Page 30 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

Then he rises to his feet, putting physical distance between us, but leaving an emotional closeness that feels as disconcerting as it is comforting.

As he walks away, disappearing into the walk-in closet, I’m left to grapple with this new element in our relationship. I feel like I’m not just an accessory to his life, an obligation to be managed. I’m something more, something worth protecting.

I sit there on the edge of our bed, stunned by this revelation and anxious about what it could mean for us.

MIKHAIL

As I step into the elevator, the stainless steel doors closing with a soft whoosh behind me, I press the button for the penthouse and lean against the wall, taking a moment to exhale.

The conversation with Gabriette this morning lingers in my mind, its implications more complex than I’d like to admit.

I regret suggesting the orchestra. It’s too intimate, too suggestive of the kind of emotional closeness that I swore I’d never allow myself to have with her—or anyone, for that matter.

“I will keep you safe, Gabriette. That’s not a promise; it’s a fact.”

Why did I say that? What came over me? There’s a vulnerability in emotional investments, a risk that I can’t afford, not in my line of work, not with my past.

And yet, the way she looked at me this morning, her eyes wide with surprise, perhaps even a glimmer of respect—it’s troubling.

It’s as if a dormant part of me was momentarily reanimated, a part that craves to be understood instead of feared. To be valued and to be, God forbid—loved.

The elevator dings softly, pulling me out of my thoughts. As the doors slide open, I step into the plush corridor leading to my penthouse, steeling myself for the evening ahead.

I’ll go through with it, yes, but there will be a distance, a careful boundary that I won’t cross.

The moment I step into the penthouse, that resolve lasts exactly three seconds. Gabriette stands there in a crimson dress that clings to her like a second skin.

Fuck, she looks amazing in red; as if the color was tailor-made just for her.

The color complements her complexion perfectly, making her look both ethereal and undeniably real. A slit runs up the side of the dress, reaching her thigh, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to react.

God, I loved being in between those thighs the other night.

“Wow, you look... incredible,” I hear myself say, each word dragged out of me as if against my will. I’d planned on a simple ‘you look nice,’ but the words rearrange themselves, because I’m a fucking idiot who’s thinking with his cock.

“Thank you,” she replies softly, and I can see it in her eyes—that same surprise I saw this morning, now mixed with something else. Hope, maybe? Or expectation?

As I stand there looking at Gabriette, a woman I married out of arrangement rather than choice, I realize how perilously close to the edge I’ve come.

I’ve allowed a crack in the fortress I’ve spent years building, a tiny but dangerous fissure that threatens to bring the whole thing crumbling down.

And the worst part? I find myself not caring about the risk. I look at her, standing there in that crimson dress, her eyes meeting mine in a silent question, I think, fuck the consequences.

“Actually, just give me a moment. I need to … grab something, and then we can leave,” I say, my voice more controlled than I feel.

“Alright,” she says softly, her eyes lingering on me for a moment longer before she looks away.

I walk into the bathroom, close the door behind me, and lean against it. Breathing out a long sigh, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes meeting my own as if looking for answers.

The room smells like her, some floral perfume that’s not too overpowering but still distinctly present, and it’s pissing me off how much I’m starting to like it.

I turn away, open the tap to splash cold water on my face. The chill shocks my system, but it does little to quell the storm brewing inside me.

With a frustrated growl, I yank a towel off the rack and dry my face roughly. This isn’t me; I don’t get distracted, don’t get emotionally entangled.

A woman can make or break you. I know this all too fucking well and I’ll be damned if I allow myself to be used like that again. I need to get my head back in the fucking game.

Exiting the bathroom, I find myself pacing the floor of the bedroom, each step echoing my growing unease.

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