My Rival, My Temptation - Chapter 15: Chapter 15
You are reading My Rival, My Temptation, Chapter 15: Chapter 15. Read more chapters of My Rival, My Temptation.
Katherine’s POV
I screamed into the pillow after Nikolai left.
It wasn’t a dignified scream. There was no poetic anguish or graceful despair. It was raw frustration mixed with sexual tension, humiliation, and the growing, undeniable urge to strangle him with my bare hands.
The bastard.
I flopped onto my back, staring at the ceiling. My heart pounded, my skin felt hot, and the worst part? My body still tingled from his touch. His hands had been so warm, so firm, and the way he grabbed my…
I squeezed my eyes shut and let out another frustrated scream.
I hated him. I hated him so much.
I shot up in bed, glaring at the door he’d slammed behind him. “You want a war, Volkov?” I muttered. “Fine. Let’s have a war.”
He thought he could drag me out of a party, throw me over his shoulder like a barbarian, and just walk away? Oh, no. No, no, no. That wasn’t how this worked.
If I couldn’t go to a party…I’d bring the party to me.
The idea hit me so suddenly I almost laughed. It was petty. It was impulsive. It was the exact kind of thing that would make Nikolai lose his mind. Perfect.
I grabbed my phone and went straight to Bianca’s profile. Thankfully, we’d exchanged social media handles earlier when we first met and for what I was about to do, I needed her help.
I found out with delight that she was still and that she’d sent a message just after I’d been bundled from the party like a sack of rice.
Bianca: Hey babe, hope your husband wasn’t too angry about you attending our party. Also…you didn’t tell me you were married to a Greek god. WTF. If I was you, I’d never want to sneak away, ever.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. If Nikolai was a Greek god, then he’d put Hades to shame with his bad attitude.
Katherine: Hey, babe. Thank you for checking in. I’m alive, which means he isn’t too angry. Hypothetically speaking…how quickly do you think you could throw together a pool party?
Hee reply came in two minutes later.
Bianca: Ooh, I love a challenge. When?
Katherine: By 7am.
Bianca: Morning morning?? That’s barely six hours away. Babe. I’m not even awake until noon.
Katherine: Come on. It’ll be iconic. Sunrise pool party. I’ll handle the venue.
Bianca: Hmmm. I could call some people. What’s the catch?
Katherine: No catch. Just…want to make a statement.
Bianca: Say less. I’ll handle invites. You handle drinks and snacks.
I grinned. Step one, complete.
Step two…I needed supplies. Drinks, snacks, pool floaties, maybe even a DJ. The works. Normally, this would be the part where I worried about paying for it, but lucky for me, I had a loophole.
It just so happened that the villa we were staying in wasn’t just any villa–it was Nikolai’s. Of course. Because why rent when you can own? And not only was it his, but it was also a property of Volkov Royale.
Volkov Royale was a subsidiary of Volkov industries–a chain of ultra-luxurious hotels and resorts, scattered across the globe for people who had more money than sense. They were the kind of places where you could order gold-leaf pancakes at three a.m. and have them delivered on a silver platter. They had hotels in New York, Paris, Dubai, Tokyo…basically, if there was a skyline worth seeing, Nikolai’s family had a penthouse suite overlooking it.
And lucky me, I just so happened to be married to the president behind the empire. An empire that, I figured, could handle a little unexpected pool party. Honestly, the fact that Nikolai Volkov, who had the personality of a medieval executioner on a good day and a grim reaper on other days, successfully ran a hospitality business was nothing short of ironic.
Then again, I supposed it made sense.
Volkov Royale wasn’t just about luxury; it was about power. The kind of place where people spent obscene amounts of money not just to enjoy themselves, but to feel like they belonged to some exclusive inner circle. And Nikolai? He knew exactly how to cultivate that feeling.
He didn’t need to charm people or seduce them into opening their wallets. No, he’d perfected the art of making you feel like you should be grateful for the privilege of spending your money. Like by stepping into one of his properties, you were stepping into his world, where everything gleamed a little brighter, tasted a little richer, and cost a hell of a lot more. People weren’t just paying for luxury ; they were paying to prove they deserved to be there.
The best part of all this? Volkov Royale properties offered a little perk called “Owner’s Unlimited Account.” Meaning, as long as you were Nikolai Volkov—or in this case, Mrs. Nikolai Volkov—you could charge anything to the room in any part of the world.
I tiptoed downstairs, peeking into the darkened hallways as I went. Strangely, they were empty. No sign of Nikolai’s men patrolling. I frowned, hesitating. Nikolai didn’t strike me as the type to let his guard down and by “guard,” I meant the terrifying slabs of muscle he employed to stalk the hallways and follow me like I was a flight risk.
Maybe they were outside, waiting for me to try something dramatic like escape. Well, jokes on them. I had something even better in store.
I crept to the concierge desk, where the poor night staff practically froze in shock at the sight of me. One of them blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he managed to stammer, “M-Mrs. Volkov? Was…was the phone not working? We could have come up to you.”
I waved him off with a breezy, “Needed the walk.” Then, without missing a beat, I began placing my order.
Bottles of champagne, trays of hors d’oeuvres, pool floaties shaped like flamingos and pizzas…if they sold it, I ordered it. And I charged everything to the villa. Under Nikolai’s name.
The more I added, the wider their eyes got. By the time I was done, one of them looked slightly faint. The other just stared at me, slack-jawed, like he wasn’t sure whether to question me or start praying.
The concierge behind the computer looked down at the order, raised an eyebrow, then checked the name attached to the villa. “Mr. Volkov approved this?”
I smiled sweetly. “Would I be standing here if he hadn’t?”
The poor guy paled. “Right. Of course. I’ll, uh…get this processed immediately. The order will arrive in the morning.”
Perfect.
I practically skipped back upstairs and flopped onto the bed, already envisioning Nikolai’s reaction when he woke up to a house full of strangers, music blasting, and flamingo floaties bobbing in the pool.
Sleep came easily after that.
I screamed into the pillow after Nikolai left.
It wasn’t a dignified scream. There was no poetic anguish or graceful despair. It was raw frustration mixed with sexual tension, humiliation, and the growing, undeniable urge to strangle him with my bare hands.
The bastard.
I flopped onto my back, staring at the ceiling. My heart pounded, my skin felt hot, and the worst part? My body still tingled from his touch. His hands had been so warm, so firm, and the way he grabbed my…
I squeezed my eyes shut and let out another frustrated scream.
I hated him. I hated him so much.
I shot up in bed, glaring at the door he’d slammed behind him. “You want a war, Volkov?” I muttered. “Fine. Let’s have a war.”
He thought he could drag me out of a party, throw me over his shoulder like a barbarian, and just walk away? Oh, no. No, no, no. That wasn’t how this worked.
If I couldn’t go to a party…I’d bring the party to me.
The idea hit me so suddenly I almost laughed. It was petty. It was impulsive. It was the exact kind of thing that would make Nikolai lose his mind. Perfect.
I grabbed my phone and went straight to Bianca’s profile. Thankfully, we’d exchanged social media handles earlier when we first met and for what I was about to do, I needed her help.
I found out with delight that she was still and that she’d sent a message just after I’d been bundled from the party like a sack of rice.
Bianca: Hey babe, hope your husband wasn’t too angry about you attending our party. Also…you didn’t tell me you were married to a Greek god. WTF. If I was you, I’d never want to sneak away, ever.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. If Nikolai was a Greek god, then he’d put Hades to shame with his bad attitude.
Katherine: Hey, babe. Thank you for checking in. I’m alive, which means he isn’t too angry. Hypothetically speaking…how quickly do you think you could throw together a pool party?
Hee reply came in two minutes later.
Bianca: Ooh, I love a challenge. When?
Katherine: By 7am.
Bianca: Morning morning?? That’s barely six hours away. Babe. I’m not even awake until noon.
Katherine: Come on. It’ll be iconic. Sunrise pool party. I’ll handle the venue.
Bianca: Hmmm. I could call some people. What’s the catch?
Katherine: No catch. Just…want to make a statement.
Bianca: Say less. I’ll handle invites. You handle drinks and snacks.
I grinned. Step one, complete.
Step two…I needed supplies. Drinks, snacks, pool floaties, maybe even a DJ. The works. Normally, this would be the part where I worried about paying for it, but lucky for me, I had a loophole.
It just so happened that the villa we were staying in wasn’t just any villa–it was Nikolai’s. Of course. Because why rent when you can own? And not only was it his, but it was also a property of Volkov Royale.
Volkov Royale was a subsidiary of Volkov industries–a chain of ultra-luxurious hotels and resorts, scattered across the globe for people who had more money than sense. They were the kind of places where you could order gold-leaf pancakes at three a.m. and have them delivered on a silver platter. They had hotels in New York, Paris, Dubai, Tokyo…basically, if there was a skyline worth seeing, Nikolai’s family had a penthouse suite overlooking it.
And lucky me, I just so happened to be married to the president behind the empire. An empire that, I figured, could handle a little unexpected pool party. Honestly, the fact that Nikolai Volkov, who had the personality of a medieval executioner on a good day and a grim reaper on other days, successfully ran a hospitality business was nothing short of ironic.
Then again, I supposed it made sense.
Volkov Royale wasn’t just about luxury; it was about power. The kind of place where people spent obscene amounts of money not just to enjoy themselves, but to feel like they belonged to some exclusive inner circle. And Nikolai? He knew exactly how to cultivate that feeling.
He didn’t need to charm people or seduce them into opening their wallets. No, he’d perfected the art of making you feel like you should be grateful for the privilege of spending your money. Like by stepping into one of his properties, you were stepping into his world, where everything gleamed a little brighter, tasted a little richer, and cost a hell of a lot more. People weren’t just paying for luxury ; they were paying to prove they deserved to be there.
The best part of all this? Volkov Royale properties offered a little perk called “Owner’s Unlimited Account.” Meaning, as long as you were Nikolai Volkov—or in this case, Mrs. Nikolai Volkov—you could charge anything to the room in any part of the world.
I tiptoed downstairs, peeking into the darkened hallways as I went. Strangely, they were empty. No sign of Nikolai’s men patrolling. I frowned, hesitating. Nikolai didn’t strike me as the type to let his guard down and by “guard,” I meant the terrifying slabs of muscle he employed to stalk the hallways and follow me like I was a flight risk.
Maybe they were outside, waiting for me to try something dramatic like escape. Well, jokes on them. I had something even better in store.
I crept to the concierge desk, where the poor night staff practically froze in shock at the sight of me. One of them blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish before he managed to stammer, “M-Mrs. Volkov? Was…was the phone not working? We could have come up to you.”
I waved him off with a breezy, “Needed the walk.” Then, without missing a beat, I began placing my order.
Bottles of champagne, trays of hors d’oeuvres, pool floaties shaped like flamingos and pizzas…if they sold it, I ordered it. And I charged everything to the villa. Under Nikolai’s name.
The more I added, the wider their eyes got. By the time I was done, one of them looked slightly faint. The other just stared at me, slack-jawed, like he wasn’t sure whether to question me or start praying.
The concierge behind the computer looked down at the order, raised an eyebrow, then checked the name attached to the villa. “Mr. Volkov approved this?”
I smiled sweetly. “Would I be standing here if he hadn’t?”
The poor guy paled. “Right. Of course. I’ll, uh…get this processed immediately. The order will arrive in the morning.”
Perfect.
I practically skipped back upstairs and flopped onto the bed, already envisioning Nikolai’s reaction when he woke up to a house full of strangers, music blasting, and flamingo floaties bobbing in the pool.
Sleep came easily after that.
End of My Rival, My Temptation Chapter 15. Continue reading Chapter 16 or return to My Rival, My Temptation book page.