Page 56 of Savage Reign

“Fine. It’s just… I don’t want to be beholden to you. That’s all. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to drain your bank account, but I’d rather do it by donating the money to charity or something.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “I’ll make you a deal. However much you spend here, I’ll match it and donate the same amount to a charity of your choice.”

“You’re saying the more of your money I spend, the more good I’ll be doing?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” His blue eyes gleam, and I hate how easily I lose focus when he looks at me like that. For once, he’s not brooding or angry. He almost seems relaxed. Maybe that’s why Yelena was so eager for him to take the day off.

“Fine,” I tell him, stealing my hand back because it’s a generous offer, and I’d be a jerk to turn it down. “Hope you don’t come to regret that promise.”

“I’m going to enjoy watching you spend my money more than you know.” He grazes his fingertips along the side of my neck, letting them linger at my collarbone. Tingles explode at his touch. No matter how much I think I hate him, I don’t hate his touch. “What cause would you like to donate to?”

I take a breath and try to focus, even though it’s hard with his leg pressed firmly against mine. “Back in Moscow, I used to volunteer at this small dance school for underprivileged kids. The place was underfunded, understaffed, and barely holding on. The kids were so talented and so eager to learn—it broke my heart. Without that school, they’d never have had the chance to dance. It’s an important cause. That’s where I want the money to go.”

He dips his chin. “Consider it done.”

“Seriously?”

My pulse stumbles. With no hesitation or questions, he’s willing to give money to a cause I care about. I look down at my hands, suddenly unsure of what to do with them.

I’m sure he only agreed because he wants me to spend freely, but the gesture still means something.

“Seriously,” he repeats. “Now I want to know how come you haven’t been dancing? There’s plenty of room in my home.”

“How do you know what I have or haven’t been doing? Does Emil report everything I do to you?”

He shrugs and reaches for the champagne, pouring us each a glass. “I watch you sometimes through the security cameras.”

My head snaps up. “You do what?”

“Don’t play ignorant. You’ve been around bratvas long enough to know most homes have cameras everywhere.”

“Yeah, but…” The words die out. He has a point, but the fact that he admitted to watching me is all kinds of fucked up. “Do you watch me in my bedroom? When I change? When I sleep?” My voice rises with every question that tumbles from my mouth.

“As tempting as that is, no.” His fingers trail idly along the rim of his champagne glass. “Even men like me have limits. I respect your privacy in your room. But when you’re in the library, the music room, or other common areas, it’s fair game.”

My fingers press against my temples. “What do you think I’m going to do? You have security everywhere, and I’m wearing an ankle monitor.”

He chuckles, the sound a low ripple over my skin. “It’s not about security. I like watching you. And if I’m honest, I was hoping to see you dance again.”

“Again?”

“I was at your final recital. That’s how I knew you were going to the club afterward.”

“Oh my God. You were there?” Shock steals the air from my lungs. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It actually makes sense.

His eyes soften. “Your dancing was… I don’t have the right words for it. Beautiful, yes, but more than that. It was powerful. You were born to dance, moya sladost.”

A sharp ache spreads through me, and I have to look away. His words unlock something fragile. But at the same time, he’s the reason my career is nothing more than a shattered dream. “I don’t dance in your home because it reminds me of everything I’ve lost. Of the future you stole from me.”

Like Hades, he dragged me down into his world without warning. It’s almost funny that the dance I choreographed turned out to be a preview of my own life.

A shadow crosses his expression. “You are my wife, Sofiya. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll fly in the best dance instructors in Russia or build you a studio worthy of the Bolshoi. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Anything except freedom.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek, but that’s the only response I get before Valeria enters the room with two of her assistants, wheeling in rack after rack of designer clothes. But my brain is stuck on everything he just said. Does he truly care if I’m happy or is he trying to ease his own guilt?

Maybe this is his way of making peace with the fact that he stole my life. But why should I let him feel better about it? The idea of him building me a studio or flying in instructors is so absurd it almost makes me laugh. He’s offering me the world, but not the one I wanted. The one I worked so hard for. And yet, there’s a messed-up part of me that wants to believe he cares. Even a little.

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