Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 8

8

MIKHAIL

Alya is soaked, ready. Just waiting for me to flip her over and take her for real. And nothing’s stopping me from doing just that. She’s mine now, after all.

But I can’t. I won’t. Not yet. I want her more than just wet when I finally claim her. I want her more than just waiting for the inevitable. I want her desperate, begging, like her life depends on it.

Because that’s exactly how I fucking feel.

My cock throbs painfully, straining against my slacks. It’s aching for her, but I deny it’s desire. And I’ll keep denying it until I’m damn sure what the hell I want from this marriage.

She’s my enemy’s daughter, for fuck’s sake. She’s supposed to be a pawn, nothing more than a tool to help me get back my rightful place as Pakhan. I’ve drilled that into my head a million times before I chose to make her my wife, and it’s still goddamn useless. I’m irrationally, insanely drawn to this woman. I don’t just want to fuck; I want to make love to her. Cuddle her. Watch her sleep.

It’s new, terrifying territory for a merciless bastard like me who’s never felt anything close to tenderness before.

If I let myself get in too deep before sorting out these unwanted emotions, I risk everything I’ve worked my ass off for.

I can’t afford that.

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 I shouldn’t be 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 for what , 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 you mean that?” 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.”

Her throat bobs. “I-I do."

“Explore the city all you want. I don’t care, as long as you’re with your bodyguards.” It’ll also help keep her busy while I try to sort out my shit with Akim and Boris.

Her face scrunches up. “Bodyguards? Why do I need bodyguards ?”

“You’re my wife now, Alya. And I’m wanted by the Bratva in Russia,” I explain.

“I know, but why do I have to suffer for it?” She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want a bodyguard. It’s creepy knowing some big guys will be following me everywhere. I won’t have any privacy.”

“You’ll hardly notice them, trust me.”

“No, I don’t need bodyguards!” she insists.

“Listen, Alya,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “You’re my wife. And believe it or not, your safety matters to me. You can either have them go with you or stay at home. I’ll let you choose which ones you’re comfortable having around when you’re ready.”

She fixes me with a fiery glare, her eyes practically shooting sparks. “Asshole.”

“Heard that one a lot,” I murmur, returning my attention to my breakfast.

The rest of the meal passes in stony silence. When Alya finally pushes up from her chair, I can’t help but let my gaze roam appreciatively over her form. Those long, slender legs, the way my shirt clings to her curves, accentuating every tantalizing swell and dip… and those pert, tempting nipples, straining against the fabric…

Fuck me…

As I watch her standing there, clad in nothing but my shirt, a fierce, possessive urge to shield her from prying eyes surges through me. The mere thought of other men ogling her has my blood boiling with jealousy.

I’ll rip the heart out of any man who dares look at her the wrong way, even if they’re one of my own men.

She’s mine , and mine alone.

“One more thing,” Alya says, breaking the charged silence. “I need to go shopping. I can’t wear your shirts forever.”

“When would you like to go?”

She thinks for a second. “Tomorrow. And I need a phone. My mom has probably been trying to reach me by now.”

“You can always call her with my phone.” Akim will try to reach her the moment he realizes she’s truly all he has left to use against me. I can’t risk him trying to fill her head with some nonsense and turning her against me.

“No, Mikhail. I need my own phone.”

I hold her gaze, weighing the risks. Finally, I sigh. “No phones until I can trust you.”

She glares, fuming, but fortunately for me, she doesn’t argue any further.

“Oh, and actually, Alya…” I pause, clearing my throat. “I think it would be best if I came along with you.”

Her eyes widen, and a mixture of surprise flickers in their depths. “Why?”

“Would you prefer if I didn’t?” I push my plate aside. “If that’s what you want, I’ll respect your wishes.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Whatever.” And with that she spins on her heel and flounces out of the room, her hair swishing tantalizingly behind her.

My cock jerks in response, and I can’t tear my eyes away as I watch her go. She’s pissed about last night, but god , she has no idea how badly I wanted to pin her down and take her right here on the table.