My Husband Is A Psychopath

Chapter 14: Endless Nightmares

Anya POV — Vlatislov Estate, Bedroom of Eternal Suffering (and Soreness)

I lay there… lifeless.

A corpse.

A mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted corpse.

“Is it over?”

My voice came out like I’d been strangled by an ancient Slavic demon.

Nicholaus, of course, had the audacity to stretch beside me like he just finished a light morning jog.

Not—NOT—the marathon of destruction he just put me through.

He smirked.

Of course he smirked.

“Tired already?” he teased, brushing his fingers down my spine. “I barely started.”

I slapped his hand away like it was a poisonous snake.

“BARELY started??” I sat up, grabbed the pillow, and smacked him with it. “I JUST HAD ONE DAY OF REST! ONE DAY! AND YOU—YOU ANIMAL—”

He blinked at me, unbothered. “You moaned my name the loudest today.”

“I moaned because you don’t let me breathe, you absolute DEVIL!”

He chuckled—low, deep, proud of himself.

This bastard.

This monster.

“I like when you call me that,” he said, pulling me back into his arms even as I wriggled like a trapped cat. “Devil suits me.”

I squirmed. “Let me go— I’m sore, I’m tired, I’m not even sure I can walk—”

He kissed my temple. “Then don’t walk. I’ll carry you.”

“That’s not the point!”

“It is to me.”

I glared at him, ready to curse him to the ninth circle of hell—

But he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, looking way too pleased with my near-death state.

“You’re mine, Anya,” he whispered against my neck. “Of course I want you endlessly.”

I shoved his face away.

“Endlessly? I’ll kill you first.”

***

Nicholaus POV — Vlatislov Estate, Bedroom Turned Warzone

I swear I didn’t let her rest.

Not even a minute.

Why would I?

My wife is the most addictive thing I’ve ever touched—and I’ve touched a lot of things.

Every corner of the room was ours.

The couch? Ruined.

The bathroom? Flooded and ruined.

Behind the door? She clawed it.

The dresser? Might need replacing.

The balcony railing? I am definitely reinforcing that.

Even the damn window—

I bent her over and she nearly fogged it up with her screams.

She was gasping, moaning, cursing me, begging, pleading, clawing my back, then moaning again.

“Ni–Nicholaus… I c-can’t—”

Her voice cracked completely.

“You can,” I growled against her neck, gripping her waist as she trembled. “One more, kotyonok.”

“One— more? I—I’ll die, you demon!”

I chuckled darkly, kissing the curve of her shoulder as she shuddered.

“If you die, I’ll follow you. So relax.”

Relax.

As if she could.

By the time I carried her to the bed—no, collapsed with her on my lap—

she was shaking, breathless, and clinging to me like I was oxygen.

Then, without warning, she passed out completely.

Just—dropped.

Instant sleep.

Arms wrapped tight around me like I’m some giant, murderous teddy bear she refuses to let go of.

I brushed a hand down her hair, smirking.

“Well,” I murmured, resting my chin on her head,

“you survived me again. Impressive.”

She didn’t respond.

Dead silent.

Dead to the world.

I chuckled.

“Sleep, malyshka. When you wake up…”

I kissed her forehead, my voice dropping.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

***

Anzhelina POV – Vlatislov Estate, Corridor of Scandal

I should not be standing here.

I know I should not be standing here.

A dignified Vlatislov matriarch does not eavesdrop.

…And yet here I am.

Pressed against the corridor wall with two maids beside me—

all three of us frozen like statues as the unmistakable, holy-blasphemous chorus of moaning echoes from my son’s bedroom.

One maid covered her mouth.

The other crossed herself.

I blinked. Slowly.

“My goodness…” I whispered.

Another loud thud hit the wall.

Followed by Anya’s voice screaming something that might be a prayer or a curse.

Probably both.

The maids gasped again.

I sighed, placing a hand over my chest.

“My son…”

I whispered, slightly horrified and strangely proud.

“He is changing.”

Another sharp cry from Anya—

then Nicholaus’s deep voice, possessive and absolutely shameless.

I turned away from the door immediately.

“Romantic,” I muttered to myself.

“Very… intense, but yes. Romantic.”

The maids stared at me with wide, traumatized eyes.

I straightened my shoulders, acting like I wasn’t also internally screaming.

“Ladies,” I said, lifting my chin,

“nobody heard anything. Nobody saw anything.

And for the love of the ancestors—

do not bring tea to their room today.”

Both maids nodded frantically.

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but smile softly.

“My son… finally in love,” I whispered.

Then—

THUMP

Another loud noise shook the door.

I flinched.

“…Very violently in love.”

***

Anya POV — Vlatislov Estate, “Living Hell” Room

I stared at the goddamn ceiling for a full minute now—blank, soulless, judgmental.

Lord, if any saint is listening up there, please… get me the hell out of this earth. Or at least out of this room. Either one is fine.

My entire body felt like it had been sacrificed on an altar dedicated to Nicholaus’ ridiculous stamina. I swear I saw my soul leaving my body around the third round. Or the fifth. I lost count.

And then… then… his mother had the audacity to say—

"My son is so romantic now. Look at him, he has passion!”

ROMANTIC?

That man isn’t romantic—he’s a walking, talking full-body workout meant to end civilizations.

I groaned, slapping an arm across my face dramatically.

“Romantic my ass,” I muttered. “If this is romance, then hell is a spa.”

My legs twitched in protest just remembering last night.

I could still hear Anzhelina outside earlier, cheerful as ever, telling the maids:

“Ah, young love. They’re so… enthusiastic.”

Enthusiastic?

No. No, ma’am. Enthusiastic is when you kiss in the hallway.

This was war.

This was survival training.

This was Nicholaus using me as his personal stress reliever like I’m some five-star massage chair.

I groaned louder, covering my face with a pillow.

“Oh God… if he walks in here again—no. No. I am playing dead. I am DONE. My bones are liquid.”

But of course, fate hated me, because I heard his steps approaching the door.

“Nicholaus,” I whispered in warning to absolutely no one, “if you touch me again, I’m calling your mother and reporting you for attempted murder.”

The doorknob turned.

I let out a dying noise.

“Saints… protect me.”

***

Nicholaus POV — Vlatislov Estate, Training (Not-So-Holy) Grounds

Damn it.

Even as the newly crowned President of the Soviet Union, here I was—shirt off, boots in the dirt, dagger slicing the air.

Power means nothing if you let your stamina rot.

And besides… certain activities at home require top-level endurance.

I spun the dagger, letting it whistle through the cold morning air. Soldiers watched. Generals pretended not to be impressed. I could feel their eyes, but I ignored them.

Then—

Out of the corner of my eye—

there she was.

Anya.

On the balcony.

Her hair was a disaster, sticking up like she fought a tornado. She had my shirt on—my damn shirt—and she was pouting at me like I committed a war crime by leaving the room.

Her arms crossed. Her gaze sharp.

Her expression translated to exactly:

“No way in hell you are coming back up here.”

I couldn’t help it. A slow smirk curled across my lips.

I tightened my grip on the dagger, continuing my strikes as if nothing happened, but my eyes kept drifting back to her.

One soldier muttered, “Sir, you’re smiling.”

I flicked the dagger so fast it cut through the air like a warning.

“Training,” I said simply. “Focus.”

General Mikhail leaned closer. “Your wife looks… upset.”

I snorted. “She’ll get over it.”

But when I looked back up—

Anya’s glare intensified.

She mouthed something at me.

I squinted.

…

Was she mouthing—

“DON’T YOU DARE COME UP HERE.”

I nearly laughed.

The soldier nearest to me asked quietly, “Sir… what did she say?”

I wiped sweat from my brow, smirk deepening.

“She said,” I replied, twirling the dagger before driving it into the wooden dummy, “that she wants me upstairs.”

General Mikhail choked on air. “Are you sure, sir?”

I glanced back up at her pout, her messy hair, her simmering wrath.

“Absolutely,” I said with complete confidence.

“She’s calling for me.”

***

Anya POV — Vlatislov Estate, Our Bedroom (Not Anymore — It’s Mine Now)

Finally.

I slammed the door, twisting the lock with a victorious grin.

“Ha! Take that, you demon!” I muttered to myself, spinning around the room like I just conquered a kingdom.

The bed. My pillows. My sanctuary. For once, this was my space.

I flopped onto the bed and let out a sigh of pure relief.

Then… I heard it.

“Anya!”

His voice. Loud, frustrated, and impossibly deep, echoing through the hallway.

I laughed—loud, almost hysterical.

“Oh, come on! Can’t a woman have a minute of peace?!” I yelled back, smirking at the door.

A pause.

Then his muffled voice, gritting with anger:

“Lock all you want… I will get in!”

I snorted, rolling onto my side, mock-serious:

“Yeah, good luck with that, my little President of Pain. This one’s locked and loaded… literally!”

He slammed his hand against the door, making the frame shake slightly.

“Anya Frances Vlatislov… you’re testing me!”

I giggled, tugging the blanket over my head like a victorious general.

“Oh, I’m definitely testing you.”

And for the first time in days, I felt… untouchable.

***

Nicholaus POV — Vlatislov Estate, Hallway of Frustration

Goddammit.

I stood outside the locked bedroom door, my fist pressed against the polished wood, feeling every second of her defiance like a physical slap.

“Anya Frances Vlatislov,” I growled under my breath, the name rolling off my tongue like a curse and a command all at once.

Her laughter echoed from inside, light and teasing, and it made something inside me snap… half frustration, half something darker.

“Lock all you want,” I muttered, circling the door like a predator pacing its territory. “You think a simple lock can stop me? You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

I could hear her voice, muffled but smug:

“Good luck with that, my little President of Pain!”

A smirk tugged at my lips despite myself. She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Bold enough to almost make me… amused. Almost.

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms, pretending to back off. But inside, I was calculating… planning.

“Oh, my little brat,” I whispered, voice low and dangerous. “You may have this door… but you will be mine. All of you.”

And I could already feel that fire building inside me, that irresistible pull toward her, even through the locked barrier.

“She won’t get away… not ever.”

I exhaled slowly, letting the threat linger in the air as I waited, biding my time until her defiance would become mine to claim again.

***

Anya POV — Vlatislov Estate, Our Bedroom With a Secret Passage (aka My Doom)

Ugh. UGH.

I swear I only closed my eyes for two seconds. TWO. And when I opened them…

There he was.

My demon.

My nightmare.

My husband.

Standing inside the room like he teleported straight from hell with a smirk that could melt the Arctic.

And behind him?

The f*****g credenza.

Wide open.

Revealing a hidden passage like some royal secret tunnel designed SPECIFICALLY to ruin my life.

I pointed at it with pure betrayal.

“You—YOU HAVE A SECRET DOOR?! Inside the furniture?!”

Nicholaus leaned menacingly against the open passage frame, arms crossed, chest bare, and smiling like a psychopath who just caught his favorite prey.

“Well, wife, it’s my house.”

“YOUR MOTHER NEVER MENTIONED THIS!” I yelled, backing away on the bed like he was a wild animal.

He chuckled—CHUCKLED—like this was FUNNY.

“She didn’t need to. Only I use it.”

“Oh great,” I snapped, grabbing a pillow like it was a weapon. “So I married a President and a cockroach who can crawl in anywhere he wants?!”

He stalked forward, slow and terrifying.

“I told you,” he murmured, eyes burning, “a locked door won’t stop me.”

“I HATE YOU!”

“Do you?” he asked, climbing onto the bed as I held the pillow between us like holy armor.

He smirked wider.

“Because you look awfully cute hiding from me.”

“GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU—YOU—WALRUS!”

He grabbed the pillow and tossed it aside like it was nothing.

“And yet,” he whispered, pinning me down effortlessly, “you married this walrus.”

“I WAS TRICKED—”

He kissed my jaw, making me squeak.

“You’re not escaping me, wife.”

I groaned dramatically to the heavens.

“Oh saints above, why do you hate me—”

Nicholaus grinned, lowering his lips to my neck.

“They don’t hate you. I just love you too much.”

“NO. PUT ME DOWN—”

And like that, my peaceful day was gone.

Forever.

***

Nicholaus POV — Aftermath of the Chaotic Night

Fourteen hours.

FOURTEEN.

I didn’t even know we were capable of that.

Hell, I think the ancestors of the Vlatislov bloodline just clapped in approval from the grave.

I stretched my arms, muscles aching pleasantly, while she—my adorable, furious little wife—

sat curled in the corner of the bed like a traumatized kitten.

Blanket wrapped around her.

Hair a wild, chaotic halo.

Eyes filled with murder.

She glared at me like I was Satan in uniform.

(…which, in some ways, I am.)

I leaned against the headboard, smirking.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

She hissed—actually hissed.

“DON’T. TALK. TO. ME.”

I chuckled, wiping my damp hair back.

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“A COMPLIMENT?!” She threw a pillow at me. “You—YOU ARE A MONSTER!”

I caught the pillow easily.

“Fourteen hours, дорогая (darling). Be honest… I’m a very efficient monster.”

She turned bright red and clutched the blanket tighter.

“I can’t feel my LEGS, Nicholaus! My legs! Do you understand that?!”

“I can carry you,” I offered casually. “Like always.”

“I DON’T WANT YOU TO CARRY ME—OR TOUCH ME—OR LOOK AT ME—”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You said that last time too.”

She shut her mouth.

Because she did.

Exactly that.

Yesterday.

And the day before.

I walked to her slowly, careful this time, crouching in front of her.

She looked away, still trembling with fury—and something else.

I brushed my thumb lightly over her cheek.

“You asked for peace, my love… but you stared at me from the balcony like you wanted to eat me alive. What was I supposed to do?”

“That—THAT WASN’T AN INVITATION!”

I laughed softly, kissing her forehead.

“You know I can’t resist you.”

She glared again, cheeks burning red.

“You’re the President of the Soviet Union. Don’t you have paperwork to sign instead of ruining my life?”

I smirked.

“I finished early. Saves energy for more important… activities.”

“NO. No more activities! I am retiring from marriage.”

I cupped her face, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“Not happening,” I whispered. “You’re not escaping me, Anya. Not today. Not ever.”

She trembled again—half angry, half flustered.

“…I hate you.”

“Mm.” I kissed her cheek. “I adore you too.”

Then I lifted her into my arms easily while she shrieked:

“PUT ME DOWN, YOU DEMON!”

I grinned.

“Breakfast first. Then maybe… round fifteen?”

“NO!”

God, she’s adorable.