Page 46 of Under His Control
But when I roll over, the other side of the bed is empty.
Disappointment fills me. I sit up, glancing around the suite, hoping he’s in the living room below. No such luck.
Pulling on the robe, I quietly pad out. I pause when I hear his voice in one of the other bedrooms. He’s on the phone. I don’t want to interrupt, so I slip downstairs into the kitchen instead.
The cabinets are stocked like a luxury café. I find the Keurig and laugh under my breath at the drawer beneath crammed full of every flavor pod imaginable. One day in this suite, and I’m already getting spoiled.
I choose one at random and start the machine, the sound of it brewing filling the quiet. My thoughts drift back to last night, to the secretive, mystifying man I’ve married.
Anatoly is intense and a little intimidating, but he’s also thoughtful in ways that catch me off guard. He can be tender and caring, yet feral and passionate.
He’s still handling Chris’s debt, despite the disrespect my brother showed both of us on our wedding day. He didn’t have to be kind to Chris, but he was.
Is it just part of the arrangement or is there something else happening underneath it all?
I shake the thought away and take a sip of coffee—rich, dark, perfect. The warmth steadies me.
Cradling the mug, I walk back up the stairs and pause.
He’s still on the phone, his voice calm, clipped, and cool. Businesslike. Then I hear my name.
His tone is authoritative but there’s also a tenderness there. Like I matter to him.
I wait, coffee warming my hands, heart beating just a little faster.
Anatoly’s voice is low, but I catch clipped words through the stillness of the penthouse.
“Start the process of freeing up the funds today. No electronic trail. Yes, cash.” A pause. “No, I don’t want her name involved. Not her address, not her job title, nothing. She stays out of it.”
A breath escapes me. He must be talking about Chris. About the Smirnov Bratva.
The relief is immediate. I knew he’d take care of it, but hearing the actual plan, hearing how firmly he’s drawing a line around me, it hits me differently.
“I’ll meet with their rep this afternoon—alone. I will be informing them that once the funds are available, a meeting between Ivan Smirnov and me will be arranged to deliver the money. Also tell them if they come near her, we’ll revisit the terms—very unpleasantly.”
My fingers tighten around the mug. He never raises his voice; he doesn’t need to. He speaks with a controlled command that makes it clear he means every word.
Before I retreat, I note a shift in his tone. It grows colder.
“I’m aware of the clause, Damas.” My breath hitches at the name of his brother. “No,” Anatoly continues, “we agreed to fulfill the terms of the will, but it is not a breeding contract. The matter of an heir needs to be brought up delicately.”
The words slam into me. My stomach flips.
Anheir?
There was nothing in the prenup about children. No line about fertility or expectations beyond the year-long marriage.
So why is Damas bringing this up? And why did Anatoly sound like he was clearly already aware of it?
I suddenly feel hollow. My mind spins. Was producing an heir part of the plan all along? Was that why I was chosen?
The call abruptly ends. I barely have time to move before he steps out of the room, calm and composed.
I quickly tiptoe back down the stairs to the kitchen, calmly sipping my coffee, trying to pretend like I didn’t just hear his conversation.
“Morning,” he says smoothly as he approaches a moment later. “I began handling everything for Chris this morning. The debt will be gone, your name will not be mentioned, and your brother will be safe. No one touches you. Ever.”
His words should settle me. And they do on the surface. But underneath, questions linger like smoke.
