Page 7 of Captured By the Russian Wolf

Before his fingers withdrew from my hair, he made a fist, slowly gathering my hair in his hold. I gasped, but not from anypain. He was demonstrating what he was capable of, just letting me have a little taste. I already knew. But experiencing it was a different matter entirely.

After a tense silence, Nikita turned away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hall. "Follow me," he said over his shoulder, his voice colder than ever. "You'll need to see your new home."

I followed him through the mansion, my eyes scanning the opulent surroundings as he gave me a brief, emotionless tour. Every room was immaculate, from the grand dining hall to the library filled with leather-bound books that looked as though they had never been touched. Everything in this place was designed to show off his power, his control.

"This is where you'll entertain guests," he said, gesturing toward a lavish sitting room. "Keep it formal. Polite. Say little and listen more."

I nodded, biting back my frustration. He wasn't showing me a home—he was showing me the stage where I would have to perform. Every part of this mansion felt cold, distant, like Nikita himself.

When the tour finally ended, we stopped in front of a large, imposing door at the end of a hallway. "This is your room," Nikita said. His tone left no doubt that he would not be sharing it with me.

I glanced at the door, then back at him. "And yours?"

"You think I'll be letting you into my bed?" He smirked, openly eyeing my body, but when his eyes returned to mine, he didn't seem impressed.

Nikita walked away before I could reply, leaving me fuming, my cheeks hot. This was what my life would be now—living in his world, following his rules, and trying to survive in a marriage of lies.

I didn't know how long I could subject myself to his whims, struggling under his thumb and mocking eyes. It was like he wanted me to hate him.

And I did.

I needed to get my hands on that poison as soon as possible.

I stared out of the window into the endless night, the cold glass grounding me in the sea of unrest that I had been floating in since I'd arrived. The mansion was too quiet, too still. It felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for me to make a move.

I needed to do something—anything to shake off the suffocating silence that clung to me in every room. With a sigh, I pushed away from the window and walked back into the hallway, starting to aimlessly wander through the corridors, my footsteps barely audible on the marble floors.

As I passed the grand staircase, the faint sound of clattering dishes caught my attention. I paused, my ears straining to catch the noise again. The sound was muffled, but it was unmistakable—someone was in the kitchen.

Curiosity piqued, I followed the sound, making my way toward the back of the mansion where the staff quarters were located. The kitchen was large and well-equipped, as opulent as the rest of the house, but it was a working space, warm from the heat of the stoves and filled with the rich smell of food—a stark contrast to the cold, pristine rooms I'd seen so far.

Inside, a woman was scrubbing dishes, her back to me. She hadn't noticed me yet, too focused on her task. Her movements were quick and efficient, the kind of practiced routine thatcomes from years of doing the same thing. I hesitated at the entrance, unsure if I should disturb her.

But then she turned, spotting me in the doorway. Her face softened into a warm smile, so out of place in this house that it almost took me by surprise.

"Mrs. Volkov," she said, wiping her hands on her apron before stepping forward. "You're up late."

"I couldn't sleep," I admitted, my voice sounding small in the vastness of the kitchen.

She nodded sympathetically, motioning toward the table in the corner. "Would you like some tea? I was just about to make a pot."

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Tea sounds good, thank you."

The woman moved gracefully through the kitchen, her demeanor calm and composed. She seemed comfortable in the chill of the mansion. She set a kettle on the stove and gestured for me to sit. I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down at the small table while she moved around the kitchen with ease.

"You must still be adjusting to all of this," she said as she poured the tea. "It's not an easy life, living in a place like this."

I looked up at her, surprised by the frankness of her tone. Most of the staff I had encountered had been distant, formal. This woman, however, seemed different. Warmer. More human.

"I suppose I'll get used to it," I replied, though I wasn't planning on staying for long.

She smiled gently as she set the teapot down in front of me. "You know, Mr. Volkov isn't as cold as he seems."

I nearly scoffed, but I caught myself. Instead, I raised an eyebrow, curious about where this conversation was going. "He certainly knows how to make an impression," I said carefully.

The woman's smile softened as she sat down across from me. "I've worked for the Volkov family for many years. Nikita... he'snot like his father. He may seem distant, but he has a heart. He saved my family, you know."

I blinked, caught off guard. This wasn't what I had expected to hear. "Saved your family?"

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