<b>Chapter </b><b>32 </b>
<b>Elena’s </b>POV:
My thumb hovered <b>over </b>the <b>screen </b>of my phone<b>, </b>my eyes wide<b>, </b>scrolling through what looked like a digital wildfire.
“What the hell,” I muttered, and my voice didn’t sound like mine.
Niki turned from the counter again, spat in hand, raising a brow <b>at </b>me.
Told you to be prepared,” he said nonchntly, flipping thest golden waffle onto the pristine white te.
I blinked at the <b>screen </b>again.
<b>“</b>STOLEN BRIDE?<b>” </b>The title shed at me in bold, tabloid–style font above a photograph that was unmistakably us. Him, in his tailored suit, carrying me bridal–style through the lobby, my face half–hidden in his chest like a proper damsel. It was cinematic. Too cinematic. There were zoomed in pictures<b>, </b><b>videos </b>with blurred thumbnails, peoplementing things like “omg goals” and “seems toxic but hot.” I was literally trending.
I held the phone up to him.
<b>“</b>You knew this would happen and
you still carried me?!”
Niki barely blinked, setting the te down with ease<b>, </b>“Is it wrong though?”
My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
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“I don’t <b>care </b>if it’s wrong or right, Niki. I’m going to university today! I thought I would have to deal with just a couple rumors…not a full–blown article headlined STOLEN BRIDE?!<b>” </b>
He snorted like I was being unreasonable, like I hadn’t just had my life thrown onto <b>a </b>silver tter for social media vultures to <b>feast </b>on.
<b>“</b><b>You </b>were hoping for too much then, Malishka. You married a billionaire. Did you think people would just… ignore that?”
<b>He crossed </b>the distance between us before <b>I </b>could <b>even </b>get out another word and caged me against the counter. His hands braced on either side of my hips. <b>I </b>tried to stay mad, but it <b>was </b>difficult when his <b>scent </b>was a mix of coffee, vani, and his deodorant. Which <b>gave </b>me shbacks ofst night. Before everything with Dmitri happened.
<b>He </b>picked up a <b>piece </b><b>of </b><b>waffle </b>from my te which I had forgotten about, <b>dragging </b>it through syrup before holding it up
him.
to my lips. I stared at
“<b>Seriously</b>?<b>” </b>
“Eat<b>. </b><b>You’re </b>going <b>to </b>need <b>the </b><b>sugar</b>.”
I hesitated, then took the bite, mostly <b>because </b>I was hungry but also because his <b>eyes </b><b>were </b>doing that thing where they made it hard to argue.
<b>Damn </b>him.
<b>“</b>Is this going to keep happening?” <b>I </b><b>asked</b>, my <b>voice </b>muffled through the bite<b>. </b>“Like, should I be worried about <b>stalkers </b><b>now</b><b>?</b><b>” </b>
He smirked, brushing his thumb along <b>the </b>corner <b>of </b>my mouth <b>to </b>wipe a <b>dot </b><b>of </b>syrup. His touch <b>was </b>too <b>gentle</b>. <b>“</b>You don’t need to worry about that. <b>I’ll </b>take <b>care </b>of any other <b>stalkers</b><b>.</b><b>” </b>
I raised a brow<b>, </b>chewing <b>slowly</b>. <b>“</b>Other <b>stalkers</b><b>? </b><b>So </b>you’re going to <b>keep </b>stalking me<b>?</b><b>” </b>
He didn’t even flinch.
“I’m your husband. I have the right to <b>stalk </b>you<b>.</b><b>” </b>
My heart did that annoying fluttery thing <b>again </b>and <b>I </b>tried <b>to </b><b>swat </b>it <b>down</b><b>. </b>“Temporary husband<b>,</b><b>” </b>I muttered<b>, </b>crossing my arms.
“But still your husband<b>, </b>he <b>teased</b><b>, </b>leaning <b>in </b>just <b>enough </b>that I had to tilt my <b>head </b><b>back</b>.
Ipointed <b>at </b>his chest. “Why the hell <b>are </b>your shirtless <b>in </b>the kitchen<b>?</b><b>” </b>
He looked down at himself as if he’d forgotten<b>. </b><b>“</b><b>I’m </b>not naked. I’m wearing sweats. <b>And </b>an apron<b>.</b>”
<b>“</b><b>Naked </b>on <b>top</b><b>. </b>
He grinned. “Don’t I look hot<b>? </b>I thought <b>you’d </b>jump me the moment you <b>saw </b><b>me </b>like this<b>,” </b>
I rolled my <b>eyes</b>. “The only thing <b>I’m </b>jumping are these waffles. You really are an <b>amazing </b>cook <b>though</b>. Damn<b>.</b><b>” </b>
? ? ? ? ?? ??
He preened like a cat <b>being </bplimented for shredding furniture. “Don’t I deserve <b>a </b>reward then?<b>” </b>
He gave me that look. That look. The one that said he <b>wasn’t </b>thinking about hugs or thank–yous.
I <b>felt </b>my <b>face </b>heat up and shook my head. “I’mte for ss. I already took a whole week off.”
A look of disappointment <b>crossed </b>his face. I almost burst intoughter.
But something about the way his smile faltered at the edges made my chest tighten. A small pang of guilt twisted inside me.
“<b>Hey</b>,” <b>I </b>said, bumping my shoulder into his arm. <b>“</b><b>I’ll </b>reward youter. Promise<b>.</b><b>” </b>
His <b>face </b>brightened like I’d <b>just </b>handed him a million–dor <b>deal</b>.
We cleared the tes together. I washed while he dried, our movements slipping into a quiet rhythm. Domesticity with Niki felt bizarrely natural<b>. </b>
Afterward, we headed upstairs. I grabbed a towel and turned on the <b>shower</b><b>, </b>thinking he’d go back downstairs. Instead, he walked right in behind <ol><li>me<b>. </b></li></ol>
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“<b>Excuse </b>you,” <b>I </b>said,
narrowing.
Water conservation,” he replied smoothly. “Global warming, Malishka. Do your part.
Iughed despite myself and let him stay.
I decided to be quick about the shower <b>because </b>if I stayed too long then his wandering hands would definitely make me give in to him. But then I’d bete to ss and it <b>was </b>already eight.
I stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around <b>myself </b>realizing a problem. Before <b>I </b><b>even </b>voiced concerns he moved past me opened the walk in closet, ushering me inside.
in <b>a </b>
robe and
My brows rose <b>as </b>I took in the whole <b>closet</b><b>. </b><b>It </b>was <b>as </b><b>big </b><b>as </b>his bedroom<b>, </b>with <b>rows </b>of clothes, shoes<b>, </b>bags and in the middle <b>was </b>a <b>vast </b>ss <b>table </b>with <b>drawers</b>. I didn’t <b>have </b>time to take in everything. The closet was obviously divided in half with women’s clothing on one side and men’s on the
other<b>. </b>I frown.
“Why do <b>you </b><b>have </b><b>so </b>much women’s clothing?<b>” </b><b>I </b>asked and <b>he </b>looked <b>at </b>me like <b>I </b><b>was </b>stupid.
“<b>Maybe</b><b>….</b><b>because </b>I have a wife now<b>?</b><b>” </b><b>He </b>said slowly, turning <b>to </b><b>take </b>out a <b>zer </b>from the cupboard.
<b>I </b><b>felt </b>my face heat up then. So he did this just for me? When did he <b>get </b>the time<b>? </b>
Once <b>we </b><b>were </b><b>clean</b><b>, </b><b>dressed</b>, and mostly <b>decent</b>, he grabbed his car keys and <b>offered </b>to drop me <b>off</b>. <b>I </b><b>refused</b><b>. </b><b>He </b><b>insisted</b>. <b>I </b>rolled my <b>eyes </b>and <b>gave </b><b>in</b><b>. </b>
But the moment I <b>stepped </b>out of his ridiculously expensive ck <b>Mercedes</b><b>–</b>which he insisted <b>was </b>one of his cheaper <b>cars</b><b>—</b>in front of campus, I <b>regretted </b>it<b>. </b>
Heads <b>turned</b>. Phones came <b>out</b><b>. </b>People whispered.
I could <b>feel </b>the invisible headlines swirling <b>in the </b><b>air </b>like pollen.
Billionaire drops <b>off </b><b>student </b><b>wife </b>in <b>designer </b>clothes. <b>Elena </b><b>Vetrov </b><b>spotted</b>!
I swallowed a <b>groan</b><b>. </b>
<b>“</b>Should’ve just taken the bus<b>,</b><b>” </b>I <b>muttered </b>under my <b>breath</b>.
Niki leaned across the <b>seat</b><b>, </bpletely unbothered by the <b>staring </b>students. Want <b>me </b><b>to </b><b>pick </b>you up <bter</b><b>?</b><b>” </b>
I shot him a re<b>. </b><b>“</b>Absolutely not.”
He grinned like I’d just said <b>yes </b>and waved <b>as </b>I shut the door.
The moment <b>I </b>turned away from the car, <b>I </b><b>fished </b>my phone from my bag and hit call.
<b>“</b>Mom?”
<b>Sweetheart</b><b>! </b>Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just wanted to check <b>in</b><b>,</b><b>‘ </b><b>I </b>said, smiling faintly.
echo the t
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