<b>Chapter </b><b>9 </b>
Elena’s POV:
Maybe <b>I </b><b>had </b>said too much. I shouldn’t have said anything about him not being like his brother, But he truly wasn’t.
The biggest difference between the two <b>of </b>them was that Niki actually listened. Not just heard–but listened. He understood. And instead <b>of </b>telling me I was wrong or that I was overthinking things, he exined his thoughts in a way that didn’t make me feel like I was being lectured or talked down to. There was no condescension in his tone, no air of superiority. Just calm logic. Empathy.
Or maybe… maybe my standards had just gotten too low,
The silence stretchedfortably as we drove. The tension that had lingered at first slowly unraveled as the city blurred past us. By the time the car slowed down in front of a tall ss paneled building, the <b>sky </b>waspletely dark, and my mind was a hazy mix of exhaustion and anticipation. I looked up at the sleek tower. “We’re g
going to
to sign the contract in your office?”
<b>Niki </b>nced at me, one brow hooking up. This is also where I <b>live</b>.”
“Oh.”
He lived here!
Right, I remembered that he didn’t live in the family mansion. He lived separate from his father and brother, which didn’t surprise me. <b>This </b>ce did th him more. Clean. Quiet, Isted. The perfect ce for a man who probably worked more than he breathed.
He drove into the underground parking garage and pulled into <b>a </b>reserved spot. I reached for the door handle, but he stopped me with a quiet, “Let
He stepped out, I watched as he buttoned <b>his </b>coat with practiced ease, and came around to open my door
I blinked at him, stunned for a moment, before epting the offered hand and stepping out
“Thank you” I mumbled, brushing a strand of <b>hair </b>behind my ear. “You don’t need to do <b>that</b>, though”
He looked genuinely confused. “Do what?”
“Open the door for me.” I sighed.
A small amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Unfortunately, I can’t help it. You’re going to be my wife–even if only for a year. You deserve at least this much
He offered his arm, and after <b>a </b>brief hesitation, I slipped my hand into the chook of his elbow. His touch was warm. Firm. Steady. A strange shiver ran through me.
So this <b>is </b>what you do? For all your girlfriends<b>?</b><b>” </b>I <b>asked</b><b>, </b>wincing a line as soon as the words left my mouth. Why was I being so nosy!
He chuckled. “I said wife, not girlfriend. And no. It’s been <b>years </b>since I had one of those”
Silence returned, but it was more curious than awkward now. I found myself ncing sideways at him, wondering what kind of man didn’t date<b>! </b>A man like him surely had options. So why none?
The elevator doors opened with <b>a </b>soft <b>ding</b>, and we stepped in. The ride to the twenty–seventh floor was smooth <b>and </b>awill. When the doors opened again, it revealed his <b>office</b>. High ceilings. Floor–<b>to</b>–ceiling windows. And a low hum of soft music <b>ying </b>in the background. I hadn’t taken the interior design in before, when I hade here for the first time. Now that I did though, it was very catchy. Not ck <b>and </b>minimalist, instead it had an antique vibe which was rare to find nowadays.
A knock came on the door soon after we entered, and his secretary entered. I was surprised that he was still working considering the time.
His name Lag read “Felix.” He had sharp eyes and no–nonsense energy that I hadn’t noticed in the morning, when he had guided me into Niki’s
“Mr. Vetrov,” he said, cing two <b>sses </b>of <b>wine </b><b>on </b>the low table beside the <b>couch</b>. “The documents, <b>as </b>requested”
Thank you, Felix,” I said, offering a polite <b>smile</b>.
He seemed surprised, but gave a small, awkward smile in return before leaving us alone.
“<b>You </b>can take your time,” he said, leaning back into the couch with one arm draped <b>casually </b>across the top. “Go through each use. Let me know <b>if </b>
<b>1/3 </b>
8:34 PM
anything confuses you, or if there’s anything you’d like to change.”
I gave a stiff nod and took a slow sip of the wine before finally opening the folder in front of me.
The first page was straightforward, Names, Dates. Duration. One year. No extensions unless both parties agreed. A clean and respectful exit strategy. Nothing unexpected so far.
I flipped to the next page.
There was a use about full spousal protection–medical, educational<b>, </b><b>and </b>housing expenses covered. He really had thought of everything. It was unsettling how well–prepared he was and once again that feeling I had before resurfaces.
Because wasn’t this too much of a loss for him? Maybe it would be understandable if he <b>was </b>interested in me romantically. But this seemed odd. wasn’t stupid, it was clear <b>to </b>me that if he truly wanted to embarrass his brother it would be a piece of cake for him even without me. Then the only benefit for him in this would be…the sex?
I kept reading. Legal jargon blurred my vision for a moment, and 1 had to blink several times to refocus. Then I paused. My eyes scanned the paragraph again, slower this time.
“What does intimacy use, minimum five sessions per week, with flexibility based on mutual desire‘ mean?” I asked, my voice tighter than I intended.
Niki didn’t even blink. “Exactly what it says.”
I nced up from the folder. “You mean sex?”
He smirked. “Yes, malishka. Sex?
Yeah obviously. <b>What </b>a stupid question. But the sex part <b>wasn’t </b>surprising.
<b>What </b>actually caught me off guard was the frequency.
“Five times <b>a </b>week!” I echoed, incredulous
<b>He </b>nodded, still far too amused. “Minimum. But if you’re enthusiastic, <b>I’m </b>happy to exceed expectations”
I gave him a <b>look </b><b>that </b>could’ve burned through concrete bur be just looked at me with a hooked brow.
So I <b>took </b>a deep breath and forced myself to continue reading I was here for my mother. This was a transaction. It didn’t matter that my cheeks were burning or that his eyes kept flicking down to my lips every time I got funtered.
I flipped to the next use and immediately stiffened.
“Cohabitation?” I asked, scanning the bullet points. “It’s required?”
“<b>Yes</b>,” Niki said evenly, his tone finally sobering a bit. “It would be <b>strange </b>if iny wife lived in a separate apartment
“I can’t move in with you,” said, shutting the folderpletely this time. “Not right now.
“Why not?”
“My mom,” I said firmly. “She’s just had surgery. She’s still recovering I need to be there.”
He tilted his head slightly, considering that
“We could move her in with us<b>,</b>” he offered casually<b>. </b>
I choked on my wine. “What?”
He shrugged. “We have space.”
“She would never agree to that,” <b>I </b>said quickly, almost panicked at the thought
Niki arched <b>a </b>brow. “You didn’t ask.”
“She wouldn’t even let me drop out of my part–time job without a <b>three</b>–hour lecture on being responsible and young If–<b>no</b>, WHEN she finds our I got married for money, she’ll probably want to disown me on principle and make me work it off at the nearest diner I groaned, “It’s <b>going </b>to be hard just making her understand this…there’s no way she’ll agree to living together.”
Not to mention she wouldn’t want to leave our house filled with memories of dad.
“I see.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, it will still look add if we’re married and living apart.”
“I coulde stay with you on some nights.” I offered reluctantly, “Just until she stabilizes.”
He raised a brow. “Only some!”
I narrowed my <b>eyes</b>. “You want me to abandon my recovering mother to fulfill a contract use?”
He sighed dramatically and leaned back again. “Fine. Part–time cohabitation. For now”
I leaned into the couch, exhaling slowly.
<b>You </b>could <b>stay </b>at my house,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
He blinked at me, visibly caught off guard.
<b>I </b>couldn’t help it–Iughed. Shaking my head, I waved <b>a </b><b>hand</b>. “Yeah, no, Never mind. You wouldn’t <bst </b>a <b>day</b>. No elevator. No valet. No maid service. You’d have to do things like wash your own dishes”
He didn’t bristle like I expected. Instead, a faint spark lit in his eyes. “I know how <b>to </b>wash dishes.”
I raised a brow. “Really.”
I do,” he said simply. “I may not have grown up in that house of yours, but I’m not useless.”
“You’re <b>also </b>a billionaire, with a constant supply of people to <b>work </b>for you.”
“I became a billionaire because I know how to take care of what’s mine,” he replied. “Doesn’t mean 1 can’t handle my own <b>mess</b><b>. </b>I just usually have more efficient uses of my time.”
I stared at <b>him</b>, lips twitching “So if I handed you a mop <b>and </b>asked you to scrub the kitchen floor..”
He paused then, <b>probably </b>caught off guard then he let out a huff ofughter.
Td <b>do </b>it,” he said. “Probably not too well. But I’d learn how to do it
That shut me op
Because I hadn’t expected that answer
The one time I had asked Dmitri to cut fruits for me he <b>had </b>said. “I don’t know how. <b>Just </b>ask the maid to do it
I couldn’t help the wry tilt of my lips as I recalled that memory
What a joke.
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