My Rival, My Temptation - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Katherine’s POV
I stretched lazily, the warmth of the bed cocooning me in comfort. My body felt heavy, limbs sinking into the soft mattress, and for a moment, I allowed myself to drift in that perfect in-between state; not quite awake, not quite asleep. But something felt…off.
Wait.
This wasn’t my bed. This wasn’t my room.
My eyes flew open. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, the soft glow of morning light filtering through expensive curtains that were most definitely not in my bedroom.
Where the hell was I?
Then I turned my head.
And saw him.
Nikolai.
Lying beside me.
Wide awake.
And…shirtless.
My stomach dropped.
“Good morning, koshechka,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, deep and rough, like he hadn’t been awake for long.
I almost choked on my own breath. “What the—”
“I was just debating how to slide out of bed without waking you,” he said conversationally, as if this was a completely normal morning. “But your grip was very tight. Figured you must’ve needed the cuddles.”
Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my face.
My brain short-circuited.
Cuddles? Cuddles?
I followed his gaze down, becoming horrifyingly aware of the fact that our legs were tangled under the sheets, his bare skin pressing against mine, warmth radiating from him like a furnace.
Nope. Absolutely not.
With a strangled sound of horror, I launched myself away from him—too fast, too forceful, and before I could stop myself, I tumbled over the edge, landing hard on the floor with a thud.
Pain exploded in my skull and I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut as the events of yesterday came rushing back all at once. The wedding. The reception. Dancing with him. Alexei’s cryptic words about there being more than one choice. Coming back to the hotel, exhausted but determined to stay awake until Nikolai fell asleep. I’d seen him out on the balcony, phone in hand, voice low and sharp as he handled business. And apparently, at some point, I’d passed out.
And now I was on the floor, while my husband—God, even thinking the word made me want to scream—stood over me, peering down with infuriating amusement.
“Are you still alive?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because I imagine it would be difficult to explain to my father that my wife of less than twenty-four hours suffered a concussion. That wouldn’t look great on my record.”
I cracked open an eye and scowled up at him. “Fuck you.”
His smirk widened. “Eventually.”
I gagged. Literally gagged.
I scrambled to my feet. “I hate you.”
“Good.” He stretched, utterly unbothered. “Then this marriage is off to a fantastic start.”
I wanted to throw something at his head. Preferably something heavy.
Instead, I turned on my heel, determined to get as far away from him as possible.
He laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “As much as I’d love to continue this morning banter, we have a flight to catch. I suggest you get ready.” He strolled toward the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt that he slid over his quite impressive back—not that I was remotely interested or anything—pausing only to throw one last remark over his shoulder. “I’ll be downstairs for breakfast. I’ll have them send something up for you. That should give you enough time to get ready.”
I didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him.
I just stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
——————
Two hours later, we were at the airport.
I should’ve expected a private jet. I did expect a private jet.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d practically grown up around the Volkovs, thanks to my father. But somehow, it still felt surreal stepping onto a private jet with only Nikolai and four bodyguards.
No crowded terminals. No security lines. Just pure, obscene wealth.
And yet, as I followed Nikolai up the steps of the aircraft, I still found myself pausing at the entrance, glancing around at the lavish interior.
“Wow,” I muttered. “Must be nice never having to fight for overhead bin space.”
Nikolai smirked as he stepped past me. “One of the few perks of marrying me, milaya.”
I made a face. “That, and the unbearable personality.”
He chuckled but didn’t respond. Instead, he stretched out in one of the seats like he owned the place—which, I supposed, he did.
I tried to ignore the way his black dress shirt stretched across his chest as he rolled up his sleeves—broad shoulders, strong forearms, effortless arrogance. Unfortunately, my eyes had a mind of their own. I snapped them away, scolding myself.
Nope. Absolutely not. I was not noticing that.
I sat down across from Nikolai, ignoring the way his presence filled the space, my eyes following the bodyguards who had boarded behind us, and chose to settle in at the far end of the cabin, silent and watchful.
Just as I was getting comfortable, Nikolai leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands and said, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
I frowned. “And why should I care?”
His lips twitched. “Because it was your fault, koshechka.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You toss and turn in your sleep. And, apparently, you cling.”
My face went up in flames.
“I do not cling,” I snapped.
“Mm.” He looked far too amused. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Covey.” Then, as if that conversation was over, he stood and strolled toward the private cabin at the back. “I’m going to get some rest. Enjoy the flight, solnishko.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That better not mean something offensive.”
But he was already disappearing behind the curtain, leaving me alone in the main cabin.
I stared after him, seething.
Ugh, I hated him.
And I hated that I would have to deal with this for an entire year.
But I guessed I had to even survive this honeymoon week first.
Baby steps, Kat. Baby steps.
——————
The villa was breathtaking.
I stood at the edge of the balcony, looking out at the water stretching endlessly before me. The Amalfi Coast was a dream—cliffs dotted with pastel-colored buildings, the scent of salt and lemon trees heavy in the air. Below, a private beach and infinity pool sparkled in the setting sun, the waves lapping gently at the shore.
This was the kind of place I’d always imagined visiting with someone I loved. Someone I chose to be with.
Not the man I had been forced to marry.
Still, I wasn’t about to let him ruin this for me. I could endure a week. And then I’d come back one day—alone or with someone who actually mattered.
“Nice, isn’t it?”
I turned to find Nikolai watching me, hands in his pockets, his brows raised.
“It’ll do,” I said coolly.
He smirked. “I’m glad it meets your high standards, printsessa.”
I ignored him and followed the staff inside, where they led us through the villa.
Thankfully, this time, we had separate bedrooms. Thank God.
But the moment I saw the adjoining door between them, my relief dimmed.
“This leads to my room,” Nikolai said lazily, gesturing toward it. “So behave.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Because I’m the problem here.”
His smirk didn’t fade. “I have business to attend to. Enjoy your free time.”
Fine by me.
But before I could turn away, he added, “One more thing.”
I looked at him expectantly.
His smirk disappeared, his expression hardening as he closed the distance between us. His voice dropped, turning cold. “If you leave this villa, you take two guards with you. No exceptions.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what if I don’t?”
The shift was immediate. Gone was the teasing Nikolai, the infuriating smirks and lazy arrogance. In his place stood the real Nikolai Volkov—the one that had given him a reputation. His gaze darkened, his voice soft but razor-sharp.
“Don’t test me, Ekaterina,” he said. “I won’t say it again.”
No smirk, no lazy amusement. Just cold steel. A man who wasn’t used to being questioned. A man who meant what he said.
A chill crawled down my spine.
For a brief moment, I saw him for what he truly was—the cold, ruthless man my father had forced me to marry. The one who didn’t make empty threats. The one that had shown me exactly why hating him was the only option.
I scoffed, masking my unease with indifference. “Whatever you say, Nik.”
He studied me for a long second, then turned and walked away.
As soon as he was gone, I exhaled sharply, crossing my arms over my chest.
That was the real him.
Not the teasing, smirking version—the one who played games, who flirted just to rile me up. No, this was the real Nikolai Volkov. The one I could never let myself forget.
I was stuck here with him for a week.
A long week, indeed.