Page 80 of Crown of Hate

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 heslides 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.

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