My Rival, My Temptation - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Katherine’s POV
“Boss will not be happy about this,” Viktor said, his voice as stiff as the starched collar of his dress shirt.
I sighed dramatically from the backseat, where I sat comfortably in the car as we drove back to the villa. “Boss is not here,” I pointed out, stretching my legs as if his disapproval was the least of my concerns–which, to be fair, it was. “And it’s not like I’m sneaking out. I’ll have you and Leonid acting as my personal shadows all night, so what exactly is the problem?”
Neither of them responded, which was annoying. I hated arguing with people who refused to argue back. It took all the fun out of it.
I crossed my arms and tilted my head, pushing the issue. “Or is this whole Lady of the House thing just for show?”
That got a reaction. Viktor’s jaw clenched ever so slightly, and I caught Leonid shooting him a sideways glance, like he was waiting to see how his partner would respond.
Silence.
Then Viktor let out a slow breath through his nose, staring straight ahead.
Checkmate.
I smiled to myself.
Sure, it was petty, but if they were going to follow me around like two overbearing nannies, I at least deserved to win some small victories.
As the drive continued, I shifted my focus to forming a plan. Because obviously, there was no way I was letting Viktor and Leonid chaperone me all night. I’d find a way to ditch them—without getting them fired, of course. I wasn’t completely heartless, plus all beef aside, I preferred them over whoever Nikolai would replace them with if I got them into serious trouble.
By the time we reached the villa, I was exhausted.
Planning an escape was hard work.
I stretched my arms over my head, yawning. “Wake me if the house catches fire,” I told them breezily before disappearing into my bedroom.
Collapsing onto the bed, I buried my face in the pillow, half-hoping that when I woke up, Nikolai would still be out doing whatever the hell he’d been doing for the past three days.
Because if he was back, things would get a lot more complicated.
Please still be gone. Please still be gone.
With that hopeful thought, I drifted off to sleep.
⸻
Two hours later, I woke up feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and most importantly—free.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and checked the time before cautiously peeking into the hallway.
No sign of Nikolai.
I crept down the stairs, glancing toward his usual spaces—the living room, the dining area, the terrace.
Still no sign of him.
I checked my phone again. No missed calls. No texts from my dear husband.
Perfect.
If Nikolai hadn’t come back by now, he probably wouldn’t be back for hours. Maybe even the entire night.
That was divine intervention.
God wanted me to go to this party.
And who was I to argue with divine intervention?
I practically skipped back to my room, my excitement growing as I pulled open my closet.
If I was going out to a party, then looking hot was the only option.
I picked the sluttiest dress I had brought—black, backless, barely-there, and way too short to be appropriate for a married woman whose husband’s security team would be escorting her with plans to babysit.
Perfect.
I pulled my hair into a messy bun, swiped on some red lipstick, and stepped back to admire my reflection.
Leah was going to love this.
I snapped a few pictures and sent them to her with a caption: Honeymoon attire, Appropriate or nah?
She responded immediately.
Leah: You look hot. Like ‘your husband might kill a man’ hot. 10/10, no notes.
Me: Nikolai’s not even here and he doesn’t care, so no husband, no problem.
Leah: Girl. Famous last words.
I grinned, tossing my phone into my bag before heading out.
Viktor and Leonid were already waiting downstairs.
“You ready?” Viktor asked flatly.
“Absolutely,” I said sweetly. “But first—just a quick reminder. Don’t bother Nikolai with anything unless it’s an actual emergency.”
Viktor exhaled through his nose. ‘You are the emergency.”
I gasped. “I’m offended. Truly.”
Leonid muttered something in Russian under his breath, and I swore I heard the word trouble.
I ignored it, cracking a smile.
With my guards in tow, we made my way back to the restaurant, where Bianca was already waiting for me.
She looked me up and down and let out a low whistle. “Damn, cara mia. You’re going to cause problems tonight.”
“Me?” I feigned innocence. “Never.”
Her friend, whose name I quickly learned was Sofia–tall, gorgeous, and clearly a troublemaker–smirked. “You ready?”
“For the party? Absolutely.”
“For ditching your watchdogs?” She whispered and I nodded with a grin.
Even more so.
We kept things casual at first, chatting and drinking while Viktor and Leonid loomed in the background like well-dressed prison guards.
Then, when the moment was right, Bianca and Sofia struck.
Sofia sauntered up to Viktor, leaning in close and giggling as she spoke rapid Italian. He looked at her like she was a particularly annoying insect buzzing in his ear. He glanced at Leonid, who looked equally unimpressed, but walked over to meet them, and at that moment, they both took their eyes off me.
That was my cue.
Bianca grabbed my hand. “Bathroom?”
“Bathroom,” I agreed solemnly.
We walked toward the restaurant’s back hallway, keeping our pace slow, casual. But the moment we rounded the corner and were out of sight—
We ran.
Bolting through the back exit, we burst into the alley where a scooter was already waiting.
Bianca tossed me a helmet. “Hop on.”
I did.
And as we sped off, laughter bubbling from my lips, wind whipping through my hair, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
For the first time since my marriage to Nikolai, I was free.
At least, for now.
The party was exactly what I needed.
Music pulsed through the air, waves crashed against the shore, and the scent of salt water mixed with the heat of the summer night. Laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses filled the villa.
Bianca wasted no time pulling me onto the dance floor, where she introduced me to half a dozen people, one of whom was a ridiculously attractive guy named Matteo.
Tall, tanned, dark hair, devastating smile.
Exactly my type.
We flirted. We danced. He bought me a drink.
I hadn’t had any fun in weeks. Months, actually.
And, worse, I hadn’t had sex since my dramatic breakup with my cheating ex-boyfriend. Maybe if I played my cards right tonight, I could finally check that off the list.
Just as I was led onto the dance floor, a twinge of guilt crept in. I wasn’t heartless—I didn’t actually want Viktor and Leonid to get in trouble for losing me. So, while the music pounded around me, I discreetly pulled out my phone and sent Viktor my location, a silent olive branch for ditching them.
Then I let myself get lost in the moment.
Matteo leaned in, his breath warm against my ear as he murmured something in Italian. The words were smooth, like honey dripping from his lips. I didn’t pull away.
Not at first.
But then he got a little too handsy.
And when his palm smacked my ass without asking if he could, I jerked back, startled.
“What the hell…”
I took a step back.
And hit a wall.
Except it wasn’t a wall.
It was a chest.
A very solid, very sturdy chest.
An arm wrapped around my waist, firm, possessive.
I went rigid.
Not just because of the touch.
But because I knew that cologne.
I hated that I knew it.
Hated that it had already imprinted itself in my brain despite only being around him for a couple of days.
But worse—so much worse—was the horrifying realization that he was actually here.
In the flesh.
I turned around.
And sure enough, Nikolai Volkov stood before me, looking murderously unimpressed.