Dangerous Husbands, Broken Wives [18+]

NINETEEN: PERCEPTIVE OF YOU

[ANASTASIA]

I can't believe how heartless this man can be. How could I forget that Ivan always gets what he wants, no matter what?

He doesn't give a damn about anyone else.

It's clear from the way he not only woke me up in the middle of the night but also made sure to make me feel guilty for how he treated Nika.

How can he be so merciless?

I mutter angrily under my breath and stomped on the floor with forceful, determined steps. The moment I see that smug smirk on his face, I have the urge to throttle him with my bare hands.

But instead, I swallow my anger and drag a chair from the dining table that is as far away from him as possible. I have no intention of being anywhere near him. I can't even tolerate the scent of his cologne and the stench of those cigars he always reeks of.

I sit down on the chair, keeping my gaze fixed on anything but Ivan. I can feel his eyes on me, his presence looming like a dark cloud. The anger within me simmers, threatening to boil over at any moment.

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fight to control the rising storm of emotions. How can he be so callous, so self-centered? It's as if the world revolved around him, and everyone else is just a pawn in his game.

I glance over at Lena, who is in the process of setting a plate in front of me.

Letting out a tired sigh, I raise my hand to stop her. "It's fine," I say with a smile, understanding that she's just following Ivan's orders. I'm not going to direct my anger towards her. "As I've already said a million times," I continue, my gaze locked on Ivan, hoping my words will cut him deep. "I'm not really hungry. You and the other maids can leave if you want. I'll clean up the kitchen before going to bed."

It's the least I can offer after what Nika went through because of me. Even if it wasn't the wisest choice to be left alone with Ivan, I want to make it clear that I'm not afraid of him. I'm not the same naive girl he once deceived with his charms. I've grown wiser. I know better now.

"I already sent Nika, and I can wait until Mr. Volkov is done," Lena persists, her concern evident in her voice. But before she can continue, Ivan interrupts her.

"You can go, Lena," he dismisses her, his focus seemingly fixed on his plate as he pretends to take a bite of his food. He wants to appear indifferent to what's happening, as if he couldn't care less. But I know deep down that his ears are strained, catching every word we exchange. "I'm sure Ana still knows her way around the kitchen."

Lena tries to protest, but I don't let her. I shoot Ivan a piercing glare, even though he refuses to meet my gaze.

"No, it's fine," I assure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before shifting my attention back to her. "Go. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be another tedious day for you. I'll take care of things."

Lena seems reluctant to leave me alone with the potential monster that Ivan can transform into at any moment, but for some reason, she doesn't put up a fight. She purses her lips, nods in understanding, and quietly exits the room, leaving us alone.

Without a word, I push the chair back and move towards the kitchen counter, busying myself with tidying up the remnants of the meal. The clatter of dishes and utensils fills the room, breaking the silence that had settled between us. My movements are purposeful, a deliberate attempt to maintain control over the situation.

I can feel Ivan's eyes on me, his gaze burning into the back of my head. He thinks he can intimidate me with his silence, with his dismissive demeanor. But he always underestimates me, he still does.

As I wipe the countertop, I finally break the silence.

"I hope you enjoyed your meal," I say, not bothering to face him. "It's clear that you still have a knack for manipulating those around you."

I hear Ivan scoff, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, how perceptive of you, malysh," he retorts, his voice oozing with arrogance. "Is that what you think of me? That I'm some heartless manipulator?"

"Aren't you?" I snap my eyes up to meet his gaze, surprised to find him already looking at me. He doesn't say anything in response and instead returns his attention to finishing his dinner.

His deliberate slowness in consuming each bite only adds to my growing frustration. It's as if he's purposefully dragging out the process to test my patience. Even long after I've finished cleaning the kitchen and have nothing left to do but wait for him, he's only halfway through his plate.

I let out a silent groan, folding my arms over my chest and leaning against the counter, tapping my foot impatiently.

With nothing else to occupy my time, I grab a high stool and prop myself on it. The weariness of the day must have caught up with me because I don't even realize when I doze off, my head resting on the countertop.

Something gentle brushes across my face, then skims through my hair. At first, it feels like a distant sensation, as if it's part of a dream. But suddenly, as if a realization hits me, my eyes snap open, and I find myself face-to-face with the embodiment of the worst decision I've ever made.

Ivan Volkov.

The bane of existence.

I'm quick to sit up, pushing my hair away from my face that had fallen over my eyes. "What the hell?"

"I'm done," he says casually, as if nothing between us has changed as if I'm still his compliant wife that he can manipulate at will.

I don't say anything in response. Instead, I shove off the stool and make my way toward the dining table. However, I come to an abrupt halt when I find the table already cleaned. My eyes widen in surprise as I turn around, noticing the plates already washed and set aside to dry.

Did he do all of this?

For how long have I been out?

Before my brain could process what it was seeing, I felt his presence behind me.

My body stiffens, and my shoulders tense up as he rests his chin on top of my head and places his hands on my shoulders, a familiar gesture from our past that used to melt my anger away. But things are different now.

I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat, determined not to let the painful memories consume me. I won't let him see how much his presence still affects me.

"You can't hold onto your anger forever, malysh. Your love for me runs too deep," he whispers, his words like a knife twisting in my chest.

A single tear escapes my eye, but I quickly wipe it away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain. "You're mistaken. There's nothing left for you in my heart."

"We'll see about that," he says, planting a gentle kiss on the top of my head. "Won't we?"

A/N: You think Ivan would be able to convince Ana otherwise?