The penthouse suite was quiet, draped in the soft hush of midnight. Nikolai pushed open the heavy door, stepping back into the cool darkness. A subtle draft met him the moment he entered, and his eyes instinctively scanned the vast bedroom.
The bed was empty.
His chest seized, his pulse leaping into his throat as a hundred violent possibilities flashed through his mind—escape, betrayal, abduction. But she needed help getting on the wheelchair, so the escape part was not possible, but again, Rose can be very Rose sometimes. The sheets were rumpled, the pillows dented, but the fragile figure he had left there was gone. He drew in a sharp breath, already calculating how quickly he could mobilize his men when the faint ripple of curtains caught his attention.
The balcony doors were ajar, thin sheers fluttering against the marble floor. The night wind carried in the scent of salt and city smoke.
And there she was.
Rose sat in her wheelchair at the edge of the balcony, her red hair glinting like silver under the wash of moonlight. The city spread out beneath her, a constellation of fractured lights mirrored in her eyes. Beside her stood Alexei, silent and alert, the outline of his frame cut sharp against the glow of skyscrapers in the distance.
Nikolai exhaled, his relief so palpable it nearly buckled him.
He strode closer, his voice breaking the silence."Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
Alexei turned at once, stiffening as if caught in an infraction. His jaw tightened. "Sir, she insisted on getting some fresh air. I couldn't say no."
Nikolai leaned on the doorway, his gaze sweeping over Rose—her fragile hands clutching the armrests, her hair tumbling down her shoulders in loose, tired strands. Then he flicked his eyes back to Alexei. "Okay. You can go now."
Alexei nodded briskly, no protest, no hesitation. Within seconds, his footsteps faded into the hush of the penthouse, leaving only the faint rhythm of the night breeze between them.
Rose turned her chair slowly, manoeuvring until she faced him. The defiance in her eyes, even dulled by exhaustion, burned steady. "You're relentless, you know that?"
"Time to get you to bed," he said, his tone flat but edged with something unyielding.
She rolled her eyes dramatically, lips curving in sarcasm. "Of course. Command me some more. That's your specialty, isn't it?"
Nikolai's mouth twitched, though no smile formed. He stepped forward, his shadow swallowing hers as he gripped the handles of the wheelchair. Without waiting for her consent, he spun her gently toward the bedroom.
"Hey—" she started, but his silence was final.
The smooth roll of wheels over marble echoed softly until they reached the side of the massive bed. Nikolai leaned down, his hands sliding beneath her knees and shoulders in one effortless motion. She gasped, clutching his silk shirt as he lifted her like she weighed nothing at all.
"You can't keep carrying me like a—"
"Like what?" His voice was a quiet threat, but beneath it lay an undeniable tenderness. "You're not heavy. You never will be."
Her retort died in her throat. She pressed her lips together, her heart drumming too fast as he laid her carefully on the mattress. The sheets whispered against her skin, still warm from earlier.
Nikolai tucked the blanket around her with a precision that betrayed habit. Rose glared at him, though her face softened in the glow of the bedside lamp he clicked on.
"You act like I'm made of glass," she muttered.
"Sometimes you are," he replied, his eyes flicking over her with that same unrelenting intensity. "And glass breaks."
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Only the sound of his watch ticking faintly in the silence lingered.
Then, without ceremony, Nikolai crossed the room, pulling open the sleek wardrobe doors. Rose watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he shed his shirt with deliberate movements, his back carved with muscle and shadows. Her throat tightened against her will.
He exchanged his t-shirt and slacks for midnight-black silk pyjamas, the fabric catching the light like liquid. There was an elegance to the casual way he moved, but also a raw danger that clung to him no matter what he wore.
When he returned, Rose's stomach gave a strange twist. He didn't just sit beside her—he slid into the bed itself.
The mattress dipped with his weight. His arm, heavy and firm, came around her waist as if it belonged there.
Rose let out a startled chuckle, tilting her head toward him with raised brows. "Careful, Nikolai. If you keep doing this, I might get the wrong idea. Might start thinking you're into me."
His response was not immediate. Instead, he buried his face against her neck, his breath warm against her skin. When he spoke, his voice was low, unguarded, the words searing.
"I might just be."
The laughter died in her throat. Her breath caught, her fingers twitching against the blanket. For once, Rose found herself utterly speechless.
She cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to recover, to piece together her composure. "If that's your way of telling me you like me… then you truly suck at it."
He gave a quiet huff against her skin, not quite a laugh. "I know." He leaned back just enough to meet her gaze, green eyes cutting into her. "But I'll tell you properly… when we get back to Manhattan."
Her lips parted, words faltering. "You really mean that?"
"I do."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Rose stared up at the ceiling, her mind spinning. If someone had told her months ago that this was where she'd end up—lying in bed beside Nikolai Ivanov, hearing those words from his lips—she would have laughed until her lungs gave out. This was the man who had bought her from Salvatore, a monster cloaked in suits and scars, a man whose name alone curdled blood.
And yet here he was. Arm heavy around her waist. Voice steady with quiet promises.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this.
Her heart thudded unevenly as she stared at the shadows dancing across the ceiling.Well… that was definitely not what she had expected when he first dragged her into his world.
And most importantly—God help her—this man was bad.No, not just bad.Terrible. Absolutely terrible with words.
But for reasons she couldn't admit aloud, she found herself clinging to them anyway.
The city hummed below, the moonlight poured silver across the floor, and for the first time in a very long while, Rose felt the dangerous tug of something she had sworn never to feel again.