I'd been taking all those heart-pounding experiences, giving them a makeover, and shoving them straight into my serial novel.
The result? My numbers exploded.
I stared at the subscription count jumping wildly on my laptop screen, heart hammering. The comment section had completely lost its mind—readers were spamming like crazy, all screaming about wanting to marry Aleksei, the character I'd based on Nikolai.
"OMG, this man is too fucking dangerous, I'm in love."
"Author, please let Aleksei kidnap me too."
"I've read Chapter 7's warehouse scene three times, this dark sexy vibe is perfect."
I couldn't help laughing, about to scroll down further when I heard footsteps outside.
I snapped the laptop shut almost reflexively.
The door swung open. Nikolai walked in wearing a charcoal three-piece suit, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm, exposing the defined lines of his forearms. Those penetrating gray eyes swept over me, lingered on my face for a second, then dropped to my just-closed laptop.
"What were you looking at?" His tone was unreadable.
Hell no. I wasn't about to let him know I'd written a romance novel with him as the male lead. A wildly popular male lead, at that.
"Nothing." The answer came out half an octave too high. "Just... work stuff."
He didn't respond, just stared at me for several seconds. That scrutinizing gaze made my scalp prickle, like he could see straight through my eyes into my thoughts.
But finally, he just raised an eyebrow slightly and said nothing.
"Get ready," he said, turning toward the wardrobe. "We're going out."
My eyes lit up as I jumped from the chair. "Where to? The docks? Another warehouse?"
Nikolai stopped and glanced back at me. That look was complicated—somewhere between amused and resigned.
"To see my father."
I froze.
Panic surged through me instantly. I clutched at my skirt. "Should I... should I bring a gift? I mean, first time meeting the parents, I should bring something, right?"
Nikolai walked back, reached out, and touched my head. The gesture was unexpectedly gentle, but his voice carried a coldness I couldn't quite decipher.
"Don't bother." He paused, then added, "There's no one there worththe effort."
I looked at him, caught something flickering in his eyes—not anger, not disgust, but something more complex, more deeply buried. I opened my mouth to ask, but swallowed the words instead.
"Okay," I said. "I'll go change."
The armored Bentleyglided smoothly toward Maryland.
Sasha sat in the driver's seat like a lifeless black shadow, playing the invisible man to perfection. I'd already counted the passing streetlights three times and fiddled with the leather armrest switch twice.
Nikolai said nothing.
He leaned against the opposite door, a file resting on his thigh. Since we'd left the city, he hadn't turned a single page. He stared out the tinted bulletproof window, brow heavy, jaw clenched tight.
The air inside felt suffocating.
I snuck a glance at him. Nothing.
