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“I can’t tell you what to believe,Koldunya.It’s up to you how you act tonight.”
I make a face at him.Why the fuck is he gaslighting me right now?I bite down on my cheek to hide my emotion.
“Why are you treating me like this?” I ask.
“Like what? Like how you treat me?” His jaw hardens.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I don’t even know how to take that comment.
“Yeah, I thought so,” he mutters.
“No, you don’t get to do that,” I say, my heel digging into the concrete floor. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“You left me, Sloane. When I thought I could trust you.” He sips on his drink, gripping the glass with force.
I’m at a loss for words. It feels like my brain is stuttering while I look at the man in front of me. How is this the same person? Was his anger delayed for an entire fucking day? I thought he and I sorted this out. Nothing makes sense.
I left his place with the intention of coming back because Iwantedto. I mean, I didn’t want to be trapped, but I wanted a little longer with Mikhail to see what kind of person he truly is. I was gone for only a couple of hours, and now he’s acting as if I committed a serious crime.
“If I do this for you, you’ll think about letting me go?” I ask before I’m even able to process exactly what I said. The more thought I give it, leaving Mikhail doesn’t sound like something I want. I think ... I think I like being with him. Of course, not at times like this, but the good times with Mikhail make me feel as if I’m weightless. There’s constant adventure when he’s near, and I enjoy both the yacht and the house. If I were to leave him, Dad would keep me locked up.
I love my family, but I need to learn to put myself first.
“I’ll think about it,” he says.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I say, contradicting my thoughts. “But why do I need to act as your wife?”
“I want this investment. Investors like to see commitment.” He nods and places the glass on the bar top. “Ready, wife?” he asks, reaching out his hand toward mine.
“You say jump, I say where, right?” I say, annoyed with him.
He presses his lips together. “Something like that.” Then he takes my hand and places the ring on my finger.
I look at the ring and try not to overthink everything.
Mikhail’s hand rests on my lower back as we make our way to the elevator and ride to the top floor of the skyscraper. He’s standing behind me, not letting go of my body. His possessiveness knows no bounds, especially not tonight.
I focus on my breathing, trying to get it under control. I’ve been nervous about tonight ever since the dress was delivered. I know a lot is riding on how I present myself. If I do a good job at his game, I could leave.
Tonight, I am Sloane Stepanov.
The name sounds beyond foreign to me.
It’s taken me a while to understand my frustration. It has nothing to do with being trapped or kidnapped. It’s because I felt as if I was finally understanding who Mikhail is, but now I don’t know. I started to put my heart somewhere it had no business being. Mikhail is all about his game. His charisma is sky-fucking-high. He knows how to say things, and he knows the perfect times to say them. When things between us start to sink, he finds an escape route. It’s admirable, really.
The elevator doors open slowly. I fiddle with the ring on my finger as we head down an open hallway toward a room where music is playing. “Feeling Good” by Michael Bublé trickles out through the surround sound. Mikhail looks down at me and smiles.
I smile back—not because I want to, but because I’m keeping my end of his bargain.
Everything about this building screams money. The artwork on the walls looks as if it came right from a museum. The ceiling looks two stories high. Glancing around, I see too many people to count. They’re all dressed in elegant dresses and ironed suits.
We head to the bar in the center of the room. Bottles are stacked on shelves with bright lights behind them. Mikhail’s hands rest on my shoulders. He moves my hair to the side and brings his mouth to my ear.
“You look like a goddess.”
His deep, angsty voice sends chills down my spine.It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t mean it. He’s just fucking with your head.
“Gin and Dubbonet, please. My wife will take a glass of champagne.”
