Lies of My Monster: Chapter 24

I’m going crazy.

I’ve been pacing the length of this room for the past two days, back and forth like a caged animal.

At first, I looked for an escape and tried the door, but it’s made from blended material as if it was designed to withstand bombs or something. I can’t even pick the lock, because it’s thumbprint protected.

The windows at the top are a lost cause, too, considering they’re made of tempered glass.

Since that asshole Kirill took away my gun, I’m completely defenseless and without a way out.

I glare at the bracelet around my wrist. The one I’ve been religiously wearing since he gave it to me on my birthday. I threw it down earlier, but soon after, I got to my knees to search for it.

Maybe there’s something wrong with my head, because I don’t seem ready to abandon this part of me yet.

The thought of Kirill’s upcoming marriage always brings tears to my eyes, and while I don’t expect myself to get over it this quickly, I also hate this.

I hate strong emotions.

The helplessness.

The emptiness.

And right now, I hate him.

The least he can do after he stabbed me in the heart is to let me be. But no. Of course the damn monster has other plans.

What? I don’t know.

I feel like he’s teaching me some sort of a lesson right now. Is he mentally torturing me? Maybe he’s testing my limits and how far it’ll take me to snap.

No one’s come around, and there’s no signal on my phone. A fridge that’s stocked with food sits in the corner beside a microwave, but that’s about it.

Under different circumstances, this place would be good for a small retreat. Not only does it look like a hotel suite, but there’s also a Jacuzzi tub and a huge cinema-like TV in the living area.

Needless to say, I haven’t used either.

And I have barely slept.

My mind has been pushed around and strained so many times over the past few days that I’m surprised it hasn’t given up on me yet.

The worst part is that Kirill hasn’t come around for over two days. Fifty-two hours, to be more specific. But who’s counting?

I’m slowly losing it, though. I’ve never gone this much time without action or something to do. And the worst part is that I can’t leave this prison until His Majesty Kirill decides I can.

I’ve been doing push-ups and using the few machines in the corner of the room, but those activities are barely keeping me focused.

After pacing for thirty minutes, I hop in the shower for the third time today and take an ice-cold one. Once I’m finished, I leave my bandages off and put on joggers and a T-shirt.

It feels weird to walk around with my breasts free, but they could use some air. It’s super uncomfortable when they bounce, though.

I stare in the mirror and wince at my bloodshot eyes. So yes, maybe I cried myself to sleep last night and kept replaying the image of Kirill’s stupid engagement.

When will I ever be free of these emotions?

My hair is getting longer again, reaching my nape. I swear it grows so much in so little time just to mock me for not being able to keep it.

I pull at it and then release a frustrated sigh.

Surely Maksim and Yuri are looking for me, right? Unless Kirill told them something that made them believe I don’t need help.

A creak comes from the front door, and I stumble out of the closet and run to the living room. I come to a slow halt when I find Kirill standing by the door, looking more dashing than a model.

It’s been only a few days since I last saw him, but it feels like forever. He’s the same person, but for some reason, he’s also not.

The jacket stretches around his bulging biceps, and the few undone buttons of his shirt reveal a hint of the tattoos on his chest.

He strides inside, his icy eyes filling with undeniable lust as he takes in the length of me. It doesn’t matter what I wear, Kirill always seems to be able to see beneath every layer of fabric.

It’s as if I’m always standing naked in front of him.

I clear my throat in a helpless attempt to chase away the lump stuck there. “Are you going to let me go?”

His attention finally slides back to my face, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. Tension lurks beneath his narrowing eyes as if they’re hiding something. “That depends on whether or not you’ve come to your senses. You’ve had plenty of time to think about it, no?”

“What does that mean?”

“Are you going to abandon that nonsense about leaving?”

“No! You can’t make me stay here against my will, Kirill.”

He adjusts his glasses with his middle finger, looking as cold as a statue. “News flash, I’m already doing that, and if you keep defying me, I’ll take this further.”

“Further…how?”

Is there something worse than keeping me as a prisoner and confiscating my freedom?

“You’ll never leave this place until you stop being stubborn for no reason.”

“No reason?” The emotions flow back into my words again, and I jut a finger at his chest. “How is being cast aside because Your Majesty is having an arranged marriage called no reason?”

He engulfs my forefinger, and the rest of my hand in his, then spreads my palm on his chest. More accurately, on the steady rhythm of his beating heart. My own heartbeat picks up and refuses to be brought back down.

His expression sharpens, and a tinge of strange emotion ignites in his light eyes for a fraction of a second. “That’s where you’re wrong. I never cast you aside. You’re doing that yourself.”

“Well, excuse me if I don’t want to be the other woman.”

“The only other woman in this equation is Kristina.”

“But she’s the one who’ll be your wife!” My vision blurs, and I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

Why do I get riled up this easily? Why can’t I be as detached as he is while he’s ripping my chest open?

Just why?

“Is that what you want to be? My wife?”

My lips part, and his words do a strange thing to my bleeding heart. The gaping wound slowly closes as if it’s been touched by a magic wand, and that’s fucked up, because I know for a fact that he’s just throwing me a bone right now.

I always knew Kirill excelled at mental torture. I just didn’t realize I’d be on the receiving end one day.

This is just too cruel.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” I sniffle.

“When have I ever lied to you?” He steps closer, killing the distance between us, and wraps his hand around my waist even as I push at his chest. “Answer the question, Sasha, do you want to be my wife?”

My fight wanes, partly due to his words and partly because I’m breathing his cedar and woods scent with each inhale. I didn’t realize how much I missed it and him until right now.

My fingers curl into his jacket as I take his face in. He’s so close that I see my reflection in his glasses—vulnerable and stupidly hopeful. But I still hold on to him, to the damn optimism and the smokescreen of happiness.

This is all I have left, and believing in the half-full part is better than wallowing in misery.

“If I say yes, will you make it happen?” I whisper.

A smile lifts his lips. It’s not cruel or condescending. It’s not sadistic or cunning. It’s…triumphant. Happy, even.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen this expression on Kirill’s face, and I don’t know why that makes me want to smile back.

His free hand strokes my cheek, and I instinctively lean into his touch, then it lowers to my neck, and he wraps his fingers around it as he whispers in my ear, “Fucking mine.”

He releases me as quickly as he grabbed me. “I’ll be back.”

I stare, dumbfounded, as the door closes behind him.

Once he’s out of sight, I run toward it and bang on the stupid metal. “You can’t keep locking me up, Kirill! Let me go!!”

No reply comes. I continue hitting the door for a few more minutes until my fists and legs ache. Then I hit my head against it.

What the hell was I thinking?

The fact that I even suggested being his wife is an anomaly in and of itself, but to also be rejected so subtly makes me want to scream.

Kirill is definitely a master of manipulation, because I can already feel the mental toll of this situation.

Damn it.

Damn it.

What if he keeps me here forever, and then I have to live through being his mistress?

Oh, God.

I won’t be able to survive that.

I straighten. No. I’m getting out of here no matter what.

The next time he returns, I’ll attack him and run away. If he doesn’t want that, then he shouldn’t have imprisoned me.

The question is, however, what if he doesn’t come back anytime soon?

Just when I think I’ll start hitting my head against the door again, it opens.

Exactly two days later.

I jump up from the sofa and grab my chosen object of attack—a heavy vase—and run to the door. My feet come to a halt when Kirill walks in with an older man while rolling a suitcase.

The vase remains suspended in midair. Obviously, I lost the element of surprise, but that’s only because I’ve been taken completely aback.

Kirill is dressed in a dashing tuxedo, his hair is styled to perfection, and his eyes shine with a rare gleam behind the spotless glasses.

My arm loses strength, and I let it and the vase fall to my side. “What’s…going on?”

“Wait here,” Kirill tells the man who’s dressed in a smart suit, has a small belly, and is wearing strong aftershave that I can smell from here. He’s also carrying a briefcase like some sort of accountant.

After he nods, Kirill walks to my side and grabs me by the arm. I don’t have time to protest as he drags me and the suitcase to the adjoining bedroom and closes the door.

I twist my arm free and jump away from him, my mind racing with countless options. I can still hit him now and run. That man outside didn’t look strong enough, so I can probably handle him—

“You should have everything you need here.” He pushes the suitcase in my direction. “Make it quick.”

Curiosity gnaws at me, but I don’t touch it. “What’s in there?”

“A wedding dress. Lingerie. Some makeup in case you need it.” He reaches into his jacket and then retrieves a black velvet box.

My heart nearly stops when he opens it, revealing two rings. One is a simple band for a man and the other is a gorgeous gold solitaire with a huge green rock on top.

The vase falls and hits the mattress as Kirill walks in my direction.

I think I’m going to hyperventilate.

No, I am hyperventilating.

Is this a dream?

Because if it is, then it’s too cruel.

“These took longer than I preferred.” He pulls out the ring, and tears gather in my eyes.

Oh, God.

On the inside of the green ring, ‘Kirill’s’ is engraved. As for the band, it says, ‘Sasha’s,’ both done in cursive. “K-Kirill…what…?”

“You asked me if I could make it happen.” He takes my hand in his and kisses the back of it. “I’m making it happen.”

“But what about Kristina? Igor? The alliance? Your position—”

“Shh.” He places a finger on my mouth. “Don’t worry your head about any of that. Just get changed…unless you want to get married looking like this?”

I shake my head frantically. “I’ll get changed… Just give me a moment.”

A rare grin curves his lips. “Does that mean you agree to marry me, Solnyshko?”

“I didn’t know I had a choice.” Besides, he just proved that he chose me over Kristina, so why can’t I choose him?

“You don’t, so I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

I smile, and he brushes his lips against mine, then possessively bites the lower one before he leaves and closes the door.

He’s really an asshole.

And I’m marrying this asshole.

Oh my God. I’m actually marrying Kirill.

Maybe I should think about this more or say no until I can process the consequences. If I marry Kirill, I can’t be his guard anymore, and I have to be a woman. If this gets out, then both of us will be in trouble and…

I shake my head and open the suitcase.

You know what? I don’t care. I’ve always made decisions for other people’s sake. This is the only chance I’ve gotten to have something for myself.

Even my heart, which was battered to near death not too long ago, has stitched itself back together again and is already chanting Kirill’s name.

He chose me.

After I begged him to pick me over Kristina, he did, and he’s proving it with actions instead of words.

Happy tears cling to my eyelids when I bring out the carefully wrapped wedding dress. The material is soft satin and lace. There’s also the most beautiful lingerie set I’ve ever seen—cream trimmed with pearly beads.

After I put them on, I’m struck by two things. One, they’re the perfect size. Jeez. Even I don’t know what size I am in women’s clothes, but apparently, Kirill does.

Two, I feel so beautiful. So feminine at last.

I might be a tomboy, but I’ve always dreamed about wearing a wedding dress and dolling up.

There’s a whole makeup case with items that I don’t even know what to do with. I go for the simple things because I don’t really know how to use the others. I put on some mascara and blush, and I finish with soft pink lipstick.

Those are the only things I trust myself with or else I’ll paint my face like a clown.

There’s also a jewelry set that matches the green ring he showed me earlier—a dazzling necklace, bracelet, and earrings.

He even thought to bring earrings that don’t need piercings since mine have long since closed.

After I put them on, I stand up and stare at the mirror.

I almost don’t recognize myself. I look so different from my male persona.

The dress hugs my waist and falls to the floor in an extravagance of lace, satin, and pearls sewn to the fabric.

It looks so elegant and stunning.

Even my face has a soft, more feminine feel than usual. My hair, though…I grab the huge flower bouquet, pull out some rose stems, and quickly form a small crown. Then I put on the veil and place it on top.

I smile at my reflection. I’m finally me.

After years of hiding behind another persona, today, I get to be myself.

A knock sounds on the door and Kirill’s booming voice follows, “Are you done yet?”

“Yeah! Be right there.” I stumble when I try to walk in the shoes. They’re not high heels, but they’re women’s shoes.

I can’t believe I forgot how to walk in women’s shoes.

The horror.

After I spray some perfume he brought, something soft and flowery, I inhale deeply and exit the bedroom. The man from earlier is sitting at the dining table with some papers in front of him, but that’s not what makes me stop.

It’s the man who’s waiting at the front of the room, who freezes upon seeing me.

Astonishment and awe fill Kirill’s expression, and his icy eyes turn to liquid blue as his eyes follows my every step.

Once I’m across from him, I clear my throat. “How do I look?”

He doesn’t answer.

I shift. “I know it’s weird. I might have caused myself a bit of whiplash, too, and—”

“You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

My breath gets stuck at the base of my throat, and I have to hold back tears. Kirill grabs my hand. “Let’s get this over with so I can unwrap you.”

I suppress a laugh as he leads me to the man at the table, and we sit opposite him.

I can’t stop looking at my fingers threaded into Kirill’s. Is it weird that we’re getting married, but this is the first time he’s held my hand this way?

“Make it quick,” he tells the man.

“I can just ask for consent, and then you both sign the certificate,” he replies with a Russian accent.

“Let’s do that.”

“We need two witnesses.”

Kirill taps something in his phone and a few seconds later, the door opens. I swallow thickly as Viktor strides inside then stops short upon seeing me.

My face must be different shades of red. Why did it have to be Viktor of all people? Yes, Kirill trusts him the most, but how am I supposed to react when he’s looking at me as if I’m a ghost?

“What’s the meaning of this?” Viktor asks, staring between us.

“I’m marrying, Sasha.” Kirill announces ever so casually. “Be a witness.”

“What the fuck—”

“Sit the fuck down and be a witness, Viktor.” Kirill orders with no patience whatsoever.

He narrows his eyes on me then settles beside the man who’s been watching the scene with careful quietness.

“Lipovsky, you little fuck,” Viktor continues grilling me with his gaze. “You’re a woman?”

“She obviously is, and watch your fucking tone when you speak to my wife.”

Butterflies erupt at the bottom of my stomach and spread throughout my body.

Kirill called me his wife.

His. Wife.

“I still don’t understand what’s going on,” Viktor continues. “I need an explanation.”

“Later. For now, shut it and be a witness.” Kirill turns to the man. “Proceed”

“We need another witness.”

“You can be one. Now, go.”

The older man nods. “Do you, Kirill Morozov, take Aleksandra Lipovsky—”

“Ivanova,” I whisper and stare at Kirill. “My name is Aleksandra Ivanova.”

If we’re going to get married, he needs to know my real name. We’re going to share our lives now, and that means trusting each other.

Kirill’s eyes don’t shine with recognition at hearing the last name, and that right there is proof that he had nothing to do with my family’s death.

Instead, he squeezes my hand in his. “You heard her. It’s Aleksandra Ivanova.”

“We will need an ID for that…”

“I’ll get it to you later. Continue.”

The man clears his throat. “Do you, Kirill Morozov, take Aleksandra Ivanova as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

Kirill’s attention never leaves mine as he says with blinding assertiveness, “I do.”

I’m about to cry again. Damn it.

The man looks at me. “Do you, Aleksandra Ivanova, take Kirill Morozov as your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

I hold back the tears as I finally choose myself. “I do.”

Kirill’s eyes blaze in a deep, deep blue that nearly sweeps me under from the intensity. He lifts my hand and slips the band on my ring finger, then offers me his hand.

My movements are shaky as I do the same.

We then sign our names where the pastor or civil servant tells us to.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride…”

The man hasn’t even finished his words, but Kirill has already tugged me toward him by the nape and slams his mouth to mine.

He kisses me like he’s my husband.

And I’m his wife.

I’m Kirill’s wife.

I kiss him as passionately as he kisses me, matching his intensity with mine.

This time, I let the happy tears loose.