Page 26 of Crown of Hate
Alya’s hazel eyes flutter up to meet mine. They’re brimming with a desperate plea for me to take her, to fill the aching void inside.
I’d done my research on her—I know she’s never been intimate with a man before, save for one chaste high school kiss. Which means chances are high she’s still a virgin.
Pure and untouched. Mine to corrupt.
And yet I’m afraid that if I allow myself to do that, I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret. What if I end up putting her above all else? What if…
“Mikhail?” Her soft voice breaks through my thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Leave.” The growl in my tone makes her flinch. And for the first time, fear bleeds into those beautiful eyes.
Goddammit, I hate seeing that look on her face.
She blinks in confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”
“You did nothing wrong.” I stand up and yank off my tie; then, I start to unbutton and shrug off my shirt. “I’m exhausted. I need to be alone.”
She looks reluctant, but she obliges anyway, slowly rising to her feet and crossing her arms over her chest to hide her breasts.
Her red hair catches the soft glow of the table lamp, her skin basically glittering under the dim light. She looks like an actual goddess, beautiful and perfect.
I stalk over and drape my shirt over her shoulder. “Wear this.”
She nods silently, clutching the fabric to cover herself. “Goodnight.”
The moment the door clicks shut behind her, I slam my fist into the wall with a muffled grunt. I’m such a fucking asshole, hurting my own wife on our wedding night.
I collapse back onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. What the hell am I doing?
Alya is already downstairs wolfing down her breakfast when I enter the dining room. Her plate is filled with veggies and juicy chicken thighs, which she’s attacking with relish.
My chest tightens as I stroll past her to my usual spot at the head of the table. She doesn’t spare me a glance or even acknowledge my presence. She’s pissed, and rightfully so.
“Good morning,” I offer, my voice smooth and measured as I begin filling my own plate.
She pauses, her fork poised mid-air, glaring venom at me with her eyes. “There’s absolutely nothing good about this morning, Mikhail.” She goes back to eating and ignoring me once again.
I eat a forkful of the surprisingly delicious vegetables, chewing slowly as I watch Alya out of the corner of my eye. “Are you… okay?” I ask cautiously.
She cranes her head to me, her face a blank mask. For a moment, I’m taken aback. It’s so weird to see such an unreadable expression on her face, when I’m usually the one wearing the stoic mask. “Is there a reason Ishouldn’tbe okay?”
“Look, I’m sorry about last night.” Those words feel foreign on my tongue. I don’t think they have ever left my lips before now. But for Alya, they come so easily.
In a matter of hours, she has my heartstrings in the palm of her hand.
Her brow shoots up to her hairline. “Sorry forwhat, exactly?”
The look she gives me demands an answer, but I decide to sidestep her anger. “What are your plans for today?”
She sighs and wipes her lips with a towel. “Wrong question, Mr. Zirkhov. You should be asking what I plan to do with my life now. I was studying to become a vet, not a mafia boss’s home furniture.”
I wince inwardly at her words. Reaching for my water glass, I take a long, slow sip, buying myself a moment to gather my thoughts. “You can do whatever you want, Alya. I won’t stop you,” I finally say, setting the glass back down with a soft clink.
It’s nothing but the truth. The circumstances around our marriage are a far cry from the life I’d want for her if things were different. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to hold her back from going after her dreams. I won’t put her in chains and rob her of her freedom.
Alya’s jaw drops, her expression one of pure shock—like she can’t believe I’m actually giving her the green light. “Do you… do youmeanthat?” she asks, a thread of cautious hope lacing her voice.
I nod. “The shelter thing—you can go there whenever you want. I know how much you love it.”