Chapter 8

Nathan's eyes darted to Celyn as she walked towards him. He shifted, hoisting himself onto the chair.

Celyn lowered herself beside him, her lips curved up into a small smile. The boy looked away, fiddling with his fingers.

He'd never been good with girls, especially not with one as mature and effortlessly pretty as Celyn.

She had captivating olive green eyes framed by long and thick lashes, and a dark skin that glistened like pearl.

Save for the sibling-like chemistry between her and Valentino, he'd have thought they were dating.

"I'll get going now," she said, and Nathan felt his stomach twist with anxiety.

She had stopped Valentino from strangling him to death earlier. If she left and he did that again, he'd die for sure.

As though Celyn could read his thoughts, she held his hands, and gave him a reassuring look.

"He won't do a thing."

Nathan almost scoffed.

If only he could show her the bruises on his body to disprove her claim.

Valentino was unpredictable.

An erratic force—one you couldn't challenge and walk away from unscathed.

"Cheryl, the cook, will come in soon. Have her prepare something for you." Celyn said, her voice soft with pity.

Nathan nodded and she smiled. Patting his shoulder, she stood up and walked out.

Nathan's gaze sliced back to his hands, before he glanced round the living room and took in the minimalistic design.

It wasn't much, but he knew the painting lining the walls and the furnitures probably cost a fortune.

He'd always known the Ivanovs were rich, but from everything he'd been told and was seeing, Valentino was richer.

Though, he was subtle about it.

While his father's riches sourced from an inheritance, Valentino was a self-made billionaire.

For reasons unknown, he'd rebelled at the age of eighteen and had single-handedly built an empire of his own in a decade.

Wherever Valentino's name was said, 'Hamilton Corp' followed. It was his mother's maiden name.

And it made the rumours all the more darker.

Nathan heard a door swing open and his head snapped to the direction, heart racing with alarm.

Was it Valentino?

An elderly woman soon walked in, holding several bags of groceries. Before Nathan could heave a sigh of relief, he rushed towards her.

The woman flinched, surprised, but she allowed him to help her with the majority of the bags.

They walked into the kitchen and the woman gestured for Nathan to set the bags on the counter.

"Good morning," she greeted, with a Russian accent, as a curious expression played on her face.

"Morning." Nathan greeted and looked to the side, wondering who she was.

He backed away when the woman approached him. She scanned him from head to toe like he was a piece of art in a museum.

Just then, it clicked.

He remembered Celyn saying something about a cook. He blinked, shocked. She looked old enough to be his grandmother.

"Madam Cheryl?" He called, to which she reacted to with a puzzled glance.

"Cheryl," she corrected, smiling.

He couldn't possibly call her that, but he nodded.

"Your name?" Cheryl asked, walking over to the counter.

"Nathan."

The woman nodded, taking the groceries out of the bags. She moved expertly in the kitchen, setting utensils to prep a meal.

Nathan stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, just watching her.

It wasn't like he could help.

He hated cooking.

He simply wanted to be away from Valentino as far as he possibly could.

Though, the heavens were mocking him because minutes later, the kitchen door swung inward and Valentino walked in.

Nathan froze, his heart skipping dozens of beats as a shiver ran down his spine.

Valentino paid him no mind.

"Ma, ya ne slyshal, kak ty voshla," the man said, his voice gruff, but laced with a softness that was almost impossible.

[𝐌𝐚, 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧.]

He walked past Nathan and stood beside Cheryl, gently snatching away the vegetable she was chopping.

"Ty voobshche ne dolzhna zdes' byt', ne govorya uzhe o tom, chtoby gotovit'."

[𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.]

Cheryl huffed, but she looked anything but annoyed. Valentino waved his hands and shook his head.

Nathan watched them both, puzzled.

He could only understand bits of the language, but the softness in Valentino's voice was unmistakable.

He bit his lower lip, finding it hard to believe there was someone the almighty Valentino wasn't mean to.

His eyes followed Cheryl as she walked past him and out of the kitchen.

He contemplated on whether to follow her or remain in the kitchen with the man.

It'd be obvious that he was avoiding Valentino.

And he wasn't sure of how the man would react to that.

So, he stayed.

Nathan's eyes widened with surprise as Valentino began chopping the vegetables with practiced precision.

He diced carrots and sliced spring onions, then transferred the results into bowls.

As the boy stood, watching the man, the sound of the knife hitting the chopping board grew louder.

It was until Valentino slammed the knife on the counter that Nathan realized his presence was pissing the man off.

He flinched, his breath hitching.

A knot formed in his stomach as Valentino placed his hands on the counter and looked at him.

The contempt in his expression was enough to make his knees buckle.

"Get out."

Nathan wasted no time.

He scurried out of the kitchen, running through the house.

Cheryl frowned, confused as she watched him. She was sitting in the living room, watching television.

He didn't stop until he reached the door to the room he was staying earlier.

He pulled it open, threw himself in and the shut it behind him.

His hands moved to his hair, pulling the locs, in frustration as he screamed internally.

Forget three months, Valentino would murder him in three days!

Evening came and Celyn was the one who finally brought Nathan out of the room. She led him to the dining table and placed a meal in front of him.

The boy gave her a grateful look and ate until he was full.

It was after he was done eating and she had cleared the plates that Valentino walked in.

Celyn gestured for him to take a seat beside Nathan, earning an annoyed grunt from the man.

Nathan blinked rapidly, shooting her a look of disbelief, but she simply shook her head and sat across from them.

The boy shifted as Valentino sat heavily on the chair beside his and leaned against the back of the chair.

His arms were folded and he had that unimpressed scowl across his features.

The man's cologne wafted to Nathan's nose, a smoky scent of leather and tobacco.

His eyes remained on Valentino's face, tracing his features. They widened as the caught a small scar just beneath his right eye.

He'd never been this close to Valentino when he wasn't violent.

Just then, the man's head turned, and he shot Nathan a glare. His unimpressed expression had switched to that of annoyance.

Nathan snapped his eyes forward, the hair on his body rising. He could still feel Valentino's intense gaze on his face.

Celyn cleared her throat, catching their attention.

"God, I'm starting to rethink this 3-month thing," she sighed to which Valentino hissed and rolled his eyes.

"Please place your stringed hands on the table."

Nathan nodded, placing his hand palm up on the table. He could not help but glance over at Valentino's hand.

It was almost twice the size of his, strewn with old scars and recent cuts.

Celyn cleared her throat again and he flinched, paying attention.

The woman stood up and inspected their hands with some viewing glass.

It took a minute, before she sat back down, with a concerned expression on her face.

"What?" Valentino asked gruffly.

"For someone who wants the string cut so badly, you sure made the things a lot harder."

Nathan's eyebrows furrowed, confusion creeping in, much as it did in Valentino.

"Most newly stringed partners stay together after the string's been formed, but you two did not."

She sighed, rubbing her temples, before looking up at them like she was about giving the worst news.

And she was.

"You're gonna have to sleep holding hands..."