005: GRUMPY x GRUMPY

RHEA

I had been married for less than twenty four hours, and my new husband had already threatened to put a tracking collar around my neck.

I stood near the entrance of Nikolai's bedroom, staring at him while his threat echoed in my head.

A tracking collar?

Was he serious?

Judging by the cold expression on his face, he was.

I hugged myself, trying to calm my racing heart. I had known Nikolai Martello was a dangerous man before I signed his contract, but I hadn't expected him to treat me like a prisoner every second of the day.

First, he locked me in a room. Then, he caught me trying to escape. Now, he had dragged me into his bedroom and threatened to put a tracking collar on me if I tried to leave.

What was next? Would he chain me to his bed?

Knowing him, I wouldn't put it past him.

Nikolai seemed completely unaware of my growing anger. He walked toward the wardrobe, removed his wristwatch, and placed it on a small table. Then he began unbuttoning his shirt as if having a terrified woman standing in his bedroom was the most normal thing in the world.

I quickly looked away.

"Where exactly am I supposed to sleep?" I asked.

He glanced at me.

"The bed or the floor. I believe I already explained your options."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"You cannot be serious."

"Do I look like a man who enjoys repeating himself?"

"No, you look like a man who enjoys making other people's lives miserable."

His fingers paused at the buttons of his shirt.

For a moment, I thought he might actually lose his temper. Instead, he finished unbuttoning it and pulled it off, revealing a fitted black undershirt.

"Careful, Rhea," he said calmly. "Your mouth might get you into trouble."

"Perhaps you should stop giving me reasons to use it."

He turned fully toward me.

Even with his shirt off, Nikolai looked intimidating. His broad shoulders and tall frame made the bedroom seem smaller whenever he stood in it. There was something unsettling about the way he watched me, as though he was studying every reaction and storing it somewhere in that dangerous head of his.

"I suggest you choose your sleeping arrangements before I lose patience."

"I am not sleeping in that bed with you."

"Then the floor is available."

I clenched my teeth.

"You might have bought my father's debt, but you did not buy me. Whatever agreement I signed with you does not give you the right to treat me like an animal."

His expression hardened.

"You should have considered the consequences before attempting to escape."

"I was trying to escape because you locked me in a room!"

"And you have just proven why that was necessary."

I let out a frustrated laugh.

"You really believe everything you do is justified, don't you?"

"I believe in protecting what belongs to me."

"I'm not yours!"

The words came out louder than I intended.

Silence filled the room.

Nikolai stared at me for several seconds. His dark eyes were so cold that I had to fight the urge to look away.

"You signed the contract, Rhea. You accepted my ring. You agreed to carry my child."

"I agreed to carry your child, not surrender every little piece of privacy I have left!" I shot back. "You cannot control every breath I take"

"While you are under my roof, I can control whatever I consider necessary."

"And what about when I need to use the bathroom? Will you stand outside the door with a gun? What about when I want to take a shower? Will you send one of your guards to watch me?"

His jaw tightened.

"Do not test me."

"Then stop treating me like I'm something you bought from a shop!"

For the first time since I entered the room, Nikolai looked genuinely annoyed.

Good.

At least I was capable of making him feel something other than that endless, irritating calm.

"You seem to forget that my enemies would happily use you against me," he said. "They do not care about your innocence or your precious privacy. If they discover that you are carrying my child, they will see you as an opportunity."

My anger faltered for a moment.

His enemies.

I had heard enough about the Martello name to know that men like Nikolai did not make friends easily. He was a mafia don. People had probably spent years looking for ways to destroy him.

Still, that didn't mean I had to enjoy being trapped in his house.

"Then hire more guards," I replied. "Put security cameras in every hallway. Build a wall around the entire estate if that makes you feel better. But do not expect me to pretend that this is normal."

"I don't need you to pretend anything when we are alone."

"Wonderful. Then we agree on something."

I turned away before he could respond.

A smaller sitting area stood beside the bedroom, separated from the main space by a wide archway. It contained a dark sofa, a low table, and a floor lamp. It was not exactly comfortable, but it was better than sharing a bed with a man who had threatened to put a tracking collar around my neck.

I walked toward it.

"I'll sleep here."

Nikolai followed my gaze toward the sofa.

"Suit yourself."

That was it.

No argument. No attempt to change my mind.

I almost wished he would argue. At least then I would have something to fight against.

Instead, he walked toward his desk and picked up his phone.

"You have until seven tomorrow morning to get ready."

I turned around.

"Get ready for what?"

"The medical team will be waiting."

My stomach tightened.

For a moment, I forgot about the argument. I forgot about the sofa and the threat he had made only minutes earlier.

The medical team.

The embryo transfer.

It was actually happening.

Until now, the whole arrangement had felt like a nightmare I would eventually wake up from. But tomorrow, strangers would begin examining my body, running tests, and preparing me to carry a child.

A child that would not even be mine.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"What exactly will they do to me?"

Nikolai looked up from his phone.

"They will conduct the necessary examinations and prepare you for the embryo transfer. Dr. Pedro will explain the medical process."

"When will the transfer happen?"

"That depends on your test results and the doctor's assessment."

I nodded slowly, trying to understand everything he was telling me.

I had never been pregnant before. I had never undergone fertility treatment. I knew very little about the process beyond what I had read online.

Now, I was expected to place my health and my future in the hands of a medical team hired by a man who had practically kidnapped me.

Wonderful.

Just wonderful.

"Will I be allowed to speak with the doctor privately?" I asked.

Nikolai studied me for a moment.

"Why?"

"Because I have questions, and I'd like to ask them without you standing over me."

His expression remained unreadable.

"You may ask the doctor whatever you want, provided it does not interfere with our agreement."

"And what if I don't like his answers?"

"Then you can discuss your concerns with him."

I stared at Nikolai, searching his face for any sign that he was joking.

There was none.

"You're not going to answer any of my questions yourself, are you?"

"I'm not a doctor, Rhea."

"No, you're just the man who decided my entire future for me."

"Your future was decided the moment your father accepted my offer."

My chest tightened.

There it was again.

My father.

The man who had raised me, or at least the man who had been responsible for raising me, had sold me without a second thought. And Nikolai knew exactly how to use that truth against me.

I looked away before he could see the hurt on my face.

"Fine," I whispered. "I'll be ready by seven."

"Good."

He returned to his work, making it clear that our conversation was over.

I walked back to the sitting area and lowered myself onto the sofa. It was soft enough, but my body felt tense, and my mind refused to settle.

Across the room, Nikolai sat behind his desk with his laptop open. The light from the screen reflected on his face as he read through several documents.

He looked perfectly comfortable.

Of course he did.

This was his home. His country. His world.

I was the stranger who had been dragged into it.

I pulled my legs onto the sofa and rested my head against the cushion. I could still feel the weight of the diamond ring on my finger.

Mrs. Martello.

The title felt like a joke.

I was married to a man I barely knew, living in a mansion I could not leave, and preparing to carry a child conceived from the eggs of his dead wife.

If someone had told me this would be my life a week ago, I would have laughed in their face.

Now, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

I chose neither.

I was tired of crying.

For a long time, I watched Nikolai work. He barely moved except to type on his laptop or reach for another document.

He seemed to have endless patience when it came to work.

Too bad he had none when it came to humans.

At some point, he reached toward a stack of papers on his desk. His hand stopped over a blue folder.

It was only for a second, but I noticed the hesitation.

He picked up the folder, studied its cover, and then placed it beside another one.

I wondered what was inside.

Perhaps business documents. Perhaps information about his enemies.

It was none of my business.

I turned onto my side and closed my eyes.

Sleep, Rhea.

You have enough problems already. You do not need to start investigating ‘your husband’ on your first night in his bedroom.

Unfortunately, sleep did not come easily.

Every small sound made me open my eyes. The clicking of Nikolai's keyboard. The quiet movement of his chair. The occasional vibration of his phone.

I kept expecting him to announce another ridiculous rule.

At some point, I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, I was shivering.

I opened my eyes and found the room dark except for the small lamp on Nikolai's desk.

Cold air blew from the ceiling vent.

I pulled my arms closer to my body, but it didn't help. My sweater was thin, and I had no blanket.

I glanced toward the bedroom.

Nikolai was still awake.

He sat behind his desk, reading something on his laptop. I considered asking him for a blanket.

Then I remembered who I was dealing with.

He would probably tell me that blankets were a privilege I had not earned.

With a quiet sigh, I pushed myself off the sofa and walked toward the wardrobe. I had noticed several cabinets near it earlier, and I hoped one of them contained extra bedding.

I moved carefully, trying not to make any noise.

Unfortunately, my elbow struck a small decorative object sitting on a nearby table.

It fell to the floor with a loud crash.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned my head.

Nikolai was looking directly at me.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was calm, but something in it made my stomach tighten.

"I'm looking for a blanket."

"Why?"

I stared at him.

"Because I'm cold, Nikolai. Unless freezing to death is another part of your agreement, I don't see the problem."

He rose from his chair.

For a second, I thought he was going to start another argument. Instead, he walked toward a cabinet beside the bedroom door, opened it, and removed a neatly folded blanket.

He returned to the sitting area and dropped it onto the sofa.

"There."

I looked at the blanket, then at him.

That was it?

No lecture? No threat?

Perhaps the man had finally run out of ways to make my life miserable.

"Next time, ask before touching my belongings," he said.

And there went that thought.

I picked up the blanket without thanking him.

He didn't seem to expect it anyway.

Nikolai returned to his desk, and I settled back onto the sofa, covering myself from my shoulders to my feet.

The blanket was warm and soft.

I hated that I appreciated it.

How could a man have so much money, such a beautiful home, and everything he could possibly want, yet be so completely devoid of warmth?.. money really couldn't buy everything.

In Nikolai's case, it certainly hadn't bought him a pleasant personality.

I closed my eyes, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before the medical team arrived.

Then his phone rang.

I opened my eyes slightly.

Nikolai glanced at the screen before answering the call.

"Speak."

His voice was different.

The coldness was still there, but something darker had replaced his usual impatience. He stood beside the desk, his shoulders tense as he listened to the person on the other end.

Then he switched to Italian.

I didn't understand much Italian, but I recognized a few words from the little I had picked up over the years.

His voice grew lower.

"Quando?"

I caught the question, though I wasn't sure what had happened.

When?

He listened again, his expression hardening.

"No. Non mi interessa."

I didn't understand the rest, but I understood the tone.

Someone had made a mistake.

And Nikolai Martello was not a man who accepted mistakes easily.

He walked toward the window, speaking in a low voice. I couldn't hear every word, but I caught a name.

Isabella.

My eyes opened fully.

Isabella…?