath making him look even more irresistible. It was infuriating how effortlessly he exuded sex appeal.
Nope! Eyes up, Caia. Don't let him seduce you again, even if it's so… tempting.
I forced my gaze back to his eyes, only to catch a faint, smug smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
"You're not planning on keeping me locked up here, are you?" I blurted out, feeling my chest tighten at the thought of being stuck and cut off from everything.
He shrugged a shoulder. "I have other plans for you."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "What plans?"
"We're married now, Caia. Well, technically," he said, putting his cup down. His finger traced a slow path over the crystal glass, making a soft clink. A smirk curved his lips. "But religiously, there's something else we need to do to make this marriage … official."
I scoffed. "Since when are you religious?"
"Since the day I met you."
I rolled my eyes again, totally unimpressed.
The idea of Lucifer being religious was about as believable as a blind guy claiming he saw Jesus in his living room. It just didn't make any sense.
I took a big gulp of my water. "What is it?"
"We haven't consummated our marriage yet."
I choked on my water and coughed a couple times. "What?"
" Fuck , love," he drawled. "We haven't fucked yet."
"And we never will, Romaniev."
He chuckled softly, shifting in his chair and crossing his arms, his forearms resting casually on the table. Seeing him like this, without his usual formal suits and fancy shirts, was strangely mesmerizing. It was almost distracting enough that I wished I could just keep admiring him in silence, avoiding whatever he had to say. But there was a silver lining: the guy was an absolute jerk. Knowing that made it way too easy to keep my disdain for him front and center.
"Don't forget that you promised me to let me fuck you. I don't take you for a woman that doesn't uphold her words."
I flashed a wicked grin. "Well, guess what? I'm a total liar. Guilty as charged."
He fell into a momentary silence, his finger rhythmically tapping the table as if plotting a million ways to get me to give in.
"Why did you run away?" he suddenly asked.
My brows furrowed. "What?"
He nonchalantly shrugged again. " That night, you practically begged me to fuck you, then like you'd spotted a ghost, you bolted and went home. Any particular reason?"
My stomach dropped, and my palms began to sweat.
I certainly do not want to talk about that night.
Abandoning my seat abruptly, I carried my plate to the sink, giving it a quick rinse.
"I don't want to talk about it."
The last thing I needed was for him to uncover my weaknesses or pry into my past. Being coerced into this absurd marriage was one thing, but baring my soul for him to see my pain was a whole different story.
"Whether you like it or not, Caia," he said, getting up and taking his plate to the sink, "you're going to have to tell me why you're so scared?—"
"I'm not scared of anything, especially not sex, Alexsei," I shot back, spinning around to find him way too close to me. His face was inches from mine, our eyes locked. His scent enveloped me, and his warmth brushed against my skin.
I hated how just being near him always stirred something inside me.
"How many men have fucked you?"
I gasped, stunned. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just trying to figure out if I've married a whore or not."
Freaking asshole!
I snapped, my hand flying out to slap him, but he intercepted it, grabbing my wrist with a firm grip.
His eyes darkened. "Answer me."
"Let go," I tried to yank my wrist free, but his hold only tightened. "I'm not like your mother, Romaniev. You don't need to worry about that."
Regret hit me hard, and my throat tightened the moment I realized what I'd blurted out.
This man really had this insane talent for bringing out the worst in me.
His eyes flashed with anger, and he grabbed my hair, yanking it back to force my head up. His face was inches from mine, breaths quick and harsh, nostrils flaring, and his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink—I'd definitely hit a nerve. He hated any mention of his mama.
"Be careful, sweetheart," he whispered softly, yet his anger roared loud enough to make him even more menacing. "Don't play with fire, or it'll burn you alive."
I glared at him. "Just don't insult me again, and we won't have a problem."
He shot me a fleeting frown before pressing himself against me. I placed my hands on his bare chest, regretting it the moment I felt the heat radiating from him. His heart pounded beneath my palms, matching the frantic rhythm of mine.
He released my hair and wrist, then planted his hands on either side of me, gripping the sink's edge. "I'm just trying to get to know you, that's all."
"Don't," I breathed out, the word trembling as it left my lips.
He stayed close, his breath warm and uneven against mine. For a beat, the world seemed to pause around us. His voice dropped to a velvety murmur. "You're a challenge, Caia. I like that."
"And I don't like you."
A soft, dangerous laugh escaped him. His dark blue eyes bored into mine, searching, unraveling. Then his expression turned serious. "Who hurt you, baby?"
My face paled, and I tried to push him away. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Your body betrays you. You're scared of something or someone," he said, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. I closed my eyes.
Of course, Lucifer could see right through me. It was like he was determined to expose every part of me that I wanted to keep hidden.
"It's not your business," I muttered, the lump in my throat growing heavier.
"Oh, but it is. Because," he murmured, his voice a low purr as he dipped his face into the curve of my neck. His lips brushed lightly against my skin, teasing and electric. "You," he traced a slow, deliberate lick up my neck. "Are," he pressed another kiss, his lips lingering and warm. "Mine," he bit down gently. "Now."
"In name only," I whispered back. "You said so yourself."
His touch was intoxicating, and I found myself craving more, desperate for him to continue exploring every inch of me. But as my mind clouded with confusion, the entrance buzzer rang.
Someone's here.
I snapped my eyes open, my body reacting on instinct. I shoved him away and dashed to my room, slamming the door behind me. I sank against it, pulling my knees to my chest.
In less than a day, I'd landed in cosmic trouble.
I needed holy water and a survival guide for dealing with my own chaos because let's be real, I wouldn't last a week in this devil's lair. His sinfully tempting naked body was basically a test of my willpower, and I was failing spectacularly.
Maybe divine intervention or, at the very least, a stash of emergency Maltesers, would help.