Chapter 18

Laura

I FOLLOWVictor to the sleek, black Mercedes-Benz S-Class idling at the curb, with Misha waiting behind the wheel.

“Get in,” Victor orders, holding the car door open.

I slide into the back, the leather cold against my ass. Victor doesn’t join me, instead plopping down in the front next to Misha.

Well, screw that.

I don’t need to sit next to him, anyway.

I cross my arms and stare out the window, trying to look like I’m not fucking bothered by how damn horny I am and how he just left me hanging, needy and unfinished.

As we pull away, Victor’s cologne hits me like a freaking freight train. It’s overwhelming, making my head spin and my pussy throb.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s like my nose is on overdrive, every scent slamming into me like a punch to the face.

I shift in my seat, my breasts aching against the confines of my bra. They’ve been so sensitive lately, the slightest brush of fabric against my nipples enough to make me gasp.

I cross and uncross my legs, the seam of my panties rubbing against my swollen, sensitive clit. I’m so fucking turned on it hurts, my body screaming for the kind of release only Victor’s touch can bring.

Am I really being this stupid? Get it together!

I can’t let myself forget what this is. A business arrangement, nothing more. In 335 days, I’ll be free. Free of Victor, free of this sham of a marriage. I just have to hold on until then.

Right now, I need to know what the hell is going on. So I lean forward, gripping the back of Victor’s seat. “Where are we going?”

He turns slightly, his jaw clenched.

Right, so he hates me. Whatever, I’m over it.

I don’t budge.

Finally, he speaks. “You’ll see.”

I blink, annoyed. “Just tell me.”

His lips twitch. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I huff, frustrated and horny as hell. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

He tilts his face a little, his stupidly handsome face looking forward, but I catch a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Put your seatbelt on,” he commands briskly.

Reluctantly, I shove myself back against the seat and fumble with the belt, clicking it into place while feeling every bit the scolded child. Clenching my fists, I wrestle with the cocktail of lust, anger, and confusion boiling inside me.

“At least tell me how long I’m going to be trapped in this car?” I retort, trying to gather some scraps of control.

Misha chuckles from the driver’s seat, glancing at us in the rearview mirror. “Look at you two, like a pair of newlyweds on your honeymoon.”

“Shut up and drive, Misha.”

I roll my eyes, my gaze drifting to Misha’s broad shoulders and muscular arms. He’s not a bad-looking guy, objectively speaking. But his eyes, those wide, wild eyes, they remind me of the day he threatened to hurt Serena right before I signed that damn contract.

Well, fuck that. I better trust no one.

I turn my head, staring out the window as the city rushes by. It’s only the second time I’ve been out of the mansion since the wedding, and a part of me feels like a prisoner let out on parole.

Misha pulls away from the curb, merging into traffic with ease. He and Victor exchange a few low words in Russian, their voices too quick and quiet for me to catch more than a snippet here and there.

I tune them out; I’m well aware of their little game, their secret-keeping antics.

During the three weeks I’ve been with the Morozovs, they’ve flipped from English to Russian over dinner more times than I can count. It’s clear they don’t want me in on their conversations. Well, thank you, but no, thank you. I couldn’t care less.

I press my forehead against the cool window, watching the city blur by.

I am not sure what’s happening, but my hormones are all over the place, making me feel raw and exposed. One minute, I’m ready to cry, the next I’m fighting the urge to jump Victor’s bones. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with my own mood swings.

“Is it almost ready?”

Misha nods, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Yes, boss. Just putting the finishing touches on now. Should be good to go by the time we arrive.”

What’s ready?

I bite my tongue, trying to tame the curiosity burning inside me.

Luar, haven’t you heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

Suddenly, my eyes catch the familiar sight of the faded paint of the “Beanstalk Café” sign, swaying slightly on its rusty hinges. It’s the same place where I’d grab a scalding hot espresso before walking over to the bookstore from my apartment.

I feel my stomach drop.

This is my old block, the place I called home for so many years.

What the hell are we doing here?

“Where… are we?” I ask, hating the tremor in my voice.

Victor turns to look at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You mean you don’t recognize it? And here I thought you knew this neighborhood like the back of your hand.”

I glare at him, my temper flaring. “I do know it. But this isn’t—”

My words die in my throat as the car pulls to a stop. There, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, is my bookstore. But not as I left it.

The remnants of the fire are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the building before me is unrecognizable.

Gone are the peeling paint and dingy windows, the sagging roof and crooked sign. In its place is a vision straight out of my wildest dreams, the storefront polished and welcoming, the display windows filled with artfully arranged books and cozy reading nooks.

“What… what is this?” I breathe, my heart pounding in my chest.

Victor leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “This is my promise to you, wife. Your store, restored to its glory. Yours to run as you see fit without your father’s interference.”

Opening the car door, I step outside.I shake my head, unable to wrap my mind around what I’m seeing.

“But how?”

I stare at the gleaming facade of my bookstore, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. The storefront is polished and welcoming, with tasteful navy-blue awnings over spotless display windows. Golden letters spell out “Thompson Tales of Fifth Ave” above the entrance.

Victor steps out of the car and comes to stand beside me, a slight smile on his lips as he watches my reaction.

“Close your sexy little mouth,” he murmurs, gently pushing my chin up with one finger.

I give my head a disbelieving wag, still dazed. “I don’t understand… How is this possible?

My hand flies to my mouth, snapping it shut, but my eyes remain wide. Not only has Victor restored it, but he’s expanded it into what was once Mr. Henderson’s adjoining property, tripling the original size.

“I have my ways. And some very persuasive lawyer with the best negotiation skills,” he adds, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“You mean, you’ve met with Mr. Henderson?”

Before Victor can get a word in, my head starts to churn numbers. With such size, it’s going to cost a bomb.

“What is the rental going to be like?” I murmur to myself.

“Well, we bought the buildings, so there’s no rent for you to worry about,” Victor replies.

“We… What?” I turn my head toward him, stunned.

“And you are welcome,” he adds, gently touching my cheek with his finger.

My eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets, as the full scope of what he’s done hits me. He didn’t just renovate my old store; he expanded it into a mini-empire for books. “You bought the entire thing?”

“Actually, Andrew made him an offer too good for him to pass up—essentially a steal. We got the entire building, plus the two adjacent shops, for a price that’d be considered a bargain even in the old market days,” Victor replies cryptically.

He takes my hand and leads me toward the bookstore entrance. Misha holds open the rich mahogany door, carved with an intricate vine pattern.

As we step inside, I let out an audible gasp. The interior has been completely transformed—polished hardwood floors, plush armchairs scattered between the towering bookshelves, filigreed sconces casting a warm glow. To the right is a small cafe area with marble-topped bistro tables and an antique mirror reflecting the space.

“An actual cafe,” I breathe in amazement. “With seating and everything. I always wanted…”

My voice trails off as I spot the children’s corner, filled with colorful beanbags and shelves. I had always imagined them brimming with vibrant picture books, the kind that invite curiosity and wonder, which I had longed to provide but could never afford within my tight budget.

“Eli would love this,” he says, his voice soft, eyes twinkling with something that makes my stomach do flips.

I feel dizzy. Overwhelmed.

Victor gives me a glance and squeezes my hand. “There’s more, come see.”

He leads me up a curved wooden staircase to the second floor. I run my fingers along the smooth banister, marveling at the rich chestnut hue. Upstairs, a section of quirky gift items and high-end stationery greets us.

At the back of the floor, Victor opens a door. “Your office,” he says simply.

Sunlight streams in through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a spacious room with a carved mahogany desk, plush emerald-green armchairs, and built-in bookshelves along one wall. It’s the office I’ve always dreamed of but never dared hope for.

“Victor, this is…” I turn to face him, taking a shaky breath.

Before I know it, tears and a laughable snort escape as a sob breaks free. I double over, hands on my knees, trying to gather myself.

“What the fuck is going on?” Victor’s confusion is palpable as he steps closer. “You don’t like it?” His voice is tinged with concern.

I straighten up, sucking in air and battling the dizzying mix of emotions. Without thinking, I reach for him, pulling him into a fierce hug.

“I… fucking love it,” I manage to say between sobs. “I just can’t believe you did all this.”