Bound by lies Trapped by Desire novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Elena’s POV:

The day passed faster than I expected–though it still managed to feel like drowning in slow motion. Between classes and assignments, my fingers scrolled endlessly through notes and lecture slides, but my eyes barely registered the words. They felt like fog, like static across the screen. My mind wasn’t here, not really. It was still reeling, still circling like a vulture over everything that had happened over the course of twenty four hours.

I stayed in contact with mom through text, checking in every hour, asking her how her workday was going, if anyone had visited her office, and–god–if she was safe. The paranoia of what Dmitri had said had taken root inside me had bloomed into a tangled mess of choking vines.

If he could hurt me then he could also get to my mother.

“Did anyone stop by today?” I asked for the third time.

“No, sweetheart,” she replied. “Just Mr. Lan from accounting, asking about the printer again. Why do you keep asking? Be honest with me. Did something happen?”

My thumbs hovered over the screen.

How could I explain what I didn’t understand myself?

Because the man who fathered me once ran a trafficking empire and might be planning something else entirely now? Because I’ve found myself at the center of a revenge fantasy gone wrong, where every man is either lying to me or trying to control me?

Instead I typed:

“Just checking. Everything is fine. Love you.”

I clenched my jaw as I stared at the screen.

Sergei hadn’t made a move. No Texts. No calls. No lawyers. No Mafia cronies in black cars. Nothing. Maybe I was reading too much into this. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe that insane outburst at the gala had been a power play. A move to discredit Nikolai. Maybe everything was just a twisted game to him.

But… why had Lazar said Sergei missed me?

I swallowed hard and shook the thoughts away.

It was getting late. I stopped by the café I used to work at, the familiar warmth of the place greeting me like a ghost. The smells hit me all at once- espresso and cinnamon, burnt caramel, and the buttery scent of grilled cheese sandwiches. Nostalgia punched me straight in the stomach. I ordered a sandwich to–go, exchanging polite smiles with the barista, even though my mouth tasted bitter and dry.

By the time I left the café, dusk had settled like a bruise across the sky. Shades of plum and steel–gray bled into each other, the city shimmering beneath scattered golds from high–rise windows. I walked to the metro station with my coat pulled tight around me, dodging pedestrians.

My phone buzzed.

I didn’t even need to check the caller ID to know who it was. Somehow, his name lit up in my head even before the screen did. After all, he was my stalker.

He’d know that I was at the metro station.

I answered.

“Elena?” came his voice instantly, as if he’d been waiting–no, hovering–his breath shallow in the speaker.

“Office or penthouse?” I asked bluntly. No use pretending there was anything more to say.

A pause.

1/3

Chapter 83

“You’re coming now?”

“It’s already six, Nikolai.” I’d have to leave after I am done after all. I didn’t plan on staying the night.

He let out a sigh, almost like he hadn’t been breathing until I spoke. “Come to the penthouse,” he said quickly, then added, “No–wait I’ll send a driver

“No need. I’m taking the metro,” I replied, then ended the call before he could argue.

I didn’t want to owe him anything more.

The metro ride was uneventful. Co

air rushed through the tunnels, my sandwich sat cold in my lap, and my thoughts whirled like coins in a dryer. A lady two seats down had a screaming baby. A college kid across from me was crying into his hoodie. Everyone was surviving the best they could. And I was there–somewhere in between tears and fury.

When I finally reached his building, I passed through security like a ghost. I had the card he’d given me after the wedding, tucked deep in my wallet like some cursed relic. It felt strange to use it now–to press it to the scanner and hear the soft click of permission. This was the first time I was using it Everytime I came here, it was always with Nikolai beside me.

The penthouse was silent when I stepped inside.

He was there.

Nikolai stood in front of the wall–to–ceiling windows, the last of the daylight casting him in a sharp silhouette. His posture was tense, shoulders broad, hands shoved into his pockets. That stupid black button down still clung to him like a second skin, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it.

He turned the moment the door closed behind me. His eyes locked on mine.

And for a moment, neither of us said a word.

I slipped off my shoes and left them at the door. His presence in the room was like a weight on my chest, but I ignored it. I walked to the couch, I set down my backpack and my cap. I peeled off my leather jacket, then tugged out the pin holding my bun in place. My scalp screamed in relief, and i cursed softly under my breath. I really was this close to shaving it all off.

He hadn’t moved yet.

I turned slightly, feeling his presence at my back. Then, wordlessly, he approached–quiet steps over polished marble.

His fingers were suddenly in my hair.

Long, warm strokes down the back of my head, his touch feather–light, reverent even. My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to resist. I wanted to shove him away. But my body was already reacting before my brain could catch up.

He massaged the base of my skull, gently untangling knots, tugging the strands back, then–God help me–he started braiding my hair. Just like that. As

if it were the most natural thing in the world. Like we hadn’t screamed at each other, like he hadn’t shattered my trust. Like everything was still okay.

He pulled a scrunchie from his pocket–beige, glitzy, absurdly out of place with his suit–and secured the braid at the end.

My throat tightened.

“Why do you still have these?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. I didn’t know why I even asked. It was a stupid question.

His hands found my waist next, and I let him guide me–half–turning me toward him. His expression was open, vulnerable. He leaned down.

But I stopped him.

My hand pressed against his mouth, firm and unyielding. His breath stilled under my palm.

2/3

Chapter 83

“No kissing,” I said softly.

He blinked, surprised, eyes searching mine for explanation.

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