CHAPTER 16

The package was waiting for her when she stepped outside that morning, resting innocently at her doorstep like it hadn't just been delivered by one of the most dangerous, enigmatic men in the city. It was sleek, black, and tied with a velvet ribbon—no note, no label, nothing except the aura of quiet power that clung to everything Nikolai Volkov touched.

One of his men stood beside it, dressed in an immaculate black suit, his face unreadable.

"For Miss Elara," he said simply, inclining his head as she stepped closer. His voice held a faint Russian accent, crisp and cool.

She blinked, flustered, her cheeks warming. "Uh... thank you."

He nodded once and turned to leave, disappearing down the hallway without another word.

Elara stared at the box. It was heavy, elegant—luxurious without trying to be. But she was already running late for work, and she didn't dare open it in a rush. So she set it carefully on the entryway table and promised herself she'd look at it when she got back.

Still, all day at work, her mind kept drifting back to it.

What could it be?

Shoes? Jewelry? A dress?

Knowing Nikolai, it could be all three—and it would be nothing short of breathtaking. But no matter how many times she tried to push it from her mind, she found herself distracted by the memory of his dark eyes, the heat of his hand on the small of her back, the way he said her name like it was a secret only he was allowed to know.

By the time she returned home that evening, the curiosity was unbearable.

She slipped off her shoes at the door, tossed her bag aside, and practically ran to the black box. Her fingers trembled as she undid the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Her heart almost stopped.

Inside was a dress that didn't look like it belonged to this world. It was deep forest green, sleeveless, with an elegant plunge neckline and a flowing skirt. The fabric felt like water in her hands—smooth, cold, expensive.

Beneath the dress lay matching silver stilettos that sparkled faintly, and a necklace nestled in its own velvet case.

The necklace took her breath away.

It was a silver with a single emerald teardrop pendant, matched with subtle stud earrings.

Her chest rose and fell, breath quickening.

She had never owned anything like this in her life.

But then again, that's what you got when you were dating a mysterious billionaire who never did anything halfway.

She got dressed slowly, carefully. The dress fit like it had been made for her. The shoes, though taller than anything she usually wore, gave her posture a grace she didn't know she had. Her makeup was soft but sultry—smoky around the eyes, a muted berry on her lips. And the necklace… the necklace transformed her.

She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, not quite recognizing the woman staring back.

A soft smile crept onto her lips.

This was his doing.

This was how he saw her.

And for the first time, she wanted to believe it too.

She grabbed her phone and snapped a quick photo, sending it to her best friend with a laughing caption: When your boyfriend is either secretly Santa Claus or just outrageously rich.

Maya replied instantly.

MAYA: "SCREAMING. LITERALLY SCREAMING. YOU LOOK DROP DEAD GORGEOUS."

MAYA: "ASK HIM IF HE HAS A BROTHER. A COUSIN. A DAD. ANYTHING. I'M DESPERATE."

Elara burst out laughing, biting her lip to stifle the sound.

Just then, her phone vibrated again.

Nikolai: I'm downstairs, little bunny.

Her laughter faded, replaced by a fluttering in her chest. The nickname sent a shiver down her spine—warm and dangerous, like everything else about him.

She grabbed her clutch and walked to the door, pausing only once to take a deep breath.

Then she stepped out into the evening air, her heels clicking softly on the pavement as she exited her apartment building.

And there he was.

Nikolai Volkov.

Leaning against a sleek, black luxury car that looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine. He wore a charcoal suit tailored so precisely it could've been carved from stone. His hair was slicked back, his jaw sharp, his entire being exuding power and elegance.

But when his eyes landed on her, something changed.

Time paused.

The noise of the city dulled to silence.

All he saw was her.

His breath hitched in his throat, and for a second, he couldn't move. Couldn't speak. The dress clung to her curves in all the right places. The necklace gleamed against her skin like it had always belonged there. And the way she was looking at him—soft, unsure, radiant—was enough to make him forget how to breathe.

He had imagined this moment, but nothing compared to the real thing.

She was a vision.

A goddess.

His malen'kiy krolik.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her close, run his fingers down her bare back, and whisper all the things he was too afraid to say. To see her wearing only that necklace, wrapped up in his sheets, eyes wide and breathless.

But not now.

Not yet.

He cleared his throat, forced the thoughts from his mind, and stepped forward. His movements were smooth, graceful, practiced—but inside, he was a storm.

He opened the car door for her with a small nod.

"Elara," he said softly.

"Nikolai," she replied, her voice steady despite the wild rhythm of her heartbeat.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment, the world fell away.

He offered his hand.

She took it.

And just like that, they were swept into the night—toward the auction, toward secrets and luxuries and things she couldn't yet understand.

But one thing was certain.

He had picked that dress for her.

And now that she was wearing it, he would burn down kingdoms to make sure she never belonged to anyone else.

The city blurred past them in streaks of gold and deep violet, the sun already swallowed by the horizon, leaving only the soft glow of twilight behind. Inside the car, everything felt cocooned in luxury and silence. The interior smelled faintly of leather and his cologne—intoxicating and expensive—and Elara sat perfectly still, her fingers grazing the smooth fabric of her dress.

She couldn't stop sneaking glances at him.

Nikolai's hands rested confidently on the steering wheel, his jawline etched in concentration, eyes focused on the road. The dim lights outside cast soft shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp planes of his face—the kind of face carved from patience, secrets, and power. There was something almost dangerous in how quiet he was. Calculated. Calm.

Too calm.

Her curiosity finally got the better of her.

"So… are you going to tell me where we're going?" she asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

"You'll find out soon enough, krolik moya."

There it was again—that nickname. She still didn't know what it meant, but the way he said it made her insides flutter.

Elara gave him a sideways look, teasing. "You're not kidnapping me, are you?"

He chuckled, low and warm, eyes flicking toward her again. "Would that be so terrible?"

Her laugh was soft and bright, filling the space between them. "I mean, I'd expect a ransom note or something. At least a villain monologue."

His smile widened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Not fully.

Because to him, it wasn't just a joke.

There had been nights—long, quiet nights in that towering penthouse—when he'd thought about it. Not in a malicious way. But in that desperate, possessive ache he couldn't always suppress. The way she smiled, so open and unaware of the shadows he walked through... He had thought about what it would be like to keep her hidden away. Safe. His.

To wrap her in silk and keep the world at bay.

But he never acted on it.

Because she was untouched by the filth and blood he was born into, and he wanted—no, needed—to keep her that way. Elara was the only thing in his life not tainted by the Bratva, and if he ever crossed that line, he feared there would be no return for either of them.

So he smiled at her like it was a joke.

"Don't tempt me," he murmured.

She laughed again, shaking her head, oblivious to the thoughts storming behind his eyes.

The drive continued in companionable silence, the hum of the engine purring beneath them. Outside, the streets began to change—no longer bustling with the casual chaos of the city, but quieter, more exclusive. The kind of area with buildings made of glass and marble, where the people didn't look at price tags and everyone knew your name, even if you never told them.

Eventually, the car slowed and turned into a private driveway, guarded by a sleek iron gate that silently opened as they approached.

Elara's breath caught.

The building before them was stunning—modern yet classical, grand without being gaudy. Lit elegantly with gold sconces and chandeliers visible through floor-to-ceiling windows, it looked like a place that hosted royalty—or people who owned kingdoms behind closed doors.

Nikolai pulled up to the entrance, where two valets in dark uniforms immediately stepped forward.

Before she could reach for the door handle, he was already out, walking around the car. He moved with grace and control, every step purposeful.

Elara opened the door a crack, but he got there first.

"Allow me," he said smoothly, holding the door wide.

And when she stepped out—his breath stopped.

The deep forest green of her dress shimmered like enchanted ivy under the soft light, sleeveless with a plunging neckline that drew his eyes despite his best efforts to remain composed. The fabric clung to her upper body, hugging her waist before flowing into a skirt that whispered with each movement, cascading around her legs like liquid grace.

Her jewelry—silver, subtle—only amplified her elegance. A single emerald teardrop pendant rested just above the neckline of her dress, matching with delicate stud earrings that sparkled every time she moved. The green made her eyes glow, made her skin look like porcelain dusted with gold.

And her heels… God help him. Stilettos, delicate straps, just enough height to bring her closer to him in every sense of the word.

He swallowed hard.

This wasn't just a dress anymore. It was temptation made real.

"Wow," she whispered, glancing up at the building.

But Nikolai didn't look at the building.

He looked at her.

"You're… perfect," he said, voice quiet, almost reverent.

Elara turned to him, cheeks flushing pink. "You're not so bad yourself."

He smirked, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

She nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they turned to face the grand entrance.

The moment they stepped into the building, Elara's breath caught. The space was stunning. Chandeliers glittered overhead like constellations suspended in gold, illuminating the marble floors that gleamed beneath her heels. The scent of wealth lingered in the air—a mixture of perfume, aged liquor, and old money. Waiters in black uniforms glided between guests with trays of champagne flutes, their movements rehearsed to silent perfection. And the people...

The people were dressed in decadence. Silk, velvet, tailored suits and designer gowns. The kind of elegance that didn't beg for attention—it demanded it. This wasn't a regular social gathering. This was curated. Exclusive. The air buzzed with an energy she couldn't quite place, but it was electric and heavy with something she didn't understand.

Elara's eyes widened slightly as she looked around, lips parting as realization hit her like a slow-moving wave.

This was an auction.

Not the kind you saw in charity halls or art exhibits. No. This was the kind of auction for people who swam in wealth—no, drowned in it.

She turned to Nikolai, her mouth opening to speak, but no words came out.

He glanced at her with a calm expression, and simply said, "Just stay close to me."

She swallowed and nodded.

They hadn't been inside for more than five minutes when a woman approached them. Tall, slender, draped in crimson satin that clung to her like second skin, she walked with the confidence of someone who'd been born into privilege. Her lips were painted blood red, and her eyes clung to Nikolai like he was the last man on Earth.

"Nikolai," she purred, laying a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. "You didn't tell me you'd be here tonight."

Elara stood right there, her hand looped around his arm, but the woman didn't even spare her a glance. It was as though she were invisible.

Nikolai offered the woman a cold smile. "I don't recall needing to."

She laughed, too loud and too fake, her eyes glittering with something possessive. "Of course. Always so private."

Elara shifted slightly. There was a pause, thick and uncomfortable.

But then, without a word, Nikolai turned his attention back to Elara. His gaze softened instantly.

"Shall we take our seats?" he asked, ignoring the woman entirely.

Elara nodded, not missing the flicker of insult that crossed the woman's face before she spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

They were escorted to a private table close to the front, slightly elevated, offering a clear view of the auction floor. The stage had been beautifully decorated, with velvet curtains and golden uplighting. An ornate podium stood in the center, where a silver-haired man in a tuxedo soon took his place.

As the auction began, soft music faded and the room dimmed, all attention turning forward. A spotlight cast a glow on the first item: an ancient-looking book encased in glass.

"Tonight's first item," the announcer began, voice rich and practiced, "is a rare 15th-century manuscript, believed to be one of only four in existence. Bidding will start at seventy-five thousand."

Elara stared, stunned.

Nikolai leaned closer to her ear. "If there's anything you like, just say the word."

She turned to look at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if it's... expensive?"

He smiled. "Doesn't matter."

Elara blinked at him. There was no bravado in his tone, no arrogance. Just certainty. Money really did mean nothing to him.

The auction went on. Sculptures. Rare wines. Jewelry encrusted with stones she couldn't even name. The prices climbed higher and higher, some items selling for hundreds of thousands. The people around them barely blinked.

She watched, amazed. Half these pieces could pay off her student loans, buy her a house, maybe three, and still leave enough for a lifetime of groceries.

Nikolai occasionally lifted his hand to place a bid—sometimes winning, sometimes letting others outbid him—but none of it seemed to faze him.

Then it appeared.

A piece of art unlike the others.

It wasn't gilded or dripping in history. It was a sculpture—a modern, breathtaking creation. A silver woman emerging from a block of obsidian, her arms stretched upward, her expression a mix of freedom and pain. Something about it stopped Elara's breath.

She didn't even realize she was staring until she heard Nikolai's voice.

"You like it?"

Her gaze snapped to him.

"Yes," she breathed. "It's beautiful."

The auctioneer began. "Opening bid: one hundred and ten thousand."

Multiple hands went up immediately.

Nikolai lifted his hand.

"One twenty," the announcer called.

Another hand.

"One thirty."

Another.

"One fifty."

Elara looked at him. "You don't have to..."

He turned his head, eyes locking with hers. "I told you, krolik moya, anything you want."

The bidding war heated. One seventy. One eighty-five. Two hundred.

Gasps rose in the room.

Still, he raised his hand.

"Two-fifty."

Silence fell.

Even the auctioneer blinked. "Two hundred and fifty thousand. Going once. Going twice..."

No more bids.

"Sold."

The crowd clapped politely. Nikolai leaned back in his seat, completely unbothered, as though he'd just bought a cup of coffee.

Elara stared at him.

"That was..."

"For you," he said simply.

Her throat tightened. "That could buy a house."

"Could," he agreed. "But it bought you a smile instead. And that, Elara, is worth more."

She looked down, her cheeks warming. How could someone like him make her feel so treasured without even trying?

The auction continued for another hour, but Elara was only half-present. Her mind kept drifting to the sculpture. To the way Nikolai had looked at her. To the weight of the emerald pendant resting against her collarbone. None of this felt real.

And yet, there he was beside her. Silent. Steady.

Once the final item was sold and people began to rise from their seats, Nikolai stood and offered her his hand.

"Let's get out of here."

She nodded, placing her fingers in his.

When the valet pulled the car around and handed Nikolai the keys, he walked her to the passenger side and opened the door once again. She slid in gracefully, adjusting her dress, the fabric spilling like dark silk across her thighs.

He got in, closed his door, and turned the key. The engine purred to life.

As they pulled away from the glowing building behind them, the world seemed to exhale.

Elara turned to look out the window, but not before stealing one last glance at him—the man who had walked out of a shadowed world and into hers, like he belonged there all along.

And maybe he did.