Page 31 of Crown of Hate

“What was what about?”

“Cut the crap. You were all over my husband.”

She gasps, hand flying to her mouth in a dramatic gesture. She has the nerve to feign shock. “You misunderstood!. I was just trying to make him more comfortable.”

I laugh sardonically at her silly excuse. “Touch my husband ever again, and I’ll put a bullet through your hands. And trust me, I won’t stop there; you’ll be lucky to make it out alive.”

She goes visibly pale. “Mrs. Zirkhov, I?—” .

“Do you think I won’t do it?” Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I raise my brow, daring her to challenge me.

She’s sensibly looking at me with horrified eyes, finally understanding the gravity of my threat.

I don’t mind that she was intentionally rude to me. I just don’t want another woman’s hand on my man. “Well? Do you understand me?”

She nods, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Zirkhov.”

I flash her a smile that’s all teeth. “Fantastic. Now be a dear and fetch my husband for me.”

“No need,” comes a deep, baritone voice with a slight Russian accent from behind me.

I whirl around to find Mikhail leaning on the door frame with the proudest smile on his face.

“I’ll excuse myself,” Annabelle says quietly, scurrying out of the room.

Mikhail’s grin widens as he watches her leave. He saunters over, pushes my hair out of the way, and starts to unzip the dress. “What did you do to the poor girl? She looked horrified.”

“Nothing much,” I shrug, turning around to face him. “Just laid claim to what’s mine.”

His brows shoot up. “Claim?”

I nod curtly. “You heard me. I told you when we got married that you’re mine as much as you claim I’m yours.”

Mikhail's gaze softens. “Alya, my fierce little warrior. You don't need to claim me. I’m already yours, body and soul.”

His words knock the air from my lungs, the intensity in his gaze making my heart pound a little faster. I swallow hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his penetrating stare. “I just... I don't want anyone else touching you.”

Because even though I know I shouldn’t want this man, I do. I feel jealous and possessive over him.

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips as his hand comes to rest gently on my waist. “You have nothing to worry about, malyshka. You're the only one I want.”

For a moment, I let myself believe it, let myself bask in the warmth of his touch and the tenderness in his eyes.

But then reality comes crashing back, reminding me of the darkness that lurks beneath the surface of our relationship. “This isn’t right, Mikhail. We’re… enemies. You killed my father. I shouldn’t want you like this,” I confess, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then, to my surprise, he reaches out, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek. “I understand, Alya. But sometimes, the heart wants what it wants. Maybe it’s time you listened to yours...”

If only it were that easy. If only I could forget the pain, the loss, the burning need for revenge. But I can’t.

It’s all carved too deep.

Even as I’m falling for him—faster than I ever thought possible—I know I can’t let go of my mission. It’s always there, in the back of my mind, no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

I won’t find peace until I make Mikhail pay for what he did. I have to keep reminding myself not to get swept away by his good looks, his charm, or the way he treats me so sweetly sometimes.

My head knows the truth, but my heart just won’t listen. I’m falling in love with the man who killed my father, and there’s nothing I can do to stop this freefall.

Forgive me, Papa.

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