Page 110 of Sinful Games

Her grip tightened on my hand before she yanked it away. "Rejection?"

"Caia, listen," I started, but before I could finish, Dimitri barged in.

“There she is! Caia Mankiev! Can’t believe Romaniev’s been hiding you for so long,” Dimitri exclaimed, taking her hand and kissing the top of it, oblivious to the tension between us.

Volk strolled over with a smug grin. "Hello, Caia. Hope Alexsei is behaving himself," he said, dripping with sarcasm.

Caia shot me a hypocritical smile before glancing between Dimitri and Volk. “Oh, you two know Alexsei,” she said with fake sweetness. “Always the gentleman.”

With that, she excused herself, mumbling something about needing to powder her nose, and swiftly disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with Dimitri and Volk.

Dimitri chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’ve got quite a diva there, Romaniev.”

I couldn’t stop myself—I punched him hard in the face.

As the night dragged on, a parade of people came up to us, all eager to meet Caia. She handled their insincere smiles and feigned amazement with practiced grace, replying with polite thanks that didn’t even touch her eyes.

I nursed my champagne, trying to keep calm as my irritation simmered. She wouldn’t look at or speak to me, her hands gripping her glass like a lifeline she wasn’t planning to use. Her eyes darted around the room, deliberately avoiding mine, and every time I touched her lower back, her entire body tensed up. Those red lips of hers were pressed into a tight line, and she chewed on them nervously.

That was it—I couldn’t take it anymore. Ignoring her protests, I dragged her hand through the crowd, determined to escape the stifling party. She fought me, but I kept moving, my steps quickening as we climbed the stairs, her heels clattering against the polished wood.

“Alexsei, stop,” she pleaded, her voice barely cutting through the noise. But I didn’t stop, driven by a need I couldn’t shake, until we reached the secluded third-floor hallway.

I yanked open the door at the end of the corridor and pulled her inside, the click of the lock shutting us off from the clamor below. Caia stood there, breathless and confused, her hand pressed against her chest as she scanned the room with a mix of bewilderment and wariness.

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Let’s talk,” I said, flipping on the lights.

“What now?” Her emerald eyes narrowed as she took in the room, folding her arms defensively.

We were in Igor’s old “caveman room,” a retreat he’dset up with couches, a bar, and a billiards table. It was a damn fortress from the chaos downstairs—a place where I hoped to finally get through to my wife.

“You’re upset, so just let me?—”

“You humiliated me, AGAIN!” she exploded, her cheeks flushed and eyes glistening with tears. “You always do this, Romaniev. Humiliate me and then act like I should just smile and pretend it’s all fine. I’m supposed to be your perfect little wife, just nodding along when you feel like it or staying silent when it suits you. Well, I’m done!”

Done? Hell no.

“Humiliated you?” I sneered, struggling to keep my rage in check. “And how exactly did I humiliate you? Please, tell me, because all I remember is you shutting me down time and again!”

Her eyes blazed. “I’m done, Romaniev. Done with you walking out after I made it crystal clear this morning how much I wanted you. I rode a damn pillow in front of you, showed you exactly what I needed, and you still walked out!” Her voice cracked with frustration. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Fuck, Romaniev again? She only uses my last name when she wants to put a chasm between us.

I took a deep breath. “You fucking rejected me, Caia. I bared my soul, told you I loved you, and you threw it back in my face!”

“Why do you think?” Her voice shook with anger. “I was forced into this marriage! This,” she said, gesturing between us, “is anything but normal! It can never be normal!”

I closed the gap between us, standing inches away. “Damn it, I don’t want normal, Caia! I want you, every single part of you.”

She shook her head and walked to the billiards table, herback turned, her head hanging low. “You don’t want me, Romaniev. You want a puppet.”

I scratched my face in irritation, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Caia, I?—”

“Prove it!” she demanded, her back still turned. “If you mean it, then prove it.”

Prove it?

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