Page 58 of Beautifully Damned
With a sigh, I turn toward the kitchen. Inside, Elena is chopping vegetables. She looks up, surprised. “You are early.”
I grab an apron and tie it around my waist. “Figured I’d help.”
She wipes her hands on a towel. “You are Pakhan’s wife now. Not appropriate anymore.”
I snort, grabbing a knife and slicing into a carrot. “Everyone in this house knows what I am, Elena. A pawn. Stirring a pot won’t ruin my image more than it already is.”
Bitterness stirs inside me, and I’m thankful for it, because for the first time in days, I feel something that isn’t numbness. Anger is still alive in me, even if everything else is dead.
I reach for the salt container, unscrewing the lid.
“Spooning one in,” I murmur. “Two. Three…”
Elena frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Let’s see how Roman likes his soup now.” I flash her a bright smile.
She lets out a surprised laugh. And I laugh too, even though I know it’s petty. I don’t know how else to let it out. My rage has nowhere else to go.
But then a throat clears behind us.
We both freeze.
I turn to find Roman leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. His eyes pinned to me, dark and unreadable.
And I don’t feel a thing other than rage.
?Chapter XXXVII?
AYLA
I untie the apron with shaking hands, drop it on the counter, and head toward the door. My fingers are inches from the handle when his hand slams against the wood, blocking my way.
I gasp.
Roman stands too close, his breath fanning across my cheek. “There’s no need to run every time I walk into a room,” he says.
I turn my face toward him, glare sharp. “Isn’t there?”
He curses under his breath and slams his palm against the frame again, louder this time. I don’t flinch. The worst has already happened, and I’m still breathing. Fear won’t save me.
“If you need something, you come to me. Not my men.”
I force a laugh, even as the bitterness rises in my throat like bile. “Why? So we can pretend this is real? So I can earn my little prisoner privileges?”
He scowls, his face turning a deep, angry red. "You’re my wife." He rages.
"In name," I snap. "I wear your ring, Roman, but we both know it’s a lie."
Without warning, he grabs my arm and pulls me through the hall. I stumble after him, my slippers skidding across the floor. The foyer is full with staff cleaning and soldiers standing guard. Everyone freezes as he drags me into the center of it. He raises my arm.
“This,” he says, voice booming, "is Mrs. Volkov. That’s how you address her. No one—" his eyes narrow on Matvey "—calls her Ayla. Especially not you."
Matvey nods stiffly, hands clenched at his sides. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. All I do is get them in trouble, even though it’s the last thing I want.
“If she needs anything,” Roman continues, "You direct her to her husband. Got it?"
A scattered chorus follows. "Yes, Pakhan."
