Page 45 of Gilded Shackles
I told myself this was forced on me. I didn’t choose this woman. She didn’t choose me.
But she’s mine now. And I protect what’s mine.
11
ELLE
Two weeks into my marriage, and I wake up to the sound of hangers scraping against metal rods and voices that aren't even trying to be quiet.
For a hot second, I actually think I'm still dreaming, until I crack an eye open and see two women raiding my closet.
They're goddamn color-coding.
"Excuse me?" I sit up so fast my head spins. "What are you doing with my clothes?"
The younger one smiles at me. "Good morning, Mrs. Ivanov. We're moving your things to the master suite."
Mrs. Ivanov. Two weeks in, and I still feel like they're talking about someone else.
"The master suite," I repeat dumbly, my brain still trying to boot up without caffeine. "As in... Nikolai's room?"
"Yes, ma'am." The older woman nods, already returning toher task. "Mr. Ivanov gave instructions this morning. Everything is to be moved before noon."
I blink. Well, hello, plot twist.
For two weeks, I've been wondering if this is what marriage is supposed to be like. Most women sleep with their husbands. Mine ghosted me like he accidentally married me on a dare and didn't know how to cancel the subscription.
On the morning after our wedding night, yes, the same night when I literally saw stars and sobbed into a silk pillow and thoughtoh shit, I'm actually in trouble here,he returned me to my room like a Victorian governess, and hasn't laid a single finger on me since.
Oh, we've crossed paths. Exchanged pleasantries at dinner. Once, his hand brushed mine reaching for the salt and I nearly combusted on the spot. But that's it.
Not a kiss. Not a hug. Not even a half-hearted boob graze.
And now, suddenly, I'm being upgraded?
Unfuckingbelievable.
Sir Isaac Mewton is curled next to me, licking his own paw with a look that saysyou did it, sis.
"Is there anything you'd prefer to pack yourself, Mrs. Ivanov?" the younger one asks, hovering over my underwear drawer like it might bite.
"No, you can go right ahead," I smile, lying back flat. "And don't forget the cat's bed, bowls, and litter box."
"Oh, um... boss said the cat won't be allowed in." A hesitant, terrified voice.
"What?" I screech, sitting bolt upright. "Sir Isaac has to go with me!"
"Boss said he's allergic and it's either the cat... or him." The older maid won't even meet my gaze.
Allergies, my ass. I haven't once seen him sneeze around my cat. For a man who can command a room of killers without blinking, he sure has a weird thing about my feline.
"Fine," I say, stroking Sir Isaac's silky head. "He'll stay with Pasha. They're best friends anyway."
I lean down to address my cat directly. "Sorry, bud. Looks like you're getting evicted so Mommy can have conjugal visits."
The housekeepers exchange a look that makes me wonder if they think I've lost my mind. Welcome to the club, ladies.
I wait until they leave with their first armload of clothes before falling back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
