Chapter 6
881 Words
Angelica POV
Something changes the moment we return to Moscow.
I feel it before I can explain it.
At first, it’s subtle—the way the house breathes differently, heavier somehow. Alexander’s mansion is beautiful, cold marble and glass, surrounded by guards and silence. It should feel safe.
Instead, it feels… aware.
Alexander is still attentive. Still affectionate. He kisses my forehead every morning before leaving for work. He asks if I slept well. If I ate. If I need anything.
But his eyes linger longer now.
Watching. Measuring.
And I start to notice things.
Cameras.
I always knew there were cameras—it’s his world, after all—but now I see how many. In the hallways. The garden. The living room. Even near the dance studio he built for me.
Not inside the bedroom.
At least… I think not.
When I mention it casually one morning, he doesn’t look surprised.
“They’re for security,” he says calmly. “You know that.”
I nod, even though something twists in my stomach.
Security from who?
I try to brush it off. I tell myself I’m imagining things. Alexander is protective, yes—but with his life, who wouldn’t be?
Still, the feeling grows.
That I’m not just protected.
I’m monitored.
⸻
Two days later, it happens.
I’m in the city with Elena, walking through a quiet shopping street. Alexander insisted on extra guards, but they stay a distance away. He says he wants me to feel normal.
Normal feels strange now.
Elena steps into a boutique to pay, leaving me standing just outside.
That’s when I feel it.
That sensation of being watched again.
I turn slightly—and see him.
A man leaning casually against a black car across the street. Well-dressed. Confident. His eyes lock onto mine instantly, sharp and assessing.
He smiles.
My heart stutters.
I know who he is without needing to be told.
Max Richter.
I’ve seen photos. Heard his name whispered like a curse.
He pushes off the car and takes a few slow steps toward me.
“Angelica,” he says smoothly, as if we’re old friends. “Finally.”
My instincts scream.
“I think you have the wrong person,” I say, forcing calm into my voice.
He chuckles. “No. I don’t.”
I glance around—guards are there, but they haven’t moved yet. Too far. Too slow.
Max lowers his voice. “Your husband doesn’t let you talk to strangers, does he?”
Cold spreads through me.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say firmly.
“Pity,” he replies. “I just wanted to say hello. And maybe warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
About him, I want to say.
Max steps closer—just enough to invade my space.
“Alexander Petrov doesn’t share,” he says softly. “He collects.”
My pulse pounds.
“I suggest you leave,” I say.
His smile sharpens. “Tell him I tried to be polite.”
Before I can respond, my guards move—fast, efficient. Max steps back calmly, lifting his hands in mock surrender.
“Until next time, angela,” he says.
Then he’s gone.
⸻
That night, Alexander is waiting for me.
He doesn’t ask how my day was.
He already knows.
“You were approached today,” he says calmly, pouring himself a drink.
My blood runs cold.
“Yes,” I admit. “Max.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Did you speak to him?”
“He spoke to me,” I correct. “I didn’t engage.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Then he walks toward me, stopping just inches away. His hand cups my face—not gentle, not rough. Possessive.
“You did well,” he says quietly. “You came home. You didn’t hide it.”
I frown. “Were you testing me?”
His eyes darken.
“I protect what’s mine,” he replies. “Sometimes that means verifying loyalty.”
The words hit harder than I expect.
“You set this up,” I whisper.
“I allowed an opportunity,” he says. “The outcome was yours to choose.”
I step back, shaken. “I’m not something you test.”
His voice drops. “In my world, everyone is.”
The room feels smaller.
“I’m your wife,” I say. “Not a spy.”
He softens—just slightly. Reaches for me again.
“And that’s why this mattered,” he says. “Because betrayal destroys everything.”
I think of his ex. The woman who broke him.
And suddenly, I understand.
This isn’t about Max.
It’s about fear.
Later that night, alone in the bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the dark windows.
I realize something then—something that makes my chest tighten.
Alexander didn’t react with surprise.
He reacted with confirmation.
Which means…
He knew Max would come.
And the cameras?
They weren’t just for protection.
They were watching me.
Waiting.
And as much as I want to believe this is love—
I’m starting to understand that Alexander Petrov’s devotion has a darker side.
And once you belong to him…
There is no privacy.
Only permission.
- Writer
