Page 15 of Captured By the Russian Wolf

"Yes," I admitted, my grip tightening slightly. "But it's also about survival."

She stared at me, her eyes searching mine for something—answers, maybe, or some kind of explanation for why I was doing this. But I didn't have answers. Not the ones she wanted, anyway. All I knew was that the idea of losing control, the idea of anyone seeing her as a weakness, was something I couldn't allow.

"You don't get it," she whispered, her voice breaking just slightly. "I don't want to be saved. I don't want to be a pawn in your war."

My hand loosened, my grip softening as I stared down at her. For a moment, I almost let go. I almost walked away. But then I remembered the note, the threat, and the cold hard truth settled over me like a weight.

"It's too late for that, Lily," I said, my voice rough. "You're already in this. And whether you like it or not, I'll protect you."

The silence that followed was heavy—thick and suffocating. I could feel her breathing, her chest pressed against mine, her body so close that it was impossible not to think about that night at the gala, when my lips were all over her body.

"You can't keep me locked up," she said, her voice soft but defiant.

"I can," I replied, my voice low. "And I will."

Her eyes flashed, but before she could argue, I leaned in, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered, "You're mine, Lily. And I don't let anyone take what's mine."

Lily's breath hitched at my words, her body stiffening against mine. I could feel the conflict warring inside her—the push and pull between the strength she clung to and the magnetic force drawing her toward me. As I pulled back, my eyes roaming her face, taking in her lips, her eyes flickered with uncertainty but also with something darker. Desire? Anger? Maybe both.

"I'm not something you own," she whispered, though the words were shaky, lacking the conviction she likely intended.

Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of my shirt, as if she wasn't sure whether to push me away or pull me closer. With our faces inches apart, my grip on her arm loosened just enough to make it a choice.

"Then prove me wrong. Walk away," I murmured, my voice rough with the intensity of the moment.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The air between us crackled, thick with the weight of the challenge I'd thrown at her. She could walk away—right now. She could put distance between us, retreat to whatever fragile control she still had left.

But she didn't.

Instead, her gaze locked with mine, and something passed between us—an unspoken understanding. The boundaries between hate and want blurred, and for that moment, it didn't matter who we were, what we were fighting, or what was at stake. The only thing that mattered was this: She wasn't running. Not from me.

I exhaled slowly, the possessiveness simmering inside me, mixing with the pull I couldn't deny. "That's what I thought," I whispered, my voice barely above a growl, the words hanging in the charged air between us.

Without another word, I released her, stepping back, watching her carefully as the space between us grew. She didn't flinch, didn't retreat. Instead, she stood there, staring at me with that same fierce defiance that had drawn me to her in the first place.

This wasn't over. Far from it.

CHAPTER 6

Lily

The days in Nikita's mansion began to blend together. I had grown used to the cold marble floors, the grand sprawling hallways, and the ever-watchful eyes of his men. They never looked at me directly, but I could feel their presence everywhere I went, like shadows following me. It was unnerving. No matter how beautiful the surroundings, this place felt like a cage.

Nikita wasn't around much during the day. He was always off handling his business—leaving me confined here. Sure, it gave me time to explore the mansion and get closer to the people who worked for him. I wasn't just here to play the dutiful wife—I had a mission, and I couldn't forget that. No matter how complicated things were getting with Nikita.

But I also couldn't leave to retrieve the poison. For now, all I could do was gather information.

The kitchen staff were the easiest to talk to. They were all women, most of them older, and they didn't seem as guarded around me as the men. I started spending more time in thekitchen, offering to help with small tasks even though they insisted I didn't have to. It gave me an excuse to ask questions, to listen for any useful bits of information that might slip out.

"Mrs. Volkov, you really don't need to trouble yourself with peeling potatoes," one of the cooks, Alina, said with a soft smile. She had kind eyes, the kind that made you feel like you could trust her.

I smiled back, trying to seem casual. "I don't mind. It keeps me busy."

Alina glanced around, making sure we were alone before leaning in a little closer. "You seem... different from the other women who've come through here," she said in a low voice. "You care about things. That's not something we see much of in this house."

I stiffened slightly, wondering how much she knew. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the door as if she expected someone to walk in at any moment. "Mr. Volkov... he's not like the men you're used to. He's a good man, in his own way, but this world—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Just be careful. People in this world don't survive by being soft."

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