The city outside was quiet. Only the distant hum of traffic and the faint drip of rain against glass broke through the silence that had settled inside the penthouse. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a sliver of silver moonlight that spilled across the bed, softening everything it touched—the dark sheets, the sheen of sweat on their skin, the faint tangle of limbs.
Rose lay sprawled over Nikolai's chest, her ear pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. That sound anchored her, reassured her, in ways she couldn't put into words. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek felt almost hypnotic, like the ocean tide—constant, strong, and endless.
The scent of their intimacy lingered in the room: the musk of sweat, the sharpness of his cologne, and the raw, unmistakable trace of sex. Her hair stuck to her temples in damp strands, and she could feel the warmth of his skin still clinging to hers.
Her finger traced the ink sprawled across his chest. She followed each curve and sharp edge of the tattoo until her fingertip stopped at the most impossible part of all: her name, etched permanently into his skin. Property of Rose.
Every time she looked at it, her throat tightened. Every time she touched it, a smile fought its way across her lips no matter how much she tried to resist.
And then, of course, there was the glittering band on her finger.
The ring caught the light even now, mocking her disbelief. It weighed more than it should have, not because of the carats—though the diamond was ridiculous in size and price—but because of what it meant.
She still couldn't believe it.
He had really done it.
Nikolai, the man who had terrified her, controlled her, broken her down and then built her up again, had gotten down on one knee and asked her to be his wife. And she—God help her—had said yes.
Rose smiled to herself, still tracing the letters inked into his chest.
"We are really… official, huh?" she muttered softly, almost as if saying it too loud would shatter the fragile reality they were living in.
Nikolai's arm tightened slightly around her waist, but he didn't answer right away. His silence was normal, but it always carried weight. Eventually, he tilted his chin downward, looking at her with an unreadable expression.
"Yes," he said simply, the word smooth but final, as though it sealed something irrevocable.
She let out a small laugh under her breath. "But I still feel like I don't really know you that well yet."
That caught his attention. His brows pulled together in the faintest frown, and she could feel the change in his breathing under her cheek.
"What do you mean by that?" His voice carried that low edge, the dangerous kind that wasn't loud but demanded careful words in response.
Rose lifted her head, propping herself up on her elbow. She dragged the blanket with her, tucking it across her chest, suddenly feeling exposed—not physically, but emotionally. She wanted to say this right.
"Well…" she started, chewing at the inside of her cheek nervously. "I mean, I do know you. I know that you love me. I know that you'd die for me. I know you can be a little annoying sometimes." Her lips curved into a teasing smile, though it didn't erase the seriousness in her eyes. "But I also know that you're a good person, deep down. Even if you try to hide it under that scary mask you wear for everyone else."
Nikolai stayed silent, his gaze locked on her as if daring her to keep going.
Rose drew in a steady breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… I want to know more. The real Nikolai. Not just the overbearing, vampire warlord who acts like he's made of ice and granite. I want to know you. The man under all of that."
The silence that followed stretched too long. Nikolai's jaw flexed slightly, but he didn't break his stare.
Rose shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his silence pressing down on her. "You don't have to tell me everything right now," she added quickly. "It's just… we're engaged now. Isn't that what people do? They open up to each other?"
Finally, Nikolai exhaled, though it wasn't relief—it was resignation.
"I don't think that's important," he said flatly. "And besides, we'll get to know each other as time goes on."
The words were a dismissal, and she heard it clearly.
Rose's lips parted slightly in disbelief. "Not important? Nikolai, of course it's important. If we're going to spend our lives together, I want to understand the things that made you who you are. I want to know why you are the way you are. That's not too much to ask."
"It is when those things are irrelevant," he replied, his voice sharper now.
Her brows drew together. "Irrelevant? You think your past is irrelevant?"
"It doesn't matter anymore."
"It matters to me."
That shut him up, if only for a heartbeat. His expression hardened, but she refused to let it scare her into silence.
Rose leaned closer, her voice gentler this time. "I'm not trying to dig into things you don't want to share. But… I remember the night when you left me alone with that man. When I said your mother must be proud of you for what you did afterwards—you got so angry. You got really mad about it i thoight you might kill me. Why?"
For the first time since the conversation began, Nikolai moved. He stiffened beneath her, muscles locking like stone. His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle tick.
Rose froze. She hadn't expected him to react this strongly.
"Nikolai?" she asked cautiously.
But he didn't answer.
Instead, he sat up abruptly, pulling the blanket off his body. The air between them shifted, heavy and charged, as he swung his legs over the bed. Without looking at her, he stood and reached for his pants from the floor.
Rose's heart sank as she watched him shove one leg into the fabric, then the other, his movements tight and clipped.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
His back was to her when he replied. "To take a shower."
Rose sat up straighter, clutching the blanket to her chest, her brows furrowing. "Really? That's it? You're just going to run off to the bathroom instead of answering me?"
Still no answer.
Her lips parted in disbelief, frustration curling in her chest. "So… you are avoiding talking about your mother."
That made him pause, his hand tightening on the waistband of his pants. Slowly, he turned his head just enough to look at her from over his shoulder. His eyes were darker now, colder.
"I'm not avoiding anything," he said tightly.
Rose raised a brow. "Then why can't you just answer me? It's not like I want to force you to talk about it. I'm just… curious."
He stared at her for a long, tense moment. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"Then stop being curious."
And with that, he turned away, striding toward the bathroom. The sound of the door shutting echoed too loudly in the room, final and sharp.
Rose sat frozen on the bed, her chest tightening in a way she couldn't quite describe. She stared at the closed door, the muffled sound of running water beginning to filter through the walls.
She didn't know how to feel—hurt, angry, or simply defeated. All she knew was that something inside her ached, something deeper than she wanted to admit.
Because no matter how much he said he loved her, there were still walls between them. And she wasn't sure if he'd ever let her tear them down.