All Chapters of Máfia's Hated Bride: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

ANGELINE HARRINGTON The sound of crystal shattering on the marble echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the lobby. My laughter froze in my throat, transformed into a knot of ice. Nikolai was there. Standing still. Watching. He didn't move, not even to clean the amber liquid spreading at his feet. He seemed carved in granite, his severe features even sharper under the low light. But it was the eyes that paralyzed me. That glacial gray, always so calculating and distant, now fixed on me with a raw intensity I had never seen. There was not the same anger as always at seeing the marked Angeline dirtying his particular field of vision. There was something worse there: there was an absolutely voracious assessment. He moved then. Not with the explosive speed I feared, but with a deliberate, predatory slowness that made each step echo in my mind like an alarm trigger. He approached, and I, rooted to the floor, felt every muscle in my body lock, a primitive instinct screaming to run

NIKOLAI VOLKOV After we left the damned restaurant and after I had explained in a few words everything I wanted from her as the "wife" of a Volkov, I was left with a rage that even I didn't understand as I looked out the dark window of the car. The city passed by, a blur of lights, but my mind focused on nothing external, only on her. When I sent Angeline into Dr. Orlov's hands, I knew he was competent. But I never imagined, however, that he was a magician to the point of transforming her face into something of such… perfection. I confess that, upon seeing her coming down the mansion stairs, I was truly speechless. But after the initial assessment, after touching that smooth skin that had replaced the rough groove, what emerged was something else: the desire to also touch that mouth, which I had never noticed how perfectly shaped it was, even when it trembled with fear before me. And yes, she trembled. Angeline never failed to show, not for a second, how much she feared me and how m

NIKOLAI VOLKOV Her gratitude was a whisper, a palpable relief in the air. She lowered her gaze, believing she had escaped my wrath. But it was the opposite that enraged me, for the first time, that correct treatment, that distant and obedient "Mr. Volkov," sounded like an insult. I wished—with an intensity that surprised me—to hear my name, just Nikolai, come out of that perfect mouth. That mouth that, when it smiled—even when it wasn't for me—was of a tempting grace, an invitation I would never receive. But none of that could be said. None of that could exist outside the cage of my own skull. So I merely nodded, a dry gesture of acceptance, while inside me the contradiction roared: I kept her away with one hand and, with the other, wanted to drag her close, until the fear in her eyes turned into something else. Swallowing the urge, until we reached the mansion, I waited to speak with her again. As soon as the car stopped, she got out quickly, but I caught up with her in the lobby

ANGELINE HARRINGTON But, to my astonishment, in the car, he said I had acted correctly. I let out a sigh of relief, but something in him was even more tense, more charged. I noticed the way his eyes traveled over my neckline, my legs. The fear returned, even sharper. What would come next? As soon as we arrived, I disentangled myself from him as quickly as possible. I ran up the stairs almost running, closed the bedroom door, and locked it, as I did every night. I heard the doorknob turn from the outside, once. My heart stopped. He was there. But he said nothing, didn't force it. I let out another sigh, this time of exhaustion. What I didn't expect, however, was to hear a sound that woke me at four in the morning. A low noise, a sad, high-pitched cry, coming from the garden, just below my window. It was almost like the cry of a baby, but hoarser. I grabbed my phone, turned on the flashlight, and peeked. "My God, sweetie, how did you get here?" I said, startled. Down there, tremblin

ANGELINE HARRINGTON Yes, that was exactly it. But the words caught in my throat. I could only look at him, paralyzed. "Never again, Angeline," the promise came out low, grave, loaded with a seriousness that shocked me. "I promise. I will never be violent with you again. Well, I wasn't, was I? All this time. I have no reason to be. I did that because I believed you were part of your family's game. But now I know you're not. You proved… I proved it. You were as innocent as I was in that whole story." He paused, his fingers still under my chin, his gaze diving into mine. "I just… don't want our marriage to be only on paper." I was paralyzed. The world around me disappeared. The words echoed in my head, mixing with fear, with distrust, and with a strange and dangerous intensity that I didn't dare name. What was he saying? What did he want? It was then that his cell phone rang, vibrating furiously in the pocket of his silk robe. A growl of anger and frustration escaped him when he sa