Chapter Five —First Night

Elara's POV

The first night of our marriage began with distance.

Ruin laid the blanket on the floor with deliberate care, smoothing it as if order could tame the chaos humming beneath our skin. He didn’t look at me while he worked. I didn’t look away.

The room smelled faintly of leather and smoke, of iron and something warm I couldn’t name. His quarters were sparse—no personal photographs, no softness. Just a bed, a desk, a chair, and the weight of a man who knew how to survive without comfort.

“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. “I will.”

On the floor.

The thought sent a strange ripple through me—not relief, not fear, but something fragile and intimate. The kind that grows in the dark when no one is watching.

I turned onto my side, facing him.

Ruin removed his boots, then his jacket, movements efficient, controlled. When he lay down on the blanket, the muscles of his back shifted beneath his shirt. I swallowed, heat stirring low and unexpected.

This was not supposed to be like this.

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

I nodded, unsure what to do with the way my chest tightened at the promise.

The silence stretched.

Outside, engines faded into the distance. Somewhere far off, a dog barked. The compound settled into 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 a 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.”

Responsibility.

Not love. Not desire.

And yet, my gaze drifted over him, the breadth of his shoulders, the tension in his frame even at rest. He was coiled like a weapon, always ready. Always guarding.

“You’re awake,” 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 this?” I asked.

“The marriage?” he said.

“Yes.”

He looked at me then—really looked. “I regret that you were ever used as currency.”

My chest ached.

“I’ve never been kissed,” I blurted.

The words surprised us both.

Ruin froze. “Why tell me that?”

“Because I want you to understand what this costs me,” I said. “What does everything cost me?”

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 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 quiet.

Too quiet.

A faint sound—metal against metal—slipped under the door.

Ruin was on his feet in an instant, body between me 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 him—revealing a gun I hadn’t seen.

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. “Bratva moved their timeline.”

“How?” Ruin asked.

“They want her tonight.”

My breath hitched.

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

Axel swallowed. “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, 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—firm, grounding—and pulled 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, grounding. “If anyone but 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. The walls seemed to shake as if the compound itself was 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, and went out.

Chaos rushed in.

Smoke. Screams. The crack of gunfire. Ruin moved like a force of nature, firing with brutal precision, his body always angling 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. Too 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 Volkov stepped into view, immaculate despite the chaos, his smile slow and satisfied.

“You see?” he called softly. “Marriage makes everything so much more… painful.”

His gaze dropped pointedly to my hand, and to the gun shaking between my fingers.

And then he raised his own weapon—aimed straight at Ruin’s back.