Chapter 1
Author's Note: I ended up writing a second book along the side story. Sidestory is exclusive on Patreon but join Niko and Jenna's Journey on this new book.
Updates: daily
Chapter 1
Jenna
The sound of something rustling against the glass window makes me jerk upright in bed. I sit still, listening for it. It wasn’t the hum of the AC unit, not the leaves of the tree behind the window.
The room is dark, just me breathing carefully on the bed. The chill in the air raises goosebumps across my skin. I slide out from under the blanket and pad barefoot toward the remote resting on the table.
With a beep, the AC shuts off. I still don’t hear what woke me up. Maybe it was the wind. It’s the rainy season, and Moscow gets real breezy. Maybe the window rattled.
Or maybe someone was trying to get in.
I creep toward the window, reach for the curtain, and peer out through the clear glass.
Light shines brightly over the empty yard. A single rose tree stands in a circle of stone, a soldier with a rifle hanging over his shoulder disappears into the left corner of the house. Nothing but peace and quiet in the Drognov estate. Just as I knew it would be.
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out of me as I pull back from the window. What was I thinking? This place is guarded to the teeth. There’s no way anyone would be trying to get in through my window.
I turn to the door where the chair I always keep wedged against it still rests.
It’s peaceful here in Claire’s house, as safe as can be. There’s no need to worry.
I came here almost six months ago, helping Claire take care of Jayden and keeping her company when Aleksei doesn’t return home for days on end. Nothing has happened since. The days have been boring, save for the recent scare today.
My eyes shift to the clock resting on the bedside table. The numbers glow twelve thirty. Well, yesterday. I let out a sigh and return to bed, the sheets colder now than when I’d been sleeping in them.
Aleksei returned last night almost immediately after, like someone had informed him about Claire’s anger when we arrived at his father’s estate to retrieve Jayden.
He is just as imposing as the first time I met him, and avoiding his path is almost instinct at this point. I wonder if he’s only staying long enough to appease Claire or if he’s back for good.
And with him comes Niko.
The stoic face of the man always behind Aleksei, following like a shadow, flickers through my mind. A smile curves across my face.
We’ve barely said more than a few words to each other since I started living with Claire. But I won’t lie, my decision to come here and stay with Claire despite everything, and despite how strained our friendship is, was largely influenced by him.
I don’t know why he struck me so deeply. The first time I saw him was at Claire’s wedding. As usual, he looked dangerous, like a man not to be trifled with. And I had not trifled. I had barely managed to survive the shame and humiliation of getting exposed with Austin at Serena’s wedding reception.
My friendship with Claire hit a rougher patch than ever, and I didn’t even notice the handsome bodyguard.
It wasn’t until after Claire gave birth to Jayden, when Niko and Aleksei returned from Russia to stay with her for several months, that our paths really crossed.
I have to admit, that face card is not bad to look at. But I might as well be air to the man. If he isn’t giving me a polite nod as he passes, his eyes glaze right over me as if I’m not there.
I sigh and lower my head. What I wouldn’t give for a man like that to look at me, stand in front of me with those hard gray eyes, black suit, wide shoulders, dark presence, protecting me from all the evil in the world.
I press my nose into my pillow and inhale heavily like some tragic asthma patient. Of course that’s never going to happen. Not in this crappy life of mine.
My stomach lets out a loud gurgle, the worms inside throwing a party. I groan softly, turning my head from the pillow so I’m looking at the door.
It’s quiet outside. All the maids are probably asleep by now. I can’t wake anyone up just because I was too scared of accidentally running into Aleksei to eat dinner. My appetite has never been great anyway.
I could use a bite of the almond bread I smelled baking this evening. My mouth waters. No, I should go back to sleep. It’s midnight. Eating this late would be stupid.
My brows press together painfully as I struggle to drift back toward sleep. Sleeping is a luxury, bought by an escape I can’t bear to think about. Don’t waste it.
After several long moments of fluttering eyes and growling stomach, I push myself up on the edge of the bed with a sigh. My phone resting on the nightstand lights up. It’s on silent mode, and the white glow pierces the darkness.
Probably spam.
I reach for it anyway, taking the sleek smooth phone into my hand. One tap of my finger against the fingerprint scanner and the phone unlocks, along with the sentence waiting on my screen.
I rise slowly from the bed, my hand going cold, eyes fixed on the words.
You are in Russia.
Four solid words that completely scramble my head. Damn it. Maybe I should sit down. The room feels like it’s spinning. How the hell did he find me?
The sound that woke me up comes again, a faint rattle at the window. Opening.
The phone slips from my fingers with a crash that barely reaches my ears. Something pushes against the curtain. A head... or a hand, shoving it aside.
The ground rushes up to meet my face, blackness swallowing my vision before I can make a sound.
Inside the ink-black darkness, I feel someone tapping my face.
“Hey,” he says, his voice coarse and familiar.
I feel disoriented. Which way am I lying? Upside down? My mouth tastes like cotton balls.
I groan and open my eyes to bright white light with immediate regret, flinching from the glare as the person pulls me upright into a sitting position.
I’m on the ground, my elbow stinging faintly.
The hand lifting the curtain.
I jerk toward the window. Everything is still. No hand, no head.
It’s just me foolishly sitting on the floor, stupefied. My phone lies beside my raised knees. So it wasn’t a dream. A hallucination then? Born from the fear still coursing through me.
“Are you alright?”
It takes me a moment to process the face staring at me, gray eyes fixed on mine, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, no tie, that unfairly attractive clean-shaven face looking like he neither sleeps nor needs sleep.
Niko.
In my room.
How did he get in?
I turn toward the door and the chair I’d placed there as a what... means of protection? Detection? I don’t even know. It’s lying on the floor, the door wide open.
Not much good it did, whatever it was for. A meaningless act that allowed me to sleep peacefully for six months under the mistaken belief that I was safe.
“Come on, you must’ve hit your head pretty hard,” Niko says, gripping my arm with strong slender fingers.
I rise with his help, still not sure if this is actually happening or if I’m dreaming. Just how hard did I hit my head?
Niko settles me on the bed and steps away. Silence settles between us. His gaze shifts from me to the door, then the chair on the floor. If ever there was an unspoken question easy to guess.
“It was... I must’ve left it there by mistake,” I blurt out, then blink hard. So much for being a good liar. There’s no way Niko believes that.
Niko shows no sign of belief or disbelief on that expressionless face. Or maybe it’s just too subtle to notice.
“You fainted,” he says calmly. “But there is nothing in the room.”
I interpret that instantly. He heard me fall after freaking out over seeing a hand — was there even a hand? — at the window and came to my rescue. It almost makes me smile. But right now I need to look sober. Weak.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I raise my fingers to my forehead, selling the confusion with an open-mouthed frown. “My head just went funny and I found myself on the floor.”
“Is this... common for you?”
Maybe common wasn’t the word he originally wanted to use. His eyes travel over my pale bare arms sticking out of my whitish nightdress, the neckline a little revealing, then down to my legs.
It’s not a flattering look. Not an I-think-she’s-good-looking look. That would be a normal reaction toward me, but for a man like Niko, who’s treated me like air — or worse, Claire’s handbag — for the five years we’ve known each other, that look is simply cold assessment. Nothing more.
And all I can do is sigh internally.
The plan was... well, I wouldn’t call it a plan since I’d been running for my life. More like a bonus. That maybe I could get Niko to notice me, want me, and then maybe the two of us would sail away together, run to the ends of the earth, and he would protect me.
I meet those icy eyes again, sharp as Mount Blanc, and those tiny hopes burst into empty bubbles.
“I’m fine now,” I say, closing my eyes with a tight smile. “Don’t worry about me. It’s probably just low blood sugar.”
Silence.
It’s uncomfortable enough that I feel the need to add more. “I didn’t eat dinner. That must be why...”
“You fainted because of one skipped meal?”
His tone isn’t insulting exactly, but the look accompanying it definitely isn’t singing my praises.
“Then you should get something to eat.”
“I—”
Shouldn’t eat anything tonight. Not after that text. My stomach still feels queasy, but I’d be stupid not to see the immediate opportunity in this moment. Niko is in my room, paying attention to me. Something like this may never happen again.
“Actually, I wanted to, but the cooks are probably asleep. I don’t want to disturb them.”
“It’s their job. You won’t be disturbing them.”
He walks out of my room with that wordless authority, and I almost forget to follow him. I drag a robe around my shoulders and hurry after him, partly in disbelief and partly ecstatic. I can barely force my mouth to stop grinning.
Niko’s back is solid like a wall, and the silent, assured way he moves announces his presence like a loaded gun. I can’t believe he’s walking me downstairs and into the kitchen.
The hallway lights are off, only the sconces lighting the red carpet leading to the stairs. No one else moves around on the first floor, just Niko and me, his steps quiet while mine tap softly with each movement.
We cross into the open dining room. A long mahogany table hardly anyone uses sits in the center. Claire sometimes feeds Jayden there before school, and last Christmas we shared together, she baked cake and placed a tall Christmas tree near the picture windows in the open corner. The drapes are closed now, but the ever-bright light outside still slips through.
I duck my head as Niko flicks the light on, the chandelier blazing over the center of the table.
“Wait here,” he says before heading into the kitchen.
The cooks live on the property and have their own quarters behind the kitchen. I’ve never been there, but I can only imagine the reaction Niko gets waking the head cook at this hour of the night. Complete obedience.
I pull out a chair and sink into it, my mind trying to drag up the message from my phone.
No. Don’t think about it. Not yet.
The sounds coming from the kitchen pull my attention away — cupboards opening, a pan clattering against stove hard enough to make me wince. That doesn’t sound very compliant.
There’s no exchange of words, at least none I can hear, then Niko walks back into the dining room.
“Wait five minutes and your food will be ready,” he says.
My heart skips at the way he keeps moving, fully intending to walk right back out after fulfilling his purpose.
“What were you doing outside my room so late?” I blurt out. Thankfully, it sounds like a legitimate question. I force down the panic, let a subtle smile curve my lips, and blink slowly. “You were there so fast.”
Niko stops beside my chair. “I usually patrol the inside of the house,” he explains.
“And when you’re not around?”
“Dare does.” His lips settle into that final, unreadable line again. Then he adds, “You don’t have to worry about anyone getting in.”
My cheeks warm slightly. Of course he didn’t buy my lie. It was such a flimsy one.
“No, I’m not really worried. It’s just a weird habit I have.”
Silence.
But he’s still looking at me. The weight of his gaze feels expectant, but what can I tell him? Certainly not the real reason. That would be catastrophically stupid. No matter how much I want the man’s attention, I can’t let him in on that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“If you say so,” he finally says into the silence, my cheeks still burning.
“Niko,” I stop his next step. “Would you mind eating with me?”
If another person received the same request from me, another man, they’d probably be ecstatic. Practically throw themselves into the chair beside me. I don’t mean to brag, but I know how I look. I’ve always known. My face definitely draws attention, though Niko has made me question that once or twice.
“I’m not hungry,” he answers in that flat tone, no shift in expression of course. Certainly no excitement. But I expected that.
“It’s just... I don’t like eating alone. You can just sit with me for a bit.”
The kitchen door bangs open. The cook, Greta — a Russian woman in her forties with a perpetual scowl even when she smiles — walks in carrying a tray of food.
“Your pasta,” she announces in a thick accent, dropping the tray of creamy pasta in front of me. It should look delicious, but my stomach gives an unhappy turn at the sight.
“Thank you, Greta,” I tell her.
She grunts and turns her back on me, muttering in Russian.
“Is she cursing me?” I whisper from the corner of my mouth, and Niko’s gray eyes flicker.
“Why would she? If anything, she’d be cursing me,” he says, and do I detect a faint note of amusement from the robotic man? I watch him from the corner of my eye.
“Well, you are you,” I gesture vaguely. “And I’m me. Easy target.” I make a bullseye motion with my finger.
“Insults you can’t understand don’t really hurt you.” He shrugs one shoulder.
I almost swoon.
So he shrugs too?
I feel like a scientist observing some rare specimen. But I can’t make my excitement too obvious. I just smile at him.
“You’re probably right, so... what do you say? I won’t be able to finish all this.” I grimace at the food, even though I’m sure Greta didn’t intentionally make it bad. She takes pride in her cooking and complains whenever Claire doesn’t clear her plate. “It’d be criminal not to eat all this after you woke her up.”
Niko still watches me, probably calculating every possible angle for turning me down. I bat my lashes to help persuade him, and his mouth lifts slightly. Not quite a smile, but close enough.
“I do actually understand all her insults, so I should make sure you eat,” he says, pulling out a chair.
I could squeal.
But then his eyes zero in on my collarbone.
“And you do need to eat.”
Weakness makes my elbow slip from the table, and I can only laugh awkwardly. He’s looking at me like I’m all sticks and bones. Great. Exactly what I need him thinking right now.
I grab the spoon and throw him a thoughtful glance. He returns it with a blank, expressionless face that somehow still asks, what?
Yeah, what?
Even if I like him, and he is completely my type, the fact that he’s into my best friend is a massive roadblock. There will be no sailing away with this man. Not with the way he looks at Claire.
