Page 61 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“I know you, Fia, better than you know yourself. Freedom and making your own money were the two goals you wrote down in your graduation book after college. I’m saving you from your own demons,” says Chloe, an underlying desperation to her voice. She yanks on my arm again, causing me to stumble forward into her.

“Careful, ladies,” says Emil, joining us. He flashes Chloe a look, startled by her sudden appearance. “How might you have made it onto the guest list, Chloe?”

Chloe folds her arms over her chest, returning my husband’s glare. This is the first time they’re meeting and neither of them look impressed, sharing tense eye contact as I stand between them, waiting for them to drop their grudges already.

In the end, I’m forced to clear my throat. “Brilliant weather we’re having.”

“Hmph,” says Chloe, flashing me one final glare before turning on her heel. “And it’s about to get worse.”

Emil and I share a look before we’re interrupted by a group of college entrepreneurs who congratulate me on my pregnancy and Emil on his success with the docks.

I break from the hall, finding somewhere quiet where I can be alone with my thoughts. My throat, quite like these walls, is starting to close in, breathing becoming increasingly difficult.

I slip into the next room, my heels clacking on the stone as I wander through the exhibition room. This room is cooler, more airy. The distant sound of rain hitting the roof unravels some of the tension, making breathing possible again.

I circle around the room, passing artifacts and paintings, all of which are on sale. Each price tag has a six-figure number written on it, some already sold.

I stare at one painting in particular, depicting a woman asleep in bed wearing white, entangled by red sheets. A devil sits on top of her, his shadow projecting out into the room. From first glance, the shadow looks entirely different, illustrating the side profile of an attractive man, his jaw in the right place, his nose strong, his eyes deep set.

But upon closer inspection, the shadow and the devil bear resemblance. Light, and the direction in which it is placed, alters the way we see things.

I glance at the description card, reading the text when voices echo through the stone, diverting my attention.

“...completely obsessed with his wife.”

“I know,” says the friend, sounding pained. “Life isn’t fair.”

“You sound jealous,” observes the other woman, causing me to turn sideways, watching them from across the exhibition room.

“Emil is quite possibly the most attractive man to have ever walked this earth.”

“Maybe so,” says the first friend. “But the weird obsession he has with his wife is borderline creepy. This is the first time we’re seeing them together in months, and I see them glued together like conjoined twins, isolating themselves from the rest of the function. The poor girl looks scared.”

I frown, returning to the oil painting, staring hard at the woman asleep in bed. Is she even asleep, or is she pretending to be?

My heels scrape against the stone as I make my way toward the exit.

“Ah, shit,” says one of the girls to the other. “You think she heard all of that?”

“Sound travels further than you think,” I say in passing, winking at the women. “I should get back to my husband and let you unpack that incestual, conjured twins analogy.”

“That wasn’t?—”

“Whatever keeps the jealousy at bay,” I say, heading back into the function room to see Emil shaking hands with men in suits.

He wears the same thing as the other men here, dressed in a three-piece suit, black and white like a zebra, and yet he stands right out of the crowd. You can train religiously in the gym, lift the heaviest dumbbells, eat protein for the rest of your life, and still look average next to Emil.

He moves through the crowd with ease, commanding respect, but nobody knows the truth. Being his wife, knowing his flaws, makes me awfully smug. Suddenly, I’m walking through the function wearing my wedding ring with pride, because I finally feel chosen. I’m finally part of something, as opposed towatching from the sidelines, seeing those around me happy but never experiencing it for myself.

“Hello stranger,” says a dark voice behind me, instantly raising the hairs on my arm. “Care for a dance?” Emil skims my waist, swizzling me around straight into his arms.

I fall into his chest, his controlled heartbeat drowning out all over sounds for a blissful few minutes.

We stand under the chandelier, gold light spilling around him. He entwines our hands, staring deep into my eyes with a hungry possessiveness that ignites a fire in my core, causing my clit to tingle.

“Where did you go?”

“For some air.”