Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 25

25

ALYA

“Looks like you two have finally given in to your feelings.”

My cheeks burst into flames, and I lower my gaze to the bar, unable to hide my smile. “I have, but I still have no freaking idea how Mikhail feels.”

Kira shakes her head, scoffing. “No idea? Seriously? My brother looks at you like you hung the moon and stars. He’d probably lick the ground you walk on if you asked nicely.”

“I didn’t notice.”

It’s not like I’m playing dumb. I know Mikhail treats me differently, shows me kindness he rarely extends to others. But I can’t let myself read too much into it. Hope is a dangerous thing, especially when your heart is on the line. He cares about me, sure, but love? That’s a whole other ballgame, and I don’t think Mikhail’s the type to ever let himself fall that hard.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Kira rolls her eyes, then waves to the bartender. “But trust me, I know he does. Mikhail has never kept any woman in his life for as long as he’s had you, and he doesn’t seem to be tired of you yet. That’s something.”

The waiter arrives, mixing our drinks with practiced efficiency—a negroni for Kira and a mojito for me. As he slides them towards us, I find myself imagining a future where Mikhail might actually love me back, and my stomach gives an unexpected lurch.

“How about you ask him?” Kira suggests, lifting her drink and taking a sip. “You’ll drive yourself crazy wondering. Just talk to him.”

“And if he doesn’t love me, what then?” The words come out small, vulnerable.

Kira thinks for a moment. “Just trust me when I say he does. My brother and I were separated for years, but I know him well enough to recognize the look he gives you. Plus, it was my job to read into things, to uncover the truth. That’s what reporters do. And I’m telling you, it’s not just lust—it’s love. Real love.”

I sigh, wanting desperately to believe her. But until I hear those words from Mikhail himself, doubt will always linger. I bring my drink close to my mouth, but the pungent smell of alcohol hits me like a punch to the gut. I gag, my hand flying to my chest.

Kira shoots me a worried look. “Are you alright?”

I swallow hard, return the drink to the table, and nod. “I’m okay, just a little nauseous. Probably coming down with something, or maybe it’s just PMS.”

My breasts have been tender for the last couple of days, and the mere thought of food often sends me into a nauseous frenzy, especially in the morning. But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Have you seen a doctor?” she presses, still looking worried. “You should get checked out. Make sure it’s nothing serious. How about I pick you up tomorrow morning? We can have a brunch date after. What do you think?”

“Sounds great. Staying cooped up in that mansion is suffocating anyway.”

It was a lot more bearable when Mama was around. But she left this morning, insisting she had to meet up with an old friend. I was hesitant to let her go, but I felt more at ease when Mikhail assigned two bodyguards to her. At least I know she’ll be safe.

“I get it. I’d lose my mind if I had to stay in a mansion that big all day… again.” She takes another sip of her negroni. “You know, I didn’t have any friends when I was a journalist, but I always had stories to cover and people to interview. Never felt lonely then.”

My brows knit inquisitively. “What do you do for a living now?”

“I run my own media house.” She grins, unapologetic. “It helps pass the time.”

I can’t help but smile back. Her easygoing nature is infectious. “I grew up rich, so I picked up hobbies to fill my time. Now I have a best friend, Sophia. Getting married to your brother means I don’t see her as much, and I kind of miss her.”

To my horror, tears well up in my eyes. Christ, I’m being ridiculous. It hasn’t been that long since I last saw Sophia, so I have no fucking idea why I’m feeling so emotional. I blink rapidly, cursing my hormones. PMS is a bitch.

“Hey, why not invite her over for brunch too? The more, the merrier, right?” Kira suggests, her blue eyes—so much like Mikhail’s—crinkling with warmth. Their resemblance is so uncanny. She’s just a feminine version of him.

Before I can respond, a sharp, aggressive perfume assaults my nostrils. A woman leans on the bar beside me, summoning the bartender with a snap of her fingers. He hurries over like she’s a regular and takes her order. When he’s done mixing her drink, he passes it to her before moving on to another customer.

“You must be Alya Orlov,” the woman says, finally turning to look at me.

Kira and I swivel in unison to meet her gaze.

Holy shit. The woman is drop-dead gorgeous—long, dark hair framing seductive hazel eyes, with a body that’s all curves and long legs that belong on a runway. The kind of beauty that makes me question my sexuality, and if I’m honest, my self-esteem.

“I am,” I confirm, squinting as I try to place her face. Nothing. Weird. How does she know my name? “And you are…?”

She scoffs and gulps down her drink without so much as a wince on her pretty face. “Leila, Mikhail’s mistress.”

For a moment, I’m struck dumb. Then laughter bubbles up from deep inside me. I try to hold it back, but it tears right through me. “I’m sorry,” I gasp, holding up a hand. “It’s just…you’re hilarious.”

Leila’s perfectly sculpted brows draw together. “What’s so funny?

“Everything.” I stop laughing now but can’t keep the grin off my face that’s still fueled by the amusement sizzling inside me. “I mean, you waltz up here claiming to be my husband’s mistress. We both know that’s a steaming pile of bull.”

“You’re looking down on me, aren’t you?” She angles over me, and her perfume wraps around me like a snake threatening to suffocate me. The smile on her lips doesn’t reach her eyes. “Want to hear how he used to fuck me? How hard he used to get when I touched him?”

My chest tightens as jealousy boils over my amusement. My breathing quickens, but I force myself to stay calm. I know better than to suspect Mikhail of cheating. I shouldn’t let this woman’s words twist my mind.

Mikhail had a way of life before me, full of mafia shit and most definitely a long list of women. I know all this, but the thought of him with anyone else ignites a fierce, territorial rage.

“I don’t want to hear it,” I grit out, reaching for my drink. But the smell alone has bile creeping up my throat again.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The woman sneers, triumph gleaming in her eyes. She knows she’s hit a nerve, and she’s not about to let up. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet and you’re already green with envy.” She cocks her brows. “Face it, sweetheart. You’re too weak to be married to someone like Mikhail Zirkhov.”

Kira lets out an exasperated sigh next to me, ready to jump in, but I stop her with a raised hand.

“I can handle this myself,” I tell her.

As much as this woman’s words are meant to hurt me, she’s right about one thing. I can’t be married to Mikhail if I can’t even handle a bitch running her mouth. I’m a Zirkhov, and nobody intimidates me.

Standing to my feet and squaring my shoulders, I stare her down. “Look around you.”

Surprisingly, she straightens up and looks around. “What’s there to look at?”

“Everything in this place belongs to my husband. All I have to do is utter a single word and you’ll be tossed out on your ass.” I smirk and inch closer to her. “But I won’t, because you’re not worth wasting the time on.”

“You’re—”

“Whatever my husband did with you before he married me is none of my business. I don’t care if he used to fuck you with your legs hanging like the North Pole,” I say with a snarl. “If you need compensation, name your price. I’ll even throw you a tip.”

Her arrogant smile drops, replaced by a scowl. Good. I’m not usually one to get nasty, but her reaction makes it worth it. I’m not letting some woman walk all over me just because she wants my man.

She swallows hard and scoffs. Her lips part as if she wants to spit back a retort, but nothing comes out.

Hell yeah. I’ve shut her up.

I cross my arms, cocking my head. “Anything else you’d like to say to me?”

She hisses, snatches her purse, and storms off, heels clicking with each angry step.

I watch until she disappears into the sea of people on the dance floor, then sink back onto my stool with a long exhale.

Kira nudges me, grinning. “You handled that like a pro. You’ve got a talent for putting bitches in their place.”

“First time, actually. And I feel like shit about it.” I glance at her, annoyance bubbling up. “I shouldn’t have to do this. Your brother needs to get a grip on his ex-hookups, goddammit!”

She bobs her head in agreement. “Definitely. I’m going to give him an earful later.”

Suddenly, my eyes catch on a guy standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching me for several minutes now. He’s not as handsome as Mikhail, but he’s got that bad-boy charm. “I have a better idea.”

Kira’s eyes follow mine, and her jaw drops. “You’re not thinking of… No way. Mikhail will kill him,” she whispers.

“Considering his ex-hookup buddy just walked up to me and ruined my night, I don’t think he’ll mind me talking to this guy.” I slide my drink toward her. “Just wink at me when you see Mikhail, so I can pretend to be really into the conversation.”

“Flirting, you mean,” she argues, frowning. “Be careful. This could get dangerous.”

Ignoring her protests, I hop out of my stool and make my way over to the stranger before she can stop me.

The stranger leans out from the wall and smiles as I approach. He’s a brunette with a sharp jawline, blue eyes, and bushy brows. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” I return, trying to ignore how my toes are curling from awkwardness. “You’ve been staring at me.”

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, his voice deep voice with an Irish lilt.

“Careful now.” I wiggle my fingers at him to show my diamond ring. “I’m a married woman, and my husband is the jealous type.”

He chuckles softly. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

I glance pointedly at a nearby CCTV camera and smile. “He’s always watching.”

“Ah, you must be Mikhail’s wife,” he says, his tone suddenly cooler.

I feel my nerves come alive. Every cell in me is suddenly on high alert. “How do you know my husband?”

He snorts. “It’s not hard to figure out. But relax, I’m not here for him. I’ve got business with someone else.”

The neon lights flash, illuminating a scar across his face I hadn’t noticed before. Something about him seems off, dangerous. A chill runs down my spine, and I instinctively take a step back. “Who the hell are you?”

“Tell Alexei I send my regards. If things go well, he’ll be out of Mikhail’s shadow soon. I hope to meet him again someday.”

My heart races, and I back away some more, until my back collides with something solid—someone. I immediately know who it is by the all too familiar scent of his cologne and the gentle yet firm grip of his hands on my shoulders as they steady me.

“Do you have a death wish?” Mikhail’s voice rumbles behind me, deeper and more menacing than the stranger’s, as it pierces through the thumping music.

The man in front of me looks over my shoulder and smirks. He might look terrifying, but as I turn around, the man behind me—my husband—is even more intimidating. He could command the air to stand still, and it would obey him. No one can match his dominance; I’m sure of that.

“Nice to meet you again, Mikhail. Word on the street was you were dead. Good to see that’s not the case.”

I flick my eyes between them, feeling the thick hostility in the air. It’s like a storm about to break, making the tension claw at my gut God, I hate this feeling. “Do you two know each other?” I blurt out, desperate to cut through the heavy silence, anything to break their damn glaring contest.

“Oh, we go way back,” the man drawls. “And I have a score to settle with his little friend.”

“Alexei,” I realize out loud.

Mikhail steps between us, shielding me with his broad frame. “You come near my wife again, and I’ll rip your throat out. That’s not a warning, it’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here.”

The man’s smile strains, as if he’s fighting back the urge to clench his teeth or flare his nostrils. “You’re threatening me, Zirkhov?” He chuckles sardonically. “Are you so eager to be sent back to hell?”

“Ivan Orlov and Akim couldn’t kill me, no matter how hard they tried.” Mikhail squares up to the man. “You’re no match for me, Fionn.”

Fionn’s expression sours, but he backs down. “Fine. I won’t cause a scene today, but only because I’m not here for you.” He smiles at me, and the ferocity in Mikhail’s expression heightens. “It was nice to meet you.”

I don’t say anything in return as Fionn leans in to whisper something to Mikhail that makes his fists clench. With a final chuckle and lingering look at me, he retreats.

Mikhail turns to me, his face hard as granite. And I know exactly why. I should apologize, but I don’t want to.

“What was that about?” he asks. His calm tone contrasts sharply with the rage etched into his face.

My brow quirks. “What was what about?”

“Don’t play with me, Alya.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I told you to stay put. That bastard could have hurt you.”

“But he didn’t,” I snap back. “What are you so pissed about? I should be the one losing my shit right now. One of your ex-fucks walked up to me and spewed some nasty shit. Gave me a detailed description of how you used to fuck her.”

“So, you chose to cozy up to a complete stranger because of that?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You know I would never cheat on you, Alya. Do my feelings for you mean nothing?”

I know he wouldn’t cheat. Deep down, I know. But he doesn’t understand how I feel about him. He doesn’t know how jealous I get thinking of him with someone who isn’t me, or how afraid I am about losing him. Our marriage might not have started with love, but somewhere along the line, I fell. Hard.

His teeth dig into his lip, and I see pain flicker in his gaze. “There’s a fucking war looming. I can’t bear losing you.”

“Neither can I.” I don’t know what pushes me to say it, but the words are out of my lips before I can stop myself. “You know why, Mikhail Zhirkov? Because I love you.”

Time freezes. So does Mikhail. He blinks, his dark eyes wide as they bore into mine. But his expression is unreadable, and I immediately regret my admission. I wait, my heart in my throat, desperate for him to say something, anything. I want him to return those words so badly it hurts, and despite myself, I know I won’t be able to handle it if he doesn’t say them back.

He lowers his head for a moment, and I hold my breath. But when he looks up, his voice is flat. “Go back to the bar. Kira is waiting.”

Air stalls in my lungs and it’s suddenly too painful to swallow. “Is that all you can say?”

“I don’t know what else is there to say,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

A mirthless smile spreads across my face. I wasn’t expecting him to say it back that easily, but this… this is too cruel. “I want to leave. Tell Semyon to drive me home.”

Somehow, some small foolish part of me hopes he’ll grab my wrist and stop me from leaving. But he doesn’t even look at me as I return to the front bar to pick up my purse.

And just like that, it becomes crystal clear: he’ll never love me.