Mafia Billionaire’s Forlorn Wife
Chapter 31

My phone continues to buzz in the front pocket of my suit but I don’t pay attention towards it. I know that it’s Arabella trying to get a hold of me because that is what she has been doing for the past two hours and I have been ignoring each and every single one of her calls.

I have no intention of speaking to her about anything at the moment.

I shift my focus back on the file in my hand just when the door to my office bursts open and when I look up I find no one other than my wife storming in with a very scared looking Jeremiah at her tail.

“I am so sorry sir, I tried telling her that you were busy, and—”

“That’s okay, Jeremiah.” I cut him off sharply but my eyes are trained on Arabella who looks furious. That drives my temper further up the wall as I mutter, “you can leave us.”

There are so many things that I wish to say, to snark at Arabella right now, but with Jeremiah present, I would die before disrespecting her like that.

Clearly that is something she needs a lesson in.

“I didn’t give all those statements, Mr. Mikhailov, you have to believe me.” She says the moment Jeremiah leaves us alone and she steps further inside my office that is currently drenched in the afternoon sun.

“Really?” I jab, “I have to believe you?” I ask her in a disinterested tone as I stare at her with my face void of any emotion.

Her words spoken to her cousin are currently roaming through my head right now and I know that I don’t have to believe anything she says because she probably did go to the press about this all.

She lets out a frustrated breath as she comes to take a seat right in front of me, “Rhys, I had that conversation with Leo two days ago and I don’t know how this got to the press but I swear to you that I haven’t been giving these irrational statements about our marriage to anyone.”

Well, if you can tell your cousin that you are marrying me for money then you can do anything.

“I don’t know why you think that I even give a f**k about these articles, Arabella.” I mutter, “and your words only tell me that you were, in fact, talking to a third party about leaving me and this marriage.” I remind her curtly, meeting her gaze briefly before looking back down at the file on my table.

“Third party?” She stutters out, “Leo is my best friend.” She says bashfully.

Something about this entire situation just irks me enough for me to look up and meet her defiant gaze, “you’re still not denying the fact that you were talking to him about leaving me.”

Don’t say yes. Just don’t admit it.

I unknowingly hold my breath, chanting the same thing over and over in my head as I stare at her.

She gives me narrowed eyes, “so, what if I was?” She says jutting her chin out in a manner that makes me want to put her across my lap and s***k her a*s raw.

My fingers clench in a tight fist on the table while I stare at her. I try my hardest to not let my true emotions appear on my face because right now, all I can think about is the fact that she is considering leaving me for good and the thought scares me more than anything in this world.

Just the idea of coming back home and not seeing her curled up in that godforsaken violet couch of hers that clashes with the rest of my living room but still adds personality to the space is just unbearable.

The idea of not hearing her gush and m**n whenever Frida cooks something that she likes is my personal brand of hell. The thought of her permanently walking away from my life is enough to make me want to burn down the whole world.

She’s not leaving me.

I’m not going to let her do that.

“Mr. Mikhailov, look,” she says gaining her composure. “Whatever I said to Leo, is my own business. It was a private conversation, one that had no business getting out. And I don’t know how these sleazy reporters got wind of this conversation but I most certainly have not contacted anyone to give them a story.” She purses her pouty lips in disapproval as her throat bobs in a manner which makes me want to reach out and trace the length of her neck with my fingers, just to feel if her heart is beating as wildly as mine right now.

“I don’t care about the story.” I mutter truthfully, “but are you or are you not planning to leave me?”

There is nothing more important for me than this right now. Ever since Amelia told me about these articles this morning, I have just wanted to find out how true these statements are.

The only thing that is currently roaming through my head is the possibility of Arabella walking away for good. And what irritates me even further is the fact that I don’t understand why her staying is so important to me.

Since the day I married her, I have known that I do not wish to keep any relationship with her. I have tried to hate her by reminding myself that her father killed my own and the only reason I am with her is for revenge. I have done endless things to ensure that I wouldn’t stray from my goal.

But every k**s that is exchanged between us, every moment that we spend under the lights of her room or other darkened corners of the house, I am left wanting for more and I don’t think there is any going back from that now.

“I’m not planning anything.” Arabella replies and I release the breath that I have been holding unknowingly. But then she adds, “but you leave me with no choice, Mr. Mikhailov. If you don’t straighten your act, then I might as well walk away.”

That is when the restraint inside me snaps and I reach across the desk to grab her by the back of her neck before pulling her over to my side as stationary crashes to the floor from my desk but I could not give two f***s about it as I stare into Arabella’s widened eyes.

Her breath falls on my face and I smell her honey and vanilla perfume up close, breathing her in as I stare at her with my hand gripping the roots of her hair, and with just a finger’s width of distance between our lips.

“Listen to me, very very carefully, Arabella.” I hiss, lowering my voice just enough to strike fear in her eyes, “you don’t get to decide when to leave this marriage, alright? Because you are my prisoner and you will stay with me for as long as I want you to. And once I’m done with you, you will beg me to leave you alone and even then I won’t give you what you want.” She gulps and I bring my other hand to rest at the base of her neck with my thumb grazing the point where her pulse is the loudest.

Her entire body shivers in response and a smirk lines my lips as I say, “you belong with me, Arabella Mikhailov.” I put emphasis on the surname so she can get the message clear through her head, “and you will do well to remember that no matter what you go about prattling to the world, you will always be my wife and I will never let you escape your prison.”

And then I leave her neck completely and step back just as she barely manages to catch herself while continuing to glare at me with her back straightened while she sits on top of my desk.

That is when I take out my black business card and take her hand in mine before placing it on her palm.

“Treat yourself nicely, birthday girl. People should know that it’s my wife’s birthday today.” I tell her with a bitter smile lining my lips and I watch her eyes widen before anger rushes into her face and she swings her legs around and steps down from my desk.

“You’re despicable.” She hisses, and with that, she turns around and walks out of my office in even more anger than what she came here with.

I shake my head.

The filthy monster of guilt lets out a roar inside my heart but I suppress it with my flames of rage as I shake my head.

She anyways didn’t deserve the surprise that I had planned for her.

At least this way, she knows better than to go about airing our dirty laundry in front of the rest of the world.