Mafia Billionaire’s Forlorn Wife

003-Rhys

One month.

One month in this sham of a marriage and I am already ready to dig my own fingers in my eyes.

This woman is going to drive me insane.

She is changing things around here. She's warming up to Vernon and Frida. She's hosting dinner with her potential clients in my f*****g house. And all the while, she looks so f*****g stunning and unbothered that my c**k hardens the moment she steps into a room.

It is disgusting and infuriating.

She was never supposed to be anything more than a fling. She was never supposed to be anything more than a means to an end. But somehow seeing her around me all the damn time, especially now that I don't have to keep up the ruse of being in love with her anymore is basically drowning myself in a vat of acid. Willingly.

And to make matters even worse, I walk through the foyer of my house after a long and exhausting day only to find Arabella descending the stares wearing the most gorgeous black dress that I have ever seen her in.

She still hasn't noticed me as her eyes are focused on sheathing her phone inside the little baguette bag that she has in her hand. The dress hugs her body like a river of liquid midnight, falling just below her knees in soft furls. The straps of the dress do nothing to hide the accentuated clavicle or the porcelain skin of her shoulders. Diamonds glint at her ears and around her neck and when she runs her hand carefully through her golden hair straightened to fall till the base of her hips, her green eyes meet mine and I know for a fact that I feel all air whooshing out of my lungs.

She is a goddess in her own element, a real life manifestation of Aphrodite. And the worst part of it all is that she knows it. She knows the power she holds and she is never afraid to use it.

The night of the wedding was the only night I heard her breaking down, but since then, a newfound fire seems to have ignited inside her, strengthening her even more than before and giving her the courage to live in this marriage.

Just staring at her makes my skin crawl and my heart soar at the same f*****g time and I am frustrated by the conflicting emotions that I have.

A sultry grin overtakes her lips as she meets my gaze before her eyes take a sweep of my looming frame currently glaring at her.

"Oof, someone had a rough day." She notes, finally descending the last stair as her Yves Saint Laurent heels click against the Italian marble beneath her feet while she gives me a once over before heading towards the door.

Molten rage sweeps through my body as I hear her retreating steps.

Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask. You shouldn't bother about her comings and goings. Don't ask—

"Where do you think you're going?" My voice betrays me as I feel like reaching inside and strangling the pathetic organ called the heart. The only relief is that my words at least came out angry and authoritative rather than the desperate tone I had been suspecting.

She stops right in front of the door just as I turn around to find her looking back at me with an eyebrow raised.

"And why should I tell you?" She drawls.

Agitation spikes up once again in my heart as I glare at her openly, knowing well enough that I am inching closer and closer to strangling her.

"You're my wife. You are accountable to me." I tell her through my teeth.

She scoffs.

She f*****g scoffs.

"You are living in a delusion, Mr. Mikhailov."

Yes, that was another thing that had begun between us. She had stopped calling me by my name and has stuck to addressing to me as Mr. Mikhailov instead.

I should have been happy. She was herself detaching from me. And taking the cue on the dynamic of our relationship.

But even then, a small, irritating part of me is unnerved every time she addresses me that way.

"I will do whatever the f**k I want to and there is barely anything you can do to stop me." She snaps at me.

"I am your husband and I will damn well stop you if I have to." I growl at her, glaring at her heatedly.

She stares me in the eye as she steps closer to me and my nostrils flare with her scent, vanilla and honey, once again making my stupid heart soar in my chest as she smirks up at me.

Oh, how ethereal she looks.

That is one of the major reasons why I spend most of my time in the penthouse that I own near my office. There is no point in staying in the same place as hers when she is flittering about looking like a f*****g goddess.

"If you are my husband," she says in a condescending whisper, "then act like it. And not just in exerting your authority. But fulfilling your marriage vows as well: to love and to cherish." She reminds me, keeping her gaze fixed on mine before pure venom pours into her voice as she continues, "but if you cannot do that, then I suggest that you back the f**k off and let me do whatever the hell I want, same as you."

And with that, she turns and walks away, leaving me frozen on spot right before I hear her car starting outside.

I clench and unclench my fists as I walk to my room, grumbling under my breath the whole time.

Vernon steps in front of me just before I am about to enter the master bedroom.

I meet his eyes and find him suppressing a knowing smirk. I glare at him pointedly, realising that he had been eavesdropping on my conversation with Arabella.

"It's late for you to still be here." I mutter, knowing well enough that he is going to be a pain in my ass right about now.

“I was only hoping to catch you and have a chat with you sir.” He says in a cool tone, but I know that underneath that exterior, he is simmering in anger.

Being the head of the Bratva as well as a successful businessman, there are only a few people close enough to question me or my decisions, and even fewer who can express their disappointment at my actions. Sadly, because Vernon was basically the one who has raised me, he falls into the second category.

Had he not been a great friend of my father’s and the man responsible for teaching me endless life skills, he would have been buried six feet under for half the sass he reserves for just me.

“It’s not as if you will refrain from saying what’s on your mind if I tell you that I don’t wish to hear it.” I tell him with a tight lipped grin as sarcasm drips from my voice, “so go ahead, might as well get it off your chest.” I say pushing my hands in my pant pockets to restrain myself from strangling Vernon should the impulse arise.

He does not ignore that movement but doesn’t choose to comment on it as his slaty grey eyes turn disappointed and he looks at me with a scowl, “Arabella has been nothing but a sweetheart ever since she has arrived, Frida has taken a liking to that girl and you know damn well that Frida does not like people, she is even teaching her Russian for heaven’s sake!”

I blink my eyes, the only sign of surprise that I give out. Arabella is learning Russian? I don’t know why but this information sends a flutter through my heart but I do not let it appear on my face.

I am growing more and more pathetic by the day.

Agitated, I frown at Vernon, “your point being?”

Vernon purses his lips together, “my point, sir, is why would you put her through hell when she truly loves you?”

“She didn’t look like she was going through hell just now.” I state, staring at him with a stoic expression on my face. There is no point in trying to hide my emotions from Vernon, the man practically knows what is going on inside my mind almost too accurately.

“You are an absolute fool, Rhys!” He grumbles shaking his head, “you are never here, and it has been a month since your wedding. This is the first time that she has gone out with her friend Leo because me and Frida were getting on her nerves about it all this while!”

“You asked her to go out?” I growl, an unknown form of agitation chokes me as I glare at Vernon. Leo was a good man, he had been Arabella’s best friend since middle school and I know he would keep her safe, but even then, a primal part of me does not trust him to do a good enough job.

And an even more dangerous part of me hates the fact that I even care about her safety.

But then, she is my wife and if something happens to her while she’s out unsupervised then it would look bad on me…right?

Yeah, that’s a good reason why I should be worried.

“Only because she has been spending her days here wishing that you would sit down to eat one meal with her. The only reason she hosts those client dinners while you’re here is only because you sit down with her during those meals and it makes her feel better. Can’t you see? You’ve broken her heart, Rhys, and you continue to do that every day!”

I stared at Vernon, the emotion in his eyes told me that he had come to care about Arabella like a daughter, especially considering that he lost his own a few years ago in a tragic accident.

“I do not care what she goes through.” I spit, stepping closer to glower at Vernon, “I don’t care what she wants. She is Mancini’s daughter and she deserves everything she gets. Because to be very honest, Mancini decided this fate for himself the day he killed my father. Your best friend, Vernon, or have you forgotten?”

Vernon gives me a pointed stare, “don’t you ever say that, junior.” He growls, using the tone he has sometimes used to scold me during my childhood. “Your father was a brother to me and I would have served him till my last breath had he been alive. But since he isn’t here, I am also responsible for telling you the difference between right and wrong. And what you’re doing to that poor girl is wrong in every aspect of judgement. Do you know she almost fainted yesterday?” My head jerks up at the information.

“What?” I utter out, unable to say more.

Vernon’s lips lift up with a ghost of a smirk, but he continues in all seriousness, “she saw another article about one of your floozies on your arm. She hasn’t been eating properly. Dr. Summer came to check on her and she deduced that lack of an appetite when combined with the panic attack that she had had, resulted in her fainting.”

“She should know better than to believe those tabloids. I am a CEO and I am invited to events because I am mostly funding them. So of course I will have one actress or model or the other on my arm.” I grumble, not choosing to respond on what Vernon just told me about Arabella’s health.

Vernon fixes me with a defeated stare, “then I am certain that you would not be too shaken if tonight someone tries to dance with your wife while she’s out clubbing with her best friend. And after seeing you giving everyone under the sun attention except for her, for the entire month, I won’t blame her for accepting anyone’s advances.”

And dropping that bomb, Vernon strides away.

I am stuck standing there as my mind undergoes conflicting emotions about whether to go to bed or go after Arabella.

“f*****g hell!”

The growl rips out or my chest as I open my phone and search up her location in an app that I developed when I was still in high school.

It lets you find anyone’s location as long as you have their number. Which is why, the government bought it off of me, which resulted in my first million dollar deal.

And now I am using it to find my wife.

One that I do not even care about.

Or so I tell myself.