Chapter 40
Elena’s POV:
The moment Nikolai murmured those words, my fingers trembled where they hovered over the hem of my shirt. Not from fear. Not even from embarrassment.
But from the ache that burned just beneath the surface.
I didn’t hate the idea of being intimate with him. Of course not. I wasn’t that innocent. In fact I would be completely up for it….But it was something else that made my skin prickle–something about the fact that my mother was just down the hall, likely falling asleep now, but if she even had an inkling…
God. I might just melt from sheer mortification if she heard us.
Still, the air between us crackled with electricity.
Nikolai stepped toward me, slowly, his hand sliding around my waist in a way that felt so natural it made my pulse stutter. He pulled me flush against him. My breath hitched. His head dipped, lips just inches from mine, and I panicked.
turned my head at the last second, his lips brushing my cheek instead. “I–I need to shower first,” I mumbled, my cheeks flaming.
Nikolai frowned like I’d just offended him on a deeply personal level. “Why? You smell tasty.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself, “I smell like biryani.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “Exactly.”
“Just… wait, alright?”
He sighed dramatically but let me go, plopping down onto the edge of the bed as I crossed the room. I opened the cupboard and pulled out my silk shorts and a tank top before slipping into the bathroom.
Warm steam filled the room as I turned on the shower and stepped under the water. My muscles loosened beneath the steady spray, but my mind refused to shut up.
My mind rewinding everything that had happened today. Dmitri. Why had he shown up to school if he was just going to leave like that?
And….
Lazar.
That smug, entitled bastard.
The way he’d touched me without permission. The fact that the professor still expected me to apologize.
Yeah, not happening. I wasn’t going to bend over backward for someone who thought his last name gave him the right to treat people like toys.
But it wasn’t just that lingering irritation clouding my thoughts. As the water sluiced over my skin, I found myself thinking about dinner. About the way Nikolai had helped me in the kitchen, laughed so freely. Like he wasn’t uncomfortable, like this was his own home. The way he’d held mom’s arm gently when helping her upstairs.
He was… kind.
At least, he was being kind.
That was the problem.
I couldn’t tell if it was real.
He said he wasn’t a good man. That he wasn’t the kind to fall in love. Well… he hadn’t said the words exactly, but that’s what he meant.
So why was he making it so easy to forget?
I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off, tugging on my clothes quickly. The silk shorts clung to my hips and the tank top stuck slightly to my still–damp skin. I took a deep breath.
Focus, Elena. Don’t start getting distracted, this is only a transaction.
When I walked out, Nikolai was leaning against the side table, phone pressed to his ear. His tone was low, businesslike, but it softened when his eyes flicked up and landed on me.
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Chapter 40
He ended the call almost immediately. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I replied, rubbing my towel against the ends of my wet hair. My eyes flicked to his chest, lingering for a moment on the pale scar that stretched over his side.
It had haunted me for days. Now, I couldn’t stop myself.
“How did you get those?” I asked.
His gaze dropped to where my eyes had landed. “Childhood,” he said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “Stupid decisions. You know how it is.”
I hesitated for a beat, chewing the inside of my cheek, then asked quietly, “Even the one on your back?”
He didn’t answer.
Not at first.
His entire body stiffened, his gaze slipping somewhere far a away. The light in his eyes dulled, like someone dimming a switch inside him. Something about the way he went utterly still made my stomach twist.
I regretted the question almost instantly.
Sorry,” I muttered, shifting my weight. “You don’t have to answer that. I was just…” I trailed off, trying not to fidget. “Curious. That’s all.”
He looked at me then.
And I saw it–just for a flicker–a fracture in the shield he usually wore. Something raw and sharp hiding underneath all that dry charm and measured coolness.
“Do you really want to know?” he asked.
His voice was soft. But there was weight behind it. A challenge? Or maybe… a warning.
I swallowed, then nodded slowly. “Only if you’re okay with telling me.”
A long silence passed. He let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair, his shoulders shifting restlessly. For a moment I thought he might change the subject. But then–quietly, and without looking at me he started talking.
“My mom wasn’t like yours,” he said flatly. Like he was reading a line off a report. “She was a drug addict. Because of my father.”
The words landed like a rock in my chest. Heavy.
*He cheated on her all the time. Brought women around like it was nothing. And she just… broke. She started using. Got worse every year.” His voice was unnervingly calm, but I could hear it in the undertone–tight, thin. Controlled.
“One day, when I just turned eighteen, I found where she kept her stash and tried to get rid of it. I thought I could help her, now that I was an adult.” He paused, a wry smile on his lips. Like he was mocking his past self. “She caught me. Started crying. Said she was sorry. That she loved me. Pulled me into this hug.”
He laughed. It wasn’t a real laugh. Just a sound–a hollow one.
“And then she reached behind me. Grabbed a wine glass off the counter. Smashed it. And shoved the stem into my back.”
I stared at him, my mouth dry.
“She only stopped when she found the packet again,” he added, glancing over at me with a crooked, humorless smile. “She never apologized. Not once. OD’d a couple months later.”
I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt too tight for words. And for a second, I just stood there–paralyzed between saying something stupid and staying silent.
He glanced at me like he was waiting. And it was clear he wasn’t waiting for comfort. Did he think I was going to judge him for that?
Astepped toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. And wrapped my arms around his bare torso,
His body tensed under mine, rigid as stone–but only for a second. Then I felt it shift. His arms didn’t move to hug me back, but the tension in him softened–just enough.
His skin was warm. And beneath it, his heart was racing.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pressing my cheek to his chest.
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8:42 PM
Chapter 40
He let out a breath that sounded too much like a scoff. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not fine. Every child deserves good parents.” I swallowed. “Not all parents deserve children.”
Something in him stopped moving altogether.
He looked down at me, not with pity or amusement or even discomfort–but with quiet, unspoken disbelief. Like he hadn’t expected me to say that. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that someone might mean it.
“When were you adopted?” he asked all of a sudden.
“Six,” I said, surprised by the lump that rose in
my
throat.
The silence stretched between us–long and fragile. Before he asked, “You don’t have memories of your birth parents?”
I shook my head.
“My memories before that are… kind of hazy,” I admitted, still resting lightly against him. “Sometimes I get flashes. Nightmares. I remember being teased a lot. Kids, adults. People saying things I didn’t understand back then.”
I pulled back slightly to look up at him. “My hair was curlier when I was a kid. My skin darker. My features looked more Indian, I guess. People noticed. And not in a good way.”
I laughed quietly, trying to lighten it, even though nothing about this felt light.
“You know…..I haven’t told this to anyone but….I think my brain just… locked the rest away. For protection or whatever.”
He didn’t say anything. Just looked at me. And the way he looked–like I was some kind of puzzle–made my chest ache a little.
So I deflected.
I smiled and poked him gently in the ribs. “Anyway.”
He blinked.
“What’s your favorite food?” I asked.
His brows lifted slightly. “What?”
“Your actual favorite,” I said, cocking my head. “Not some generic I–eat–whatever’s–there answer.”
He tilted his head, skeptical. “Why do you think I have one?”
I gave him a look. “Because you’re picky about everything, do you think I haven’t noticed?” I said, crossing my arms. “There’s no way you have one,”
don’t
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