Mafia Billionaire’s Forlorn Wife
Chapter 10

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Pierre k****s me on both my cheeks before I give him a smile and walk out of the office glass doors, stepping onto the Parisian streets drenched in the tangerine hues of dusk.

My eyes are on my phone as I walk to the car waiting for me by the side of the road. I don’t look up as I slide inside the backseat of the car and my bodyguard s***h driver— Jordan— shuts the door.

The moment the door closes, my entire body freezes and my breathing gets caught in my throat.

I feel him before I see him. His daunting presence, his intoxicating cologne, and the pure, raw, aura of danger and destruction that he carries wherever he goes.

The initial shock passes and is replaced by pure annoyance as I turn my head to the side and find his midnight blue eyes intently boring into my own.

“What the hell are you doing here, Mr. Mikhailov?” I snap at him just as Jordan gets behind the wheel and starts driving again.

Rhys does not answer my question. Instead, he glares at me as though I stole his cat and dyed it purple. What the hell is wrong with him today?

He reaches out and presses a button on the console and the partition rolls up, separating us from Jordan who is driving back to my villa nonchalantly. I am going to have a word with him about not informing me that Rhys was sitting inside my Royce all this while.

“You have been quite the busy woman to catch hold of, Mrs. Mikhailov.” Rhys says sharply, a muscle flickers in his jaw as he practically glares at me.

“Excuse me?” I growl, “what are you on about and what the hell do you want from me? I told you that I am not going to bolt and will be back in your prison in about two weeks!”

I am growing sick and tired of his antics. I thought I could spend this one month away from the pain of seeing his face every day but he had to ruin that for me as well.

“You’re here alright!” He growls, somehow equally angry, “out and about with men who have no business being close to you, men who are not your husband.”

I furrow my brows, “what?” I gape at him, unable to believe what the f**k he is on about. “Have you somehow lost your mind completely?” I question.

“Don’t f**k with me, Arabella, who the hell was that guy you posted with?” He questions, raising his voice at me and on instinct, I flinch back into my seat, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. I hate how weak I get in front of men like him.

Something akin to realisation crosses his gaze and I am certain that he is remembering the time I told him about how I feel about people yelling at me, and then, that realisation turns into guilt.

But I am not having any of it, I steel my shoulders and glare heatedly at him, “what post?”

He stares at me for a moment, seething in anger before he pulls out his phone, swiping at it a few times he turns the screen towards me and shows me a screenshot.

My eyes widen as I meet his eyes once again.

The picture on his screen is from when Ace, my brother came to visit me here yesterday because he was in Paris for one of my father’s business deals. Even right now, Ace is at the villa we are currently headed to.

But I am not going to tell that to Rhys. He has no right getting furious over this, even if the man in the photo wasn’t my brother, Rhys still shouldn’t speak on these things considering how off and about he has been with his model friends.

He shakes his head, “this. This is what I was talking about. Two weeks away and you are already frolicking around with other men.” He says turning his head away in anger.

I ball my fists, “it is not what you think and I don’t need to give you any explanations. We are married only in name, aren’t we?” I chide at him. I know I am only going to provoke him but what I do not understand is that if he hasn’t been loyal to me then what the hell is bothering him?

That is when Rhys responds in a typical Rhys manner as he crosses the distance between us and takes my throat in his hand, not applying any pressure but I feel my entire body shiver when his thumb gently strokes at the length of my neck and my n*****s poke through the thin fabric of my satin blouse.

“I will kill any man that dares to come near you, Arabella.” He growls, his breath fans my face and I smell the spearmint on his tongue which only makes me more flustered at the sudden urge to take his lips captive with my own, “you would do well to remember who you belong to, Mrs. Mikhailov.” He presses his fingers slightly into my throat, just enough to make his point.

I take in a shaky breath, unable to stop myself from licking my lips at the sudden dryness that I now feel in my mouth.

“And you?” I ask, surprised at how I am finding the courage from, “do you also belong to me? Because the media seems to think otherwise, Mr. Mikhailov.”

Just yesterday night, I have cried my eyes out before exhaustion and sleep finally overtook my body because I read the latest Seattle Scoop article showing how cosy and comfortable he looked at a restaurant with his long time friend, Amelia.

There was even one where she was kissing his cheek and he had absolutely no problem with that. He was smiling.

My anger and hurt from the night before return to the surface as I snap at him, “same as you, I will roam around with whoever the f**k I want, Mr. Mikhailov.”

But seeing the darkness seeping into his eyes, I know that he does not like the idea.