Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Alina
My marriage began as a cage. Now, it may be my only sanctuary.
To survive, I must rely on the very monster I once feared. With every tender touch, every protective command, the line between love and hate dissolves further.
He thinks he’s chained me to him. He doesn’t realize... I may be the one who refuses to let go.
Alexei
She is finally mine. My wife. My obsession.
But a shadow looms over us, a vicious twist of fate that threatens to tear her away. I would burn down the world for her, but this is a battle I cannot win with violence.
Her brothers think our vows are her prison. They are a promise. One I will defy heaven and hell to keep
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Alina
The pilot’s announcement that our plane is starting its descent into Geneva cuts through the heavy fog of sleep engulfing me. I try to open my eyes, but they feel swollen and gritty, my lids all but glued shut. I must’ve fallen asleep again while crying in Alexei’s embrace. I give up and keep my eyes closed. My head is throbbing anew, and my nausea is returning. I don’t know if the latter is from my early pregnancy or the tumor eating my brain, and I don’t particularly care. It’s also possible my stomach is revolting from the knowledge of what awaits me when we land.
Awake brain surgery.
Chemo.
Radiation.
Loss of our baby.
For some reason, the last one is the hardest to come to terms with. If I proceed with the surgery and the treatment, the tiny embryo inside me—which I’m convinced is a girl—won’t survive. But if I don’t, I won’t survive, and Alexei won’t allow that.
I want to cry all over again.
I’m also pathetically, embarrassingly grateful that he seems determined to see this through with me. I don’t know how long his resolve will last once he sees me truly sick, but a part of me wants to believe him, to trust him. Not that I have a choice. He refuses to let me go home to my brothers… and some perverse part of me is grateful for that too.
A warm, heavy hand lands on my bare arm and strokes it softly. I swallow the burning knot in my throat and force open my eyes to meet my new husband’s intense, dark gaze.
Alexei’s face is still drawn tight, still tired. I wonder if he’s gotten any sleep since we left the yacht. Somehow, I doubt it.
The urge to touch him, to soothe him, wells up again. It’s insidious, the way the cruel, sardonic curve of his mouth now seems to hold a promise of tenderness, how his hard, mercilessly sculpted features are becoming so achingly familiar to me. Despite everything, my skin tingles at his touch, my heartbeat picking up pace at his proximity, and I know that if he were to lean down and press his lips to mine, the scorching heat of our connection would burn away all reason, all reality.
But he won’t do that. Because we’re landing soon and going straight to the clinic, where the doctors will cut open my skull and excise as much of the tumor as they can.
The thought is like a wet rag slapped against my face.
I swallow against another surge of nausea and sit up. “Where are my clothes?”
I was in a dress before embarking on our submarine journey that somehow ended with us on this private jet, but right now, I’m wearing only his black T-shirt that’s hugely oversized on me.
“I undressed you so you’d be more comfortable sleeping,” Alexei says, standing up. He walks over to a small door I didn’t notice before and opens it, revealing a tiny closet that holds only the dress and the underwear I was wearing. His expression is apologetic as he turns to me. “I didn’t think to grab any clean clothes for either of us. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” I’m guessing he had his hands full, figuring out how to get us here from the other side of the planet and all—though I do wish I had my makeup at the very least. I can feel how puffy my eyes are, and I’m sure I look terrible.
And the worst hasn’t even started.
Ugh. I wish I could turn off that voice in my head, the one that sounds suspiciously like my mom’s. Who cares what I look like when I’m fucking dying? I need to focus on what truly matters, not something as shallow as whether I’ll lose my hair all at once or in patches.
Alexei returns to the bed, carrying my underwear and the dress. Wordlessly, he hands them to me, and I flush, realizing he expects me to change right here, in front of him. It’s not an illogical expectation, given that he’s my husband whose seed is still crusted on my thighs. But my face burns regardless as I snatch the clothes from him and jump off the bed, ignoring the wave of nausea accompanying the sudden motion.
“I’ll be right back,” I mutter as I beeline for the bathroom.
I need a shower at the very least.
“You don’t have much time,” Alexei calls after me. “We’re landing in seventeen minutes.”
“Got it!” Swiftly, I strip off his shirt and hop in the small shower stall. There’s no time to wash and blow-dry my hair, so I put it up in a lopsided ballerina bun and focus on rinsing off all traces of our sexfest.
When I’m done, I dry myself, dress in the clothes I was wearing, and pull my hair into a more artful messy bun. As expected, my face is a disaster, all pale, blotchy skin and puffy eyes, but I doubt the doctors will care. And if Alexei doesn’t like what he sees… oh, well. The sooner he realizes he’s made a mistake sticking by me, the better.