Page 163 of Dirty Damage

“It’s mine. You’re perfect.” His golden eyes soften as he smiles. “And trust me; you are.”

Something flutters in my stomach—anticipation, nervousness, desire. I twist my new engagement ring around my fingers.

It’s become a habit ever since Oleg gave it to me, like I need to keep reminding myself that it’s there. That he wants this relationship between us to be something more than just a contract.

Not love, but something close enough.

I slide into the buttery leather seat, inhaling that intoxicating new car smell mixed with Oleg’s cologne. The engine purrs to life and we merge into traffic, heading north.

Palm trees and art deco buildings give way to quieter streets lined with mansions hidden behind elaborate gates. We pass Artem and Faye’s neighborhood, but keep going until the houses get even bigger, more palatial.

“Oleg… what is this?”

If this is a surprise party at an oligarch’s house, I’m going to kill him. I’m barely dressed well enough to sit in this car. I can’t be seen like this in public. Oksana would never forgive me.

Oleg kills the engine and comes around to open my door, revealing a huge gate and a looming mansion set way off behind it.

“This,” he explains, “is ours… if you like it.”

“Ourwhat? Like, an Airbnb or something? Are we renting this?”

He snorts. “Do I look like a man who rents things, Sutton?”

I’m still processing his words as we walk up to the entrance, where a man in an impeccable suit waits to greet us.

Oleg introduces me to the real estate agent, Andrew Carter, as though this is all perfectly normal. As though dropping by to casually shop for multimillion-dollar waterfront properties is just another Tuesday afternoon.

Oleg is talking through the amenities as Andrew unlocks the front door. “There’s a big backyard on the water with dock access for me. A nice kitchen for you. Plus, a pool and plenty of bedrooms…”

… for the kids.

He doesn’t say it, but I hear the words hanging there all the same. This relationship doesn’t exist without those promised future children.

Regardless of what Oleg said in the bath the other night, he’s with me for what I agreed to give him.

Partners though we may be, I still have a job to do.

This house is going to be my office.

My head spins as we step inside. The foyer alone is bigger than any place I ever lived in growing up, with soaring twenty-foot vaulted ceilings and a crystal chandelier. Sunlight streams through the windows, making the white marble floors gleam like fresh snow.

“What do you think?”

It’s an impossible question to answer. I have no idea what I think.

There’s something warm and inviting about the house. It feels lived-in. It feels like a place where children could grow up. Where happy memories could be made. From every window in every room, you can see the brilliant blues of the water and the lush greens of the grass.

It’s too much. It’s everything I never dared to dream about.

“Take a look around,” Oleg suggests, his hand warm and reassuring on the small of my back. “I’ll catch up with you.”

I wander through the main level in a daze, dragging my fingers along smooth walls and cool stone countertops.

The kitchen is a chef’s dream, all professional-grade appliances and endless granite workspace.

A temperature-controlled wine room.

A library with built-in shelves that reach to the ceiling.

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