Crown of the Empire

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

The ocean was louder than I expected at night. A low, steady growl against the shore, rhythmic and insistent, like the earth itself breathing. From the balcony of the villa, the beach was silver under the moonlight—perfectly manicured sand, water lapping like it had rehearsed for centuries, the kind of scene people put on screensavers.

And here I was, barefoot in nothing but silk. A slip dress, if you could even call it that. One wrong gust of wind and it would qualify as a scarf. I'd chosen it on purpose. Not because I was trying to be seductive—please, I was a Vergara, seduction was practically coded into my DNA—but because I wanted Nikolai to suffer. To look at me and try not to break that controlled, clinical composure of his.

He'd been busy. Meetings, phone calls, signing things that would shift the global balance of pharmaceuticals like he was ordering lunch. I'd tolerated it. Barely. But tonight, he was mine.

And he knew it.

The sliding doors opened behind me, quiet, but I didn't need to turn around. His presence always pressed against me like static electricity—calm on the surface, dangerous underneath. I heard the faint click of ice in crystal. Scotch, probably. Always neat.

"You're brooding," he said in that low, deliberate way of his. No wasted syllables. A scalpel of a voice.

"I'm thinking," I corrected, leaning on the railing, silk clinging to my back. "Brooding is for men who lost battles. I don't lose battles."

He came closer. I didn't move, but every nerve in my spine straightened like I'd been yanked upright by invisible strings. His warmth hit before his body did, that subtle, expensive cologne mixing with the salt of the sea.

"And what war are you waging tonight?" His breath grazed my ear.

I smirked at the waves. "The one where I decide if I'm going to let you in my bed or leave you standing outside like a desperate peasant."

A pause. A soft exhale through his nose. To anyone else, it would sound like patience. To me, it was the crack in his armor.

"You always bluff," he murmured.

"And you always assume you're holding the winning hand." I tilted my head just enough to catch his reflection in the glass door. Sharp jaw. Dark eyes. That perpetual restraint that made me want to ruin him. "Maybe I'll make you work for it tonight. Strip you of all that pretty control until you beg."

His silence stretched. Then a hand brushed down my arm—light, like he was testing the charge of a live wire. My pulse stuttered.

"Try it," he said, voice rougher now. "And see who's begging."

My laugh was low, feral. I turned, finally, facing him. The silk shifted against my thighs, my bare feet curling against the cool tile. He was still in his white shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar undone just enough to reveal the column of his throat. And that scar. A thin line near his collarbone I'd noticed before but never asked about.

I wanted to bite it.

"You really think you can out-stubborn me?" I asked, stepping into his space.

"Not think." His glass clinked against the table as he set it down without looking. His eyes locked on mine. "Know."

God help me, the arrogance. But damn if it wasn't earned.

I rose on tiptoe, lips brushing his jaw—not kissing, just close enough that he'd feel my breath. "You forget, Nikolai," I whispered. "I'm a lawyer. I win wars without lifting a sword. You'll crumble before I do."