Chapter 11: Calm before the storm
"What do you mean?" She gave a little laugh, turning her head toward his breath.
She tried to make it sound light, but her throat was completely dry.
"Nobody could get near me like that. You’re the only man I love, Kian. You’re all I’ve had since I lost my sight."
Kian didn’t say anything for a long second.
He just stared at her face, looking at those wide, useless eyes.
A sudden twist of guilt hit him, feeling bad for even doubting her for a single night. But he brushed it off, letting the relief sweep over him just hearing her say she loved him.
"You’re right," he murmured, his voice dropping all the harshness. He set the silver hairbrush down on the vanity with a quiet click.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him. Isabella’s stomach turned, but she forced her body to stay limp in his grip.
She didn’t flinch when his mouth hit hers, letting him kiss her deep and slow.
She just stood there and took it, letting him hold her, letting his hands map out her waist like he owned every inch of her.
When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed her cheek. "Since I cleared my schedule today, we’re going out."
She blinked, totally off guard. "A date? What about work?"
"It can wait," Kian said, his voice quiet and heavy. "I want to spend today with my wife."
Those two words "my wife" hung in the air between them like a lock snapping shut.
Isabella swallowed down the disgust and forced another small laugh. "Well... if you insist. Where are we taking off to?"
"Wherever you want," he said.
...
Over the next two weeks, things with Kian only got worse.
He basically stopped going into the office. He tossed three major overseas trips onto junior vice presidents, completely checking out of the international deals. Every single evening, he was back at the house long before the sun even hit the trees.
He was just there, a heavy, suffocating shadow hanging over every room.
Every morning started the same way. Kian picked out her clothes, standing in the closet smoothing silk dresses over her shoulders, his hands lingering just a second too long.
He sat right next to her at breakfast, feeding her yogurt off a spoon, answering questions for her before the staff could even finish asking them.
He was methodically stripping away every last bit of her independence, choking her with this bizarre, terrifying devotion.
And through all of it, Aaron Kazarov went completely ghost.
One week passed. Then two.
No quick notes slipped into her coat pockets. No black cars idling at the end of the drive. No messages passed through the servants. Nothing at all.
Sitting by the bedroom window in the quiet afternoons, listening to the construction crew build a stupid glass greenhouse on the lawn, Isabella felt her hope rot into pure despair.
’He used me,’ she thought, her fingers digging so hard into her skirt the fabric almost tore. ’He just wanted to laugh. He’s not coming.’
She’d handed her absolute last secret over to a devil, and he’d just taken it and walked off, leaving her to be eaten alive by her own husband.
---
Across town, up on the top floor of the Kingston tech building, the air was just as thick.
Alice pushed through the double doors into Kian’s office, shutting them quietly behind her. She looked stunning in a tight crimson dress, her dark hair pinned back, her lips painted a deep, sharp red.
She walked across the rug, rounding his massive mahogany desk, and hopped right onto the edge of the wood, leaning down close to him.
In the past, Kian would’ve pulled her onto his lap before she even made it past the door.
Today, he didn’t even glance up from his screen. His fingers kept tapping on the keyboard, scrolling through financial reports like she was part of the furniture.
"Did you need something, Alice?" he asked. His tone was totally flat.
Alice blinked, her fake smile slipping. She pulled herself up a little straighter, staring down at his blank face. "...That’s it?"
Kian gave a brief, dismissive nod, eyes glued to his work. "I’m busy. If the quarterly numbers aren’t ready, get legal to handle it."
A cold, nasty knot twisted in Alice’s gut. No fight. No quick temper. Just a brick wall of absolute indifference.
She got up slowly, the quiet click of her heels sounding loud as she backed away toward the exit.
’Since when am I the inconvenience?’ The thought burned through her chest, bitter and hot.
She didn’t blame Kian. She couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Not yet at least.
Instead, all her poison turned toward the blind girl sitting up in that stone house on the hill. Isabella was ruining everything. Isabella was cluttering his head, pulling him away from their plans, taking the man who belonged to her.
---
By the end of the second week, the air in the city felt like a wire pulled way too tight.
The TV in the small sitting room hummed with the polished, fake voice of a news anchor running through the event of the season.
"...final touches are underway for the 50th Anniversary Gala of the Kingston Technology empire and Corporate Holdings," the reporter announced over soft ambient music.
"The event, taking place tomorrow evening at the Grand Regency Ballroom, will host the city’s top movers and shakers. Making the night even bigger, tomorrow also marks the birthday of acting president Kian Carter..."
Upstairs in the master bedroom, Isabella sat on the edge of the mattress, listening to the broadcast she couldn’t see.
On the dresser beside her sat three dark boxes filled with gold cufflinks and custom watches, expensive stuff she’d been forced to pick out for the man locking her in his house.
Kian stepped out of the bathroom, pulling off his robe. He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms over her shoulders and pressing a soft, heavy kiss into the side of her neck and pressing a soft bite to cover the fading mark there.
"Tomorrow night is a big deal, Bella," he murmured against her skin, his hand sliding over hers. "Everyone’s going to be watching us."
Isabella forced herself to nod, resting her head back against his chest while every single nerve in her body screamed at her to run.
---
Miles away, parked right by the dark, salty water of the docks, a black Jeep sat waiting.
In the back seat, Aaron Kazarov leaned his head against the headrest, looking down at the tablet resting on his knees. The screen was playing the live news clip about the Carter party.
A slow, vicious smile spread across his face in the dark cabin.
His phone buzzed. He picked it up and held it to his ear without saying a word.
"Sir," Perez said, his voice quiet over the speaker. "The invites checked out. The delivery to the hall is set, and our people inside the Grand Regency are in place. We’re good for tomorrow."
Aaron turned his head, watching the dark water slap against the concrete piers outside the tinted glass.
"Good," Aaron said, his voice low and raspy.
He clicked off the call, threw the phone onto the leather beside him, and looked back at Kian Carter’s face on the screen. The show was finally starting.