Bound by lies, Trapped by Desire - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Nikolai Vetrov:
The first time I laid eyes on her, she was covered in mud.
Literally.
It had been a rainy afternoon, the kind that turned the sidewalks into slippery traps and made the city smell like wet asphalt and impending headaches. I was leaving my favorite coffee shop, the one with floor-to-ceiling windows and the best caramel frappuccino in the entire damn city—extra sugar, extra syrup, extra everything. I needed it that day. My father had come into town, and any time that man got within a ten-mile radius, my blood pressure doubled.
I stepped out, half-lost in my thoughts, my drink in hand, when she collided into me.
No warning.
Just a flash of flailing arms, flying hair, and a breathless, "Oh crap!"
The frappuccino exploded across my chest like a sugar bomb, soaking into my tailored coat. I stood there stunned, sticky, and now seething as she looked up at me from where she’d fallen on the wet pavement.
“Oh my god! What the hell, dude?!" she barked, shielding a canvas bag like it held the holy grail.
I blinked, trying to process the audacity. "Excuse me? You're the one who ran into me."
She gave me a look like I was the idiot. "Because you showed up out of nowhere?! And why the hell wasn’t your drink covered while you were walking?"
I scoffed. "BECAUSE I was drinking it."
A blaring horn interrupted us. She let out a choked noise, scrambling to her feet. “Oh no. No, no. I’ll be late!”
And then she took off running after the departing bus, her canvas bag bouncing against her hip, her shoes squelching in the puddles.
She never even looked back. Not once. Not a single apology.
I stared after her, my fists clenched at my sides, a string of unspoken curses hanging off my tongue. I was soaked, irritable, and now late for a meeting.
The next time I saw her, she was in my father’s living room.
Three months later.
I froze the second I walked in.
I expected her to recognize me immediately—to look away in embarrassment, to stammer out some awkward apology.
Instead, she greeted me like I was a total stranger.
“Hi there! I’m Elena.” She extended a hand, all dimples and warmth. “You’re Dmitri’s brother, right? So nice to meet you!”
She didn’t remember me?
ME?!
Not even a flicker of recognition in her moss-green eyes.
I didn’t take her hand.
I just stared at her, feeling incredulous.
Her hair was down that day—long, thick, cascading in waves past her waist. It should’ve looked ridiculous, like something out of a fairy tale, but on her? It worked. She was tall, maybe five-seven or five-eight, and she held herself like she was on the verge of conquering the world, even as she smiled like we were already friends.
Those damn dimples.
THIS was Dmitri’s girlfriend?
I looked over at my very average little brother, whose smirk reminded me far too much of our father. That same smug glint, the kind that made you want to punch it right off.
I didn’t hate Dmitri.
I just hated what he represented.
The byproduct of a man I despised and the woman who wrecked our home. A walking reminder that loyalty was just a word people liked to say but never meant.
Men like my father, like Dmitri, they didn’t think twice before screwing over the women who loved them.
And maybe I could’ve turned out like them too, if I hadn’t grown up watching my mother drink herself to death over a man who never once loved her back. She wasn’t perfect—far from it. She was selfish, destructive, and unreliable.
I tried. God, I tried. Countless times I told her to leave him, begged her to get help, pleaded with her to put herself first. But she always repeated the same line like a mantra: "Family always comes first."
Yeah, well. It did.
And look where that got her.
One day when things had gotten too much, I tried to take her drugs away but she lashed out without thinking.
The scar on my back?
That wasn’t from some playground accident. That was from the day she snapped—high out of her mind—and shattered a bottle on the counter.The jagged glass tore into me before she even realized what she’d done. Leaving a long ugly and jagged looking scar on my body.
Which, even if I wanted to…I couldn’t forget.
I stopped interfering after that.
What the hell else was I supposed to do?
Did I blame her?
Maybe a little or maybe a lot.
But it never would’ve gotten that bad if my father hadn’t been a shitty man in the first place. If he’d also put his family first.
I snapped out of the memory as my phone buzzed. The surgeon called to confirm that the bypass surgery had gone well, but they’ll monitor Beatrix overnight to be safe.
Good. That meant she would be okay.
I stood by the large hospital windows, watching the sun bleed into the horizon, staining the city with gold and blood-red hues. The world outside never stopped moving. Even when yours did.
Hours had passed.
And I’d been lost in my head again.
Sometimes I wondered how I’d managed to build an empire when my mind felt like a constant war zone. Too many thoughts, always so chaotic. It had been far too long since my mind had felt peaceful. Not in a calming sort of way at least.
Because when it came down to it, I knew how to switch it off. I could be surgical when I needed to be. But that just left me feeling empty for hours.
My therapist once told me my wandering thoughts were a defense mechanism. Something about my eidetic memory and unresolved trauma giving my brain a constant feed of distractions. I didn’t care about the science of it. I just knew it worked.
I picked up my phone again.
"Get me the legal team," I said into the receiver. "I want the marriage contract ready by six. One-year term. No extensions unless both parties agree. Full spousal protection clause. Medical and educational expenses handled. A cohabitation clause. Monthly allowance of ten thousand dollars to the wife, with flexibility for more if needed. All her current debts are to be cleared by me. She must accompany me to all public and social events deemed necessary. Five nights a week together are mandatory—the remaining two may not be consecutive. Exceptions apply only for illness or menstruation."
My secretary confirmed everything.
"And make sure there's champagne in the office," I added. "Nothing cheap."
I ended the call, slipping the phone into my pocket as I headed to the changing room down the hall. I kept a wardrobe in nearly every place I frequented. A habit born from necessity. My life didn’t allow for delays.
Tonight, I needed something sharp.
I chose a black suit, tailored to precision, with a deep crimson pocket square. My watch, platinum. My cologne, subtle but intoxicating.
I adjusted my cufflinks and stared at myself in the mirror.
This wasn’t just business.
It never had been.
Even if I told myself otherwise.
Because the truth was—
The moment she spilled coffee on me and ran off like a chaotic storm, she hadn’t just knocked my drink out of my hand.
She’d gotten under my skin.
And I hadn’t been able to forget her since.
Tonight, she would walk into my office not as Dmitri’s girlfriend.
But as my wife.
And I was fucking excited.