Page 27 of Captured By the Russian Wolf

I felt sick, the anger twisting in my gut, burning through me. She had been playing me this whole time, lying to me from the start. All the little moments, all the touches, the smiles—it was all fake. All a fucking lie.

"She's been lying to me," I muttered, more to myself than to Mikhail. "This whole time."

Mikhail didn't say anything, just watched me carefully. He knew better than to push me when I was like this. But I could feel his eyes on me, waiting to see what I would do next.

"Do you want me to take care of her?" he asked quietly, his tone measured.

The suggestion made my blood freeze. The thought of doing to Lily what I'd done to Alexei... It was too much. Too soon. The anger, the betrayal, it was all too raw. I needed time. I needed to think.

"No," I said through clenched teeth. "Not yet."

Mikhail raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Not yet?"

"I need to know why she's here," I growled, my voice low and dangerous. "I need to know what her plan is. If she's here for revenge or something else. I'm going to watch her. See what she does."

Mikhail nodded, though his expression was cautious. "And if you don't like what you find?"

I clenched my fists, the fury burning hotter. "Then I'll deal with her. The same way I dealt with him."

I stood there, the silence deafening, my chest heaving with the weight of everything that had just happened. She had known the entire time. She had known I killed her husband. And still, she had stayed.

And somehow, that made it all worse.

That night, the gulf growing between Lily and me was unbearable. Every time I looked at her, the rage churned deep inside me, a storm I barely held at bay. She moved around the house like nothing had changed, smiling at me, touching me, but all I could see was the lie. The deception was woven into every glance, every smile, every word that left her mouth. I couldn't look at her without feeling the anger burn hotter, the weight of her betrayal pressing against my chest like a vice.

I'd let her into my life, into my bed. Every moment we'd shared now felt like a farce, a cruel joke played at my expense.

Lily's soft footsteps echoed in the hallway, pulling me from my thoughts. I watched her approach, her expression warm, her smile soft as she stopped in front of me. That smile—so gentle, so fucking perfect—made my skin crawl. She was standing there, acting like everything was fine, like I hadn't just uncovered the one thing that could rip everything apart.

"You've been quiet tonight," she said, her voice tinged with concern. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against my arm. "Is something wrong?"

The touch sent a jolt of fury through me, and I had to clench my jaw to stop myself from pulling away. My hands tightened into fists at my sides, the rage swirling beneath the surface, ready to explode. But I couldn't. Not yet. I couldn't confront her. I needed to see if she would slip. If she would let something else fall through the cracks. I needed to catch her in her lies.

"I'm fine," I bit out, the words colder than I intended. Her eyes flickered with a hint of confusion, but she masked it quickly, offering me a small, cautious smile.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly, her brow furrowing in concern. "You seem... distant."

Distant? The word grated my ears. If she only knew. If she had any idea how close I was to snapping, to tearing this entire charade apart. Every time she looked at me, every time her hand brushed against my skin, the fury inside me grew stronger, the betrayal sinking deeper. She had been lying to me from the start, and I had been too blind to see it. Too blind to notice the way she had played me.

I forced myself to look at her, to keep my face expressionless. "I said I'm fine," I repeated, sharper this time.

Her smile faltered, and I could see the uncertainty creeping into her eyes. Good. She should be uncertain. She should be fucking terrified. But she still had no idea what was coming.

"Is it work?" she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant. "You've seemed stressed lately. You can talk to me, Nikita. You know that, right?"

Talk to her? The idea of sharing anything with her, of confiding in her, made my stomach turn. The only thing I wanted to talk about was the fact that she had lied to me. The fact that she had walked into my life with full knowledge of who Iwas and what I had done and hadn't said a goddamn word. But I needed to know what she was planning. I needed to see how long she would keep up this act.

"I've had a lot on my mind," I finally said, my voice tight. "Work's been complicated."

She nodded slowly, her eyes searching mine, as if she could see something lurking behind my words. "I understand," she said softly. "If you ever need to talk... I'm here."

Her hand moved to rest on my chest, the warmth of her touch sending a surge of conflicting emotions through me—rage, disgust, and something else. A part of me wanted to take her hand and go back to where we came from, go back to that intoxicating passion. Yet I wanted to push her away, to tell her to stop pretending, to rip apart the mask she wore so well.

But instead, I let her hand linger there, my own emotions simmering beneath the surface like a volcano ready to erupt.

"I know," I said, the words cold, detached. I didn't trust myself to say anything more.

Her eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer, searching, but I kept my expression unreadable. I wouldn't give her anything. Not until I had all the answers. Not until I knew what she was really here for.

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