People have tried to purchase the estate. I turn down every offer. Even the ones double its worth.
My mother’s great-great-grandfather built the estate, and she inherited it after my grandparents’ deaths. She made the mistake of putting my father’s name on the deed. He made it clear she’d lose it if she ever tried leaving him.
I help Liliya inside, up the stairs, and to her en suite bathroom. She shivers as I settle her onto the vanity stool, kneel in front of her, and take her filthy foot in my hand. I’ve seen enough wounds to know she’ll be fine. It just needs to be cleaned and wrapped.
“I’m a nurse.” She attempts to pull out of my grasp. “I’ll fix it myself.”
I clamp my hand around her ankle. She should consider herself lucky I’m not wrapping it around her fucking throat for running off.
I almost didn’t chase her, but the last thing I need is for her to go missing. With my reputation, people would believe I killed her.
I’m known as a ruthless killer.
They’re not wrong. I’m ruthless, and I’ve killed.
But I’m not guilty of all the rumors.
I allow people to whisper and don’t bother correcting them.
I prefer men to flinch when I enter a room.
Fear keeps people at a distance.
Liliya sits silent as I pull the first-aid kit from a drawer.
Tonight, I won’t be my father. Liliya won’t tend to her own wound, no matter how capable.
She watches as I clean her foot, dry it, and rub antibiotic ointment over the wound.
A tense silence fills the room, but neither of us says a word.
I wrap her foot and smooth a hand over it when I’m finished.
“You try running off again, and I’ll cut off your fucking feet.” I secure the bandage and press my hand around her ankle.
Her gaze rises from her foot to my face. “Why are you keeping me prisoner here?”
“I’m not keeping you prisoner.”
“You threatened to cut my feet off if I left. Those are words for prisoners.”
I must give it to my new wife. She’s fucking brave.
Very few men would speak to me like that, let alone in that tone.
“Fine, I’ll take a toe. How’s that?” I tighten my hold on her ankle. “But each time you attempt to run, I’ll take another—because I’ll always fucking catch you.”
“That leaves me ten tries then.”
“Depends on which day you get me.”
Her shoulders slump. “Why did you go through with the wedding?”
“Why didyou?”
“I had no choice. You did.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
