Chapter 28

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

"We lie the loudest when we lie to ourselves."

― Eric Hoffer

Caia

Alexsei's hand kept trailing small circles on my back, his touch annoyingly tender. And for a fleeting second, a tiny, ridiculous part of me wished I could freeze time and stay in this so-called "perfect" moment forever.

But let's be real—heaven isn't real, and I needed to get my head back in the game.

"Caia?"

Oh no. Maybe, just maybe, if I stay perfectly still, if I keep my breathing steady, he'll think I'm asleep and leave me alone.

Jesus, Caia, not even a day and you're already in his bed?

No self-control, no shame—just pathetic.

"Don't go all shy on me now, love. Not when my cum's still inside you."

God, what an asshole.

A really hot asshole, though.

"Let me sleep."

He chuckled like this was a joke to him, dragging me closer, his breath warm against my neck. "Oh, come on. You can't tell me you didn't love every second of it."

"I can deny whatever I want. Now let me sleep."

One second.

Two seconds.

Thre–

"How's it feel to be my wife?"

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "Awful. I can't believe you conned me into having sex with you."

He scoffed, all fake offense. "Conned you? Baby, you were begging for me to fill you up," he said, sliding his hand down to grab me between my legs, where I was still way too sensitive. "And this pussy? It's pretty damn happy now, isn't it?"

Okay, fine. Maybe I did beg for it— just a little . Blame it on my inner sex-starved demon who's been on a century-long dry spell and would probably sell a kingdom for some action. And yes, I came so hard I nearly blacked out.

But then this man—this same beast who rocked my world so hard my legs turned to Jell-O, who had me seeing stars while gripping my throat—had the audacity to scoop me up like some hero, carry me to his shower, and bathe me like a saint.

Seriously, is this the same guy who just set my insides on fire?

After drying me off like I was fragile porcelain, he tucked me into his bed, soft sheets wrapping around me like a trap disguised as comfort. This all felt way too real .

I pushed it away. "No, it's not happy. So please, stop bothering her and me, and let us sleep."

"And you say I'm no fun," he smirked, slipping his arm back around my waist and planting a soft kiss on my shoulder. "Sweet dreams, Caia."

Sweet nightmares is more like it, because now I'm sure sleep will be impossible—especially after giving him the one thing that might've kept me sane in his wild world.

Yep, I'm totally screwed.

"Well, at least he didn't chop you into pieces and sell your body parts on the dark web."

I stared at her in stunned silence, eyes wide, trying to figure out if she was seriously joking or not.

"What? He's good-looking, wealthy, and can cook. Sure, he's impulsive, totally totalitarian, and a bit sociopathic for forcing you into marriage, but let's look on the bright side! Your dad could've picked some toothless, homeless guy with rats as pets."

What the hell?

Who was this woman, and what had happened to my Valeria?

"Why are you defending him?"

She shrugged, double-checking our stockpile of adult diapers and brand-new toothbrushes. "I'm not defending him?—"

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm just saying, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade..."

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. "How much did he bribe you with? There's no way you're defending him out of the goodness of your heart."

She stayed silent, but her eyes gave her away.

Oh my god, I'm going to murder this man!

"How much, Valeria?"

She sighed. "20k."

"I knew it!" I threw my hands up. "He's trying to buy my only ally. Valeria, please don't sell me out; he's a total asshole and?—"

She chuckled. "He's also your hubby now, Caia."

I let out a dramatic sigh. "Don't remind me; I'm still mourning my freedom."

A week had flown by since that unforgettable night, which I'd been desperately trying to erase from my mind.

Avoiding Alexsei while living with him? Practically impossible.

When I woke up the next day, cheek pressed against his chest, leg tangled with his, and arm wrapped around his waist, buried in his unmistakable manly scent, it hit me like a ton of bricks—I'd made a colossal mistake.

I wasn't supposed to be this close to him. Sleeping with him was like playing Russian roulette—risky, dangerous, and, dare I say, too good to be true.

I should be seething with anger—coerced into marriage, threatened with harm to my grandmother, robbed of my hard-won freedom, and forced into following my father's twisted scheme that wrecked my life.

I should be hating him, not begging him to come inside me.

Gosh, Caia, you're such a freaking idiot.

Every night since then, he'd vanish like a ghost, only to reappear right at 7 p.m. sharp. He'd cook dinner, calling my name like nothing was wrong, and we'd eat in strained silence, sneaking glances at each other. His smirk was infuriating, like he knew exactly how much he was messing with my head.

His eyes tracked my every move, like he had a radar set to detect my discomfort. I'd devour dinner at record speed, rushing to the washing machine, only to find him right behind me, practically breathing down my neck. His hand would brush mine as he cleaned up, his warm breath sending fireworks in my chest.

Last night, after we scarfed down a shrimp stir-fry that could've won awards, he casually placed his hand on my hip while loading his plate into the washing machine. Then, out of nowhere, he kissed my shoulder before vanishing into the night, leaving me utterly confused and questioning every decision I'd ever made.

Alexsei Romaniev was driving me insane.

He'd slept at home only once this week—the night after we…

But as the days went on, he resumed his nightly disappearances, coming home briefly around 8 or 9 to shower, change, and then vanish again.

This morning, as I stumbled bleary-eyed into the kitchen for breakfast, I found my phone next to a note.

You can go to work today.

Don't make me regret it. Keep your phone close.

"How the hell did he even get your number?" I asked, my confusion growing by the second.

Valeria flashed me a tight smile, clearly hiding something.

A knot twisted in my stomach.

"Seriously, Valeria, how did he get your number? "

"I'm not sure. Seems like the Silas have a knack for getting their hands on everything, but?—"

I held my breath. "But what?"

She sighed and gestured for me to follow her to her office, locking the door behind us once we were inside.

"Valeria, you're starting to freak me out?—"

She settled into her desk chair and pulled out a patient file from one of the drawers, filled with records from the past decade. "When your hubby?—"

"Please, for the love of God, stop calling him that!"

She chuckled. "When Alexsei showed up weeks ago with your favorite pastries and I let him in, there was something about his face that just bugged me."

My brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"No, I mean," she said, flipping through the pages before stopping on one patient's document. "I felt like I'd seen his face before."

She pulled out the document and turned it toward me.

"So, after your wedding day, where you looked absolutely stunning, by the way," she winked. "I spent days trying to figure out where I'd seen Alexsei before, and then it hit me!"

I hadn't even looked at the document yet, too engrossed in her story to divert my attention.

"Valeria, I don't get it?—"

"Alexsei's father is one of our patients," she said, jabbing her finger at the paper. "Look!"

I reached for the document and nearly choked when I saw the photo.

"Oh my God," I breathed, my heart racing.

The man in the picture looked exactly like Alexsei, just a hell of a lot older. It was like looking at a twisted reflection of him from a bygone era .

I scanned the document, trying to make sense of the situation.

Sergey Rovanski was a patient on the third floor, a floor I rarely visit. I usually stick to floors four, five, and six.

So, I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've been in his room.

Sergey Rovanski:

57 years old. (08/07/1964)

Born in Moscow

Family?: No.

Diseases: Throat cancer.

Admitted: 09/12/ 2014

"Wait… Sergey Rovanski? That can't be Alexsei's father. Alexsei's a Romaniev, not a Rovanski, Valeria."

Valeria shot up from her chair, slamming her desk in frustration. "That's exactly what I thought! But then I dug deeper. Sergey came to us nearly seven years ago, and his voice was already pretty weak back then," she said, moving toward me and grabbing my shoulders with a fierce grip. "But he kept calling, barely audible, asking for an Alexsei."

I exhaled, "But Alexsei said he had no family."

She shrugged. "Maybe he ditched his old life, changed his name, and started over!"

Alexsei Rovanski, what other secrets are you hiding from me?

Just then, my phone buzzed with a text.

Lucifer:

Party tonight. Be ready by 8.

Me:

Sorry, who's this ?

Lucifer:

I don't know, baby. Let's ask your pussy, I'm sure she remembers me.

This man is so freaking inappropriate.

My cheeks turned as red as a lobster, and when I looked up, Valeria was giving me a smirk that said she knew exactly what was going on.

Me:

Leave her alone!

Lucifer:

Nope. Your pretty pussy's mine now.

Me:

STOP IT!

Lucifer:

See you both later. Don't be late. ;)

"Are you guys … sexting?" Valeria's eyebrows shot up with a cheeky grin.

I nearly choked on my own spit. "What? No way! Gross. Are you out of your mind?"

She laughed and leaned in with a knowing smirk. "When a girl's face lights up like a Christmas tree from her phone, it usually means she's sexting."

I shot her a glare and marched to the door, yanking it open. "Leave me alone, you traitor! Enjoy your 20k!"

"Will do! And good luck with your hubby !"

"Stop calling him that!" I slammed the door, but not before hearing her muffled giggles.

Jesus, is it too much to ask for a little peace in this crazy world?