Page 32 of Mile High Daddy

She leads me down a long hallway lined with towering windows that let in streams of sunlight. The view is breathtaking—rolling gardens, a fountain in the center of a perfectly manicured lawn, and woods stretching into the horizon.

“This will be your room,” Tatyana says, stopping in front of a set of double doors. She opens them with a flourish, revealing a space that looks like it belongs in a royal palace.

The room is enormous, with high ceilings and a canopy bed draped in silk. The walls are painted a soft cream, accented with gold trim, and the windows are framed with heavy velvet curtains. A chandelier hangs in the center, its crystals catching the light and scattering rainbows across the room.

“It’s beautiful,” I say softly, though the words feel empty.

Tatyana smiles warmly. “I’ll let you get settled. Dinner will be in a few hours. Mikhail can show you to the dining room.”

I nod, offering her another weak smile. “Thank you.”

She hesitates for a moment, her kind eyes studying me. “Lila,” she says gently, “if you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open.”

Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I’m not sure how to respond. Finally, I manage a quiet, “Thank you.”

She squeezes my arm before leaving, the doors closing softly behind her.

I stand in the center of the room, turning slowly as I take it all in. It’s beautiful, yes, but it doesn’t feel real. It feels like a set, a stage for a life I don’t want to live.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the silky fabric of the comforter. My chest feels tight, and the ache of missing my mother sharpens. She’d know what to say, how to make me feel like myself again.

But she’s not here.

I lie back on the bed, staring up at the chandelier as tears prick at my eyes. The reality of this new life crashes over me like a tidal wave, and for the first time since the wedding, I let myself cry.

The room is eerilyquiet as night falls. I didn’t even realize when I had fallen asleep. Someone must have come in at one point because the curtains are drawn tight, shutting out the world, but I can’t bring myself to relax.

I sit on the edge of the bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, trying to process the events of the day. My wedding, this place, Mikhail. It’s all too much.

A knock at the door startles me, and before I can answer, it opens.

Mikhail steps inside.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sweeping over me, lingering for a moment before he finally speaks. “This is my home. My room.”

I bristle. “I didn’t think I would be staying in your room.”

“You’re my wife, where else would you be?”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

His lips twitch, almost like he’s amused. “Is that so?”

Mikhail unbuttons the top of his dress shirt, loosening the fabric against his throat. It shouldn’t be such an intimidating motion, but on him, it is. The stretch of his shoulders, the hint of dark ink peeking from beneath his sleeve reminds me that he’s a man built for control. For power.

“Yes,” I say firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. “If necessary, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Mikhail chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, but it only fuels my frustration.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he says, taking a step closer.

I tense, my heart pounding as he closes the distance between us. “Don’t,” I warn, trying to step to the side, but he moves faster, catching my wrist gently but firmly.

“Lila,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Stop.”

His hand is warm against my skin, and I hate the way my body reacts to his touch, the way my pulse races and my breath hitches.

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