Chapter Five —First Night

Elara's POV

The first night of our marriage started with a distance that felt heavier than the walls that surrounded us. Ruin laid the blanket on the floor with deliberate care, smoothing it out as if the neatness could somehow tame the chaos humming beneath our skin. He didn’t look at me while he worked, and I didn’t look away. The silence between us was thick, filled with everything we weren’t saying.

The room smelt faintly of leather, smoke, iron, and something warm I couldn’t quite name. His quarters were sparse, with no photographs or softness—just a bed, a desk, a chair, and the weight of a man who had learned to survive without comfort. It was a place built for endurance, not for peace.

“You should sleep,” he said quietly.

I was already lying on the bed, fully clothed, my hands folded over my stomach like I could hold myself together that way. “So should you.”

He paused, then said, “I will.” But on the floor.

That thought sent a strange ripple through me—not relief, not fear, but something fragile and intimate. The kind of feeling that grows when no one is around. I turned onto my side, facing him.

Ruin removed his boots, then his jacket, his movements efficient and controlled. When he lay down on the blanket, the muscles of his back shifted beneath his shirt, and I could see the hairs on his chest. I swallowed hard, heat stirring low and unexpected. This was not supposed to be like this.

“I won’t touch you,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Not unless you ask.”

I nodded, unsure how to respond to the way my chest tightened at the promise.

The silence stretched between us.

Outside, engines faded into the distance. Somewhere far off, a dog barked, and the compound settled into an uneasy sleep.

“I heard what Axel said,” I murmured.

Ruin stiffened. “About the Bratva.”

“Yes.”

He rolled onto his side, facing away from me. “I should’ve seen it coming.”

“That I was meant to be a sacrifice?” I asked softly.

“Yes.”

The word carried more weight than any confession.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“Because fear makes people reckless,” he said. “And I needed you steady.”

I closed my eyes briefly, then opened them again. “You bled for me.”

“I would bleed again.”

“Why?” I whispered.

He was silent for a long moment. Then, “Because once I claim responsibility for someone, I don’t abandon them. I make sure I protect them to the fullest.”

Responsibility, not love, not desire. And yet, my gaze drifted over him—the breadth of his shoulders and the tension in his frame even at rest. He was coiled like a weapon, always ready, always guarding.

"You didn't sleep well,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Are you angry?” I asked.

“No.”

“Lying,” I murmured.

A corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “I’m furious.”

“With me?”

“With the world,” he said. “For putting you here.”

The admission settled into me, warm and unsettling. I shifted, the mattress creaking softly. His attention sharpened instantly.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“I don’t know how to be,” I said honestly.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Neither do I.”

I hesitated, then swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool beneath my bare feet.

Ruin pushed himself upright at once. “Elara...”

“I’m not asking you to touch me,” I said quickly. “I just… don’t want to feel alone.”

His jaw worked as if he were holding back words or instincts. “Sit,” he said after a moment, patting the edge of the bed. “I’ll stay here.”

I sat, close enough to feel his heat but not close enough to brush him. The space between us pulsed with awareness.

“You smell like smoke,” I said quietly.

“And you smell like rain,” he replied. “From earlier.”

The intimacy of it made my breath catch. We sat like that, two people bound by violence and silence, pretending we weren’t acutely aware of each other’s bodies.

“Do you regret the marriage?” I asked.

“The marriage?” he said.

“Yes.”

He looked at me then—really looked. “I regret that you were ever used as currency, and I regret you weren't here by choice.”

My chest ached. “I’ve never been kissed, and no man has touched me,” I blurted.

The words surprised us both.

Ruin froze. “Why tell me that?”

“Because I want you to understand what this relationship costs me,” I said. “And how I'm feeling right now”

His gaze softened—dangerous in its intensity. “I understand.”

I searched his face. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s why I won’t take anything from you.”

The restraint in his voice was palpable, a thing held tight and trembling. Minutes passed—or maybe hours.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled at me, heavy and insistent. “I’m afraid,” I admitted, my voice barely more than breath.

Ruin shifted closer, just enough that his shoulder brushed my arm. The contact sent a shiver through me.

“I know,” he said. “Sleep. I’m here.”

I lay back down, my fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. The room went too quiet, and a faint sound—metal against metal—slipped under the door. Ruin was on his feet in an instant, his body between mine and the door, silent as a shadow. He lifted a finger to his lips.

My heart hammered.

The door handle turned slowly. Ruin’s hand slid behind her, revealing a gun I hadn’t seen, and the door opened a fraction.

A voice whispered, “President.”

Axel.

Ruin didn’t lower the gun. “You’d better be dying.”

Axel slipped inside, eyes darting to me, then back. “We have a problem.”

“What kind?”

Axel swallowed. “The Bratva moved their timeline.”

“How?”

“They want her tonight.”

My breath hitched.

Ruin’s expression went lethal. “They won’t get her.”

Axel swallowed again. “They already breached the outer gate.”

The lights flickered.

Engines roared to life outside—too many, too fast.

Ruin turned to me, his gaze fierce, protective, and absolute. “Stay behind me,” he said.

I rose, my pulse racing. “You said this night was about safety.”

“It was,” he replied. “Now it’s about survival.”

He took my hand firmly, grounding and pulling me close. Not as a husband but as a shield, a gunshot cracked through the compound. Then another.

Ruin didn’t hesitate.

He shoved the gun into my trembling hand and curled my fingers around it, his touch firm and grounding. “If anyone except me comes through that door,” he said quietly, “you pull the trigger.”

“I’ve never...” My voice broke.

“I know,” he said, eyes locking onto mine. “That’s why you won’t miss.”

The words shouldn’t have steadied me, but they did. Another gunshot exploded closer this time. Shouts followed, boots thundered through the hallway, and the walls seemed to shake as if the compound itself were under siege.

Ruin pressed his forehead briefly to mine—one second, intimate and fierce. “Whatever happens next,” he murmured, “remember this wasn’t a mistake.”

Then he turned and flung the door open, stepping into the chaos. There was smoke, screams, and the crack of gunfire. Ruin moved like a force of nature, firing with brutal precision. His body always angled back toward me, shielding even as he attacked.

I backed toward the wall, gun raised, heart hammering so hard it hurt. A shadow moved at the far end of the hall, too quiet and calm. And over the roar of engines and shouts, a familiar voice echoed through the halls.

“My wife,” Nikolai Volkov called smoothly.

“Come willingly… or watch your husband die for you.”

Then Nikolai stepped into view, immaculate despite the chaos, his smile slow and satisfied. His gaze dropped pointedly to my hand and the gun shaking between my fingers, and then he raised his weapon and aimed straight at Ruin’s back. The night had just begun, and the war was already at our door.