It both was and wasn’t intentional, for he no longer needed the pretence of the doting husband. He had what he wanted—the key to his revenge. Now he just had to turn the key in the lock. Everything in his life since the age of thirteen had been about this moment. Every dark thing he’d ever done, educational achievement, business deal, his sole focus had been leading to this point.
He’d identified Ella as the only thing that Vladimir cared about other than his company. He’d watched from afar, seeing how Ella was showered with everything that his mother had not been. Suddenly he felt a surge of resentment towards her, knowing that to be unfair. It wasn’t her fault, but she was connected to that man’s world—her ignorance was no excuse. But, if Vladimir gave him everything he wanted, then perhaps she might escape with as little hurt as possible.
If Vladimir gave him the company that was his by right, to do with as he wished, to destroy in front of the very man whose sole focus had excluded his daughter, then Roman would retreat from Ella’s life—leaving her untouched and their wedding annulled. She might never even know the true depth of his actions.
But only if Vladimir had even an ounce of sentiment towards the girl. Roman hoped he did. For her sake.
Roman found it strange that he recognised the roads leading towards the estate. As if everything about that day, all those years ago, had been indelibly printed on his soul. The way the sun had beat down on him for every single one of the twenty minutes it had taken him to walk from where the bus had stopped. The way his chest had ached from leaving his mother behind and spending the precious little time they had left on his quest. The way his rough clothes had felt against his skin. The way that hope had bloomed in his chest as he felt convinced that the old man would repent, would save his mother.
The slice of devastation, humiliation and agony that had torn through him as the door had been slammed in his face was still fresh. As was the bitterness and anger he’d seen in the old man’s eyes, the resentment. That was the night Roman had been truly born.
As they passed through wrought-iron gates Roman remembered Ella asking him on the plane if everything was okay. Now he mentally answered that it was more than okay. That it was perfect.
* * *
As they drew to a stop, Ella almost excitedly launched herself out of the limousine. She had decided that once they got this meeting out of the way, everything would go back to how it had been before. That the man she had fallen in love with would return to her, and she would never see this dark, brooding wolfish figure again. Dorcas loped along beside her and if Konstantin—her guardian’s housekeeper—thought anything strange about the presence of the animal he was too well trained to say.
Kissing the gruff man on the cheek, she blindly grasped Roman’s hand and hurried into the mansion before she could see Konstantin’s dark look at the man she had married. As always when she entered the sprawling entrance hall, she was stunned by the marble flooring and sweeping spiral staircase in the corner, the grandeur nothing like what little she remembered of her one-time childhood home with her parents. Releasing Roman’s hand, she gave in to the desire for her childhood ritual of spinning in a circle in the centre of the hall. It had started as a way to stop from buckling beneath the awe of it all, the unfamiliarity of it, and Ella suddenly found she needed it now. A self-conscious giggle rose up in her chest at her own silliness as she drew to a halt, expecting to see Roman’s soft indulgent, understanding smile that she had grown to depend upon. But instead he was looking about him as if disappointed.
‘He is in a meeting, miss, and asked that you wait for him in the living room.’
Thrusting aside her fears, Ella instead reached once again for Roman’s hand and drew him towards the room indicated by Konstantin. She chose to cling to the threads of her own happiness. A happiness she hadn’t realised was missing from her life before Roman. She’d been going through the motions at school and university, Ella had realised. The roughly sketched-out company she’d been talking to Célia about just a way to pass the time. But now Ella was about to start a new chapter in her life. As a woman. As a wife. As someone in her own right. All this joy she desperately clung to, ignoring the fact that Roman’s hand had slipped from hers.
She turned to find him pouring himself a drink from the small bar area and felt oddly disquieted by the way he seemed to feel so at home in a room she had never really liked. As if it was his. As if he had the right. It was such a contrast to the almost humble man she had come to know. The arrogance somehow made her feel embarrassed on his behalf as Konstantin took in the same action with something like disdain.
‘Would you care for a drink?’ The simple request had come from her guardian’s housekeeper, not her husband, making it almost impossible for Ella to ignore that something was wrong. Very wrong.
‘I think that would be a good idea,’ came a gravelly voice behind her. ‘I have a feeling she’s going to need it.’
She turned to find her guardian looming in the
