Page 37 of Ruthless Reign

What the hell was I thinking, letting Roman touch me like that? It was reckless and impulsive—a result of getting swept up in the night's debauchery—but it was also crazy hot. Before last night, no man had ever made me orgasm.

His gaze as I walked around the club was its own form of foreplay. When he dragged me into a dark corner and whispered his desire against my neck, I couldn’t resist him. I was keyed up, primed, and so ready for his touch.

The instant his body pressed against mine, everything else ceased to exist. There was only the electrifying connection between us. Even if it’s a connection we can never act on again.

I lean my forehead against the windowsill, trying to cool the heat of my sins, but nothing will erase tonight from my memory. The way he pulled me against his hard body and let his fingers wander between my legs. His strong hands kneading my breasts. Him using my body to get off, wiping the proof of his possession on my lips afterward.

I should have been horrified; instead, I was ridiculously turned on.

Thank God Kira was lost in her own lust-fueled haze. I'm pretty sure she spent the ride back to the hotel sexting Maxim, then she vanished into her room as soon as we got back to the penthouse.

I also disappeared before I could exchange a word with Roman. What would I say? He knows as well as I do that there will never be a repeat performance. It was a moment of weakness for both of us, and I hope like hell we’ll never speak of it again.

The one consolation is that Roman has as much at stake as I do. He won’t jeopardize the deal with the Petrovitches. It would be foolish.

We’ll both take this sin to the grave.

Roman isn’t the only indiscretion that’s keeping me awake. There’s also Paulina’s offer.

Two things have become clear to me over the last twenty-four hours: first, I'd do anything to escape Anatoly; and second, I’m more gutsy than I realized. If I can take pleasure in a dark corner of a sex club, I can sell my virginity to the highest bidder.

It’s crazy to even consider, but desperation has taken root, and I can't pass up what may be my only chance at freedom. For my future, my sanity, and my sister, doing nothing is not an option.

Sure, the idea of sex with a stranger—one depraved enough to bid on someone’s innocence like it’s a prize to be won—twists my stomach. But what’s one night of selling my body compared to a lifetime with a man that sickens me?

Am I naïve to believe Anatoly will allow me to leave him? Possibly. But maybe he’ll realize I’m not worth the trouble, that I’m too much work. He could take the money and be done with me. There are plenty of other women who would worship the ground he walks on, but I’ll never be one of them.

I reach for my cell and pull up the investment app I have well hidden on my phone. I’ve been trading in hundreds of dollars, but if I go through with the auction, I would have so much more to work with. Could I turn one hundred thousand dollars into a million dollars in just under three weeks?

It’s a long shot. A very long shot, but I have to at least try.

Officially giving up on sleep, I prop up in bed and spend the next two hours crunching numbers and strategizing. Day trading—rapidly buying and selling high-risk stocks—seems to be the best way to make a lot of money quickly, even though it's risky. I could lose everything. But as the saying goes: the bigger the risk, the bigger the reward.

I'm willing to take my chances.

If this works, I won’t have to walk down the aisle toward Anatoly. I’ll gain my freedom and independence without dragging Kira or anyone else into the nightmare that is my life.

But if I fail? I’ll have no choice but to go through with the marriage, given how much money we owe his family. If we can't repay them, I have a terrible feeling he’d set his sights on Sofiya and my parents won’t stop him.

The only way for the plan to work is to keep it under wraps. I’ll invest in secret and hope like hell that I can make enough money to free myself before the wedding.

Anatoly is abusive. I’ve hesitated to use that term because it's hard to admit, even to myself, but there’s no better word for it. I need to confront the fact that his abuse—whether emotional or physical—will only get worse.

Staring at Paulina’s business card, I see a sliver of light in the darkness for the first time in what feels like forever.

Kira is sitting at the dining room table, having breakfast, when I join her around eight. I’ve showered and changed, and hopefully, I don’t look as ragged as I feel because I need her to believe the story I’m about to tell.

“Good morning,” I greet her, flashing a big smile as I sit down at the table.

“Coffee?” She holds up the carafe.

“Definitely.” I nod, grateful.

Feliks and Bogdan are nowhere to be seen, but Roman is in the next room, a phone pressed to his ear. His back is to us, and he's staring out the window, speaking in a hushed tone.

“How did you sleep?” Kira eyes me carefully.

“Fine, actually.” I reach for a croissant. “You?”

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