Page 20 of Savage Reign

He steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. For a moment, I think of asking his name, just out of curiosity, but I resist to prove to myself that I can.

“Thanks. That was exactly what I needed.” I smile, but he doesn’t respond, his expression unreadable. “My friends are waiting for me downstairs, so…” I turn my head to look directly at him, a clear signal that this is goodbye.

He clears his throat, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I have something to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.”

My stomach drops. Is he going to tell me he’s married? Daria warned me about this before. Men who confess they’re cheaters only after the deed is done. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—I checked—but I know that doesn’t always mean anything.

I’m well aware not all marriages are built on love, but being with a married man feels gross. No matter how casual, I don’t want to be part of something that could hurt someone else, especially another woman.

“You’re married,” I say, my voice laced with disgust.

“I am,” he confirms, but he doesn’t seem all that torn up about it. Does he really think confessing will absolve him? Sorry, but it won’t.

“Congratulations. You’re a terrible husband.” This was supposed to be a fun, wild night, something I’d remember forever, and he ruined it.

He regards me with cool detachment, unaffected by my accusation. Running a hand along his stubbled jaw, he smirks. “I don’t think she’s under any illusion that I’m a good man. Tonight won’t change that.”

I break away from him, bending to grab my clutch from the floor so I can get the fuck out of there. “I’d say it was nice meeting you, but it wasn’t.” I straighten and turn toward the door. “I hope you have a nice li?—”

The words catch in my throat. He’s standing in front of me, blocking the exit with his large frame.

A chill runs down my spine, and my hands grow clammy. This is bad. If I bang on this door, yell, and scream, will anyone hear me over the thumping bass of the club?

“Do you recognize me yet?” His voice is quiet but loaded, sending my pulse skittering.

Recognize him? Something pulls at the edges of my memory, just out of reach.

I step forward cautiously. My breath catches as I stare into his eyes—blue, piercing, unforgettable. My gaze drops lower, scanning his mouth and jawline, trying to figure out what it is that’s so familiar about him. Then I see it—the faint outline of ink on his neck.

I lick my thumb and swipe it over his skin. He doesn’t stop me as I rub, the makeup smearing away to reveal a tattoo. Bold ink emerges—a star encircled by thorny vines, a mark impossible to forget.

Everything in me goes cold as I uncover more of the tattoos he’s kept hidden. Piece by piece, the puzzle clicks together. The thick, dark hair, neatly styled now, once shaved to the scalp. He no longer has an eyebrow ring or the same raw edge, but the man underneath is unmistakable. My knees nearly give out.

He tilts his head, daring me to say his name out loud. “Do you recognize me now, wife?”

CHAPTER

EIGHT

SOFIYA

The room spins,and my chest constricts as if the air has been stolen from my lungs. I flatten my back against the wall to steady myself. He doesn’t react. His face remains calm, unnervingly composed.

“Nikolai.” My voice trembles as his name passes between my lips.

“That’s right.” A flicker of satisfaction crosses his expression.

I shake my head so hard I feel my brain rattle around. What the hell is happening? I went out tonight to celebrate and allowed myself one impulsive decision. And somehow, that choice led me straight tohim.

Nikolai Zhukov.

The man who saved me. The man I’ve fantasized about. The man I just had sex with in a bathroom. Who somehow thinks we’re married.

“I’m not your wife,” I insist. It's the only thing I can think of to say.

His gaze darkens, the shadows in his expression growing deeper. “Can you be sure of that?”

Can I?

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