“If you’ve decided to go your own way, I won’t stop you,” he said at last.
“Thank you. I don’t have another choice. And… I’m sorry I dragged you into all this,” she added quietly, brushing her hair.
“Yeah, sadly, you did. And that’s exactly why I can’t just let you run off wherever you feel like.”
She stood at the mirror with her back to him. She turned sharply, confused.
“What did you say?”
“Running off alone is not an option,” he said, standing firm, planting his fists on his hips.
“And what are you gonna do—chain me up?! I’m not your wife, remember?! This is all just a game!”
“Yeah? Well, my life isn’t a game!” he snapped. “You think if something happens to you, I won’t be held responsible? No, sweetheart, not happening. You do nothing without my say-so—or I call your father and hand you over. End of discussion.”
“You bastard!”
“Call me what you want. I play it safe. Now give me your passport,” he said, holding out his hand.
“You’ve got some nerve! What’s next, turn me into your slave?!” she cried, scrambling for the drawer where she kept her things.
In a single stride, Spartacus closed the distance and grabbed at the passport. She jerked away and tried to flee, but he caught her instantly, spinning her around. She lost her balance and yanked him down with her. They crashed onto the bed—once his parents’—which had been given to them as newlyweds. Spartacus usually slept on the floor, while Nadya, as a lady, had claimed the bed. Now they lay there together, tangled up. He hovered over her, his gray eyes darkening as he gripped her wrists, pinning her beneath him.
“Get off me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Snapping out of it, he immediately pulled back—but not before snatching the passport from her limp fingers.
“I said what I said. Period.” He was breathing heavily—from anger… or something else. “You’ve got a choice. Go back to your father—or we figure this out together.”
“I should’ve just married that slimy Sergey,” Nadya muttered angrily, rubbing her wrists. “Then poisoned him on the wedding night and become a rich widow. Would’ve saved me from running from one tyrant to another.”
Spartacus chuckled and shook his head.
“Do you really think only decent people cross your path? You’re wrong, sweetheart. You might run into anyone—psychos, maniacs—and then even my so-called tyranny would feel like tender love.”