Chapter 140: a vivid dream

"Oh, no, Miss," the maid replied simply.

"Master Aaron carried you upstairs himself. He wouldn’t let any of us disturb you. He took off your dress and changed you into the nightgown so you could sleep comfortably."

Isabella felt the blood rush to her face with such force she felt like she might faint right there on the mattress.

Aaron had pulled her clothes off. Aaron had dressed her while she lay there, completely passed out and helpless.

The maid cleared her throat softly, hiding a tiny giggle at the sight of the young woman turning completely red from her forehead to her chest.

"Where is he?" Isabella demanded, her fingers clutching the bedsheet so hard her knuckles turned white.

In her head, she was already cursing his arrogance in ten different ways.

"Master Aaron left for the office early this morning," the maid explained. "He said he had several urgent meetings, but he will return in the evening. He specifically instructed me to make sure you drink the hangover medicine on the tray before you touch any food."

Isabella let out a miserable sigh. The man had actually anticipated her hangover and prepared medicine for her before leaving. It was infuriating how thoughtful he could be while simultaneously ruining her sanity.

"Thank you," Isabella said quietly, her voice tiny with embarrassment. "You can leave the tray. I’ll take the medicine."

"Call me if you need anything, Miss," the maid said gently, her footsteps receding toward the door before it clicked shut.

It took Isabella nearly an hour to battle the lingering dizziness, shower, and dress herself in a soft knit sweater and comfortable trousers.

She moved down the grand staircase slowly, using the polished wooden railing to guide her steps until she reached the sunlit dining room on the ground floor.

The aroma of freshly toasted bread, savory sausages, and warm coffee filled the air. She sat down at the head of the long table, picking up her fork to slowly pick at her lunch.

Halfway through her meal, a sudden, high-pitched ringing echoed across the table.

Isabella set her fork down and reached out, her fingers searching until they found her specialized phone. She tapped the main button and lifted the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she said cautiously.

"Well, look who decided to rejoin the living," a slick, sultry voice chimed through the speaker.

Isabella blinked in surprise. "Klara?"

"The one and only," Klara said with a light chuckle.

"How on earth did you get my private number?"

"Please, darling," Klara scoffed softly. "My husband can get me the private satellite number of the Pope if I ask him nicely enough. Getting your phone number was child’s play."

Isabella shook her head, a small, involuntary smile tugging at her lips despite her fatigue. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised."

"Honestly, I’m just impressed you’re alive," Klara continued, the sound of a rustling silk robe audible in the background. "You drank enough red wine last night to kill a small horse. How is your head feeling?"

"It feels like someone is hammering a nail into my skull," Isabella admitted, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her head in her hand. "I... I hope I didn’t cause any embarrassing scenes last night. If I said anything inappropriate to you, I apologize."

"Apologize?" Klara laughed out loud, the sound rich and genuine. "Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize to me for. You were absolute entertainment. If anyone should be worried, it’s Aaron. The man looked like he wanted to choke me to death right there on the terrace for letting you drink."

Isabella’s jaw hardened slightly. "That’s his problem. He doesn’t own me."

"Ha! That’s more like it," Klara cheered softly. "Hold onto that attitude, Isabella. Don’t let that icy Russian push you around."

For the next ten minutes, Klara chattered away, giving Isabella updates on the social gossip from the party, telling her to save her number so they could hang out again, and making sharp jokes about her own husband, Matteo.

However, Isabella was barely holding up her end of the conversation.

Her mind kept drifting back to the dark bedroom. To the dream. To the terrifyingly hot image of Aaron standing over her, watching her touch herself.

A soft heat flared up between her thighs again, making her shift uncomfortably in her chair.

"Isabella?" Klara’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you even listening to me?"

"What? Oh... yes, of course I am," Isabella said quickly, her voice squeaking in panic.

"You’re a terrible liar," Klara noted smoothly. "Your mind is somewhere else completely. What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Isabella said instantly. "Just... my hangover."

"Lie," Klara declared. "Tell me the truth, or I’m going to ask Aaron the next time I see him."

"Don’t you dare!" Isabella gasped out, her cheeks burning instantly. She bit her lower lip, realizing she was caught.

She gripped the phone tightly, leaning closer to the receiver as if someone might overhear her in the empty dining room. "I... I had a dream last night."

"A dream?" Klara sounded intrigued. "What kind of dream?"

"A... a very vivid dream," Isabella stammered, her voice dropping to a low, bashful whisper. "About... Aaron."

There was a brief pause on the line before Klara let out a low whistle. "Oh ho. Go on."

"He... he was in my room," Isabella muttered, her face so hot she felt like she was standing next to an open furnace. "And... he made me... touch myself. While he watched. And I... I actually liked it. I woke up right before... before..."

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Silence stretched over the phone line for three long seconds. Then, Klara burst into a fit of wild, hysterical laughter that made Isabella pull the phone away from her ear.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet Isabella!" Klara wheezed through her laughter. "You absolute little freak! You act so proper and innocent, but inside that pretty head of yours, you’re practically begging the man to destroy you!"

"Klara, stop it!" Isabella hissed, her dignity crumbling into tiny pieces. "It was just a dream! A reaction to the alcohol!"

"Riiiight, the alcohol," Klara teased mercilessly. "Keep telling yourself that, darling. If your body is reacting like that to a dream, why don’t you two just sleep together already? It’s painfully obvious you want him."

"I do not want him!" Isabella argued vehemently, her hand slapping the wooden table. "Not until our wedding at least... and besides... He has his own women, and I have my own life!"

"Sure, sure, and I’m a nun," Klara replied sarcastically. "Look, whether you admit it or not—"

Before Klara could finish her sentence, a large, warm hand reached out from behind Isabella’s chair and smoothly snatched the phone directly out of her hand.

"Hey!" Isabella gasped, springing up from her seat, her unseeing eyes wide with shock. "Whaa?!"

She reached out blindly, but the intruder stepped easily out of her reach. The thick, unmistakable scent of cologne, leather, and expensive tailoring washed over her senses.

Aaron.

He didn’t even look at Isabella as he lifted her specialized phone to his ear, his towering frame standing right behind her chair.

"Klara," Aaron’s deep, authoritative voice boomed through the room, cold and completely calm. "Stop bothering my woman."

On the other end of the line, Klara didn’t sound intimidated at all. "Ah, the big bad bear is home early. Did you miss her that much, Aaron? Or were you just worried I’d corrupt her delicate little mind?"

"She doesn’t need your corruption," Aaron said smoothly, his blue eyes tracking Isabella as she turned around, her small face flushed with pure rage. "And she is busy right now."

Isabella reached toward his voice, her hands waving around in the air as she tried to locate the device. "Aaron! Give me my phone back! You are incredibly rude!"

Aaron casually raised the phone higher out of her reach, his gaze lingering on her flushed face and her rising chest. "Did you hear that, Klara? She’s getting loud. I have to handle her."

"Oh, please," Klara snorted over the speaker. "Try not to bore her to death with your brooding, Kazarov. Bye, Isabella! Call me later!"

The line clicked dead.

Aaron lowered his hand and tapped the screen to end the call, finally placing the phone back into Isabella’s outstretched palm.

"You are unbelievable!" Isabella snapped, clutching her phone against her chest as she glared in his direction. "You don’t just snatch people’s phones out of their hands! What are you even doing here? The maid told me you were at the office until the evening!"

Aaron folded his arms across his chest, a small, amused tilt on his lips as he looked down at her. "Are you offended that I came home early, little bird? Did you miss me so little?"

"I didn’t miss you at all!" she said defensively, taking a step backward and turning her back on him. The lingering memory of Klara’s warnings from the balcony last night flashed through her mind. ’He sleeps with whoever he wants.’ The thought made a sour, icy feeling settle in her stomach.

"In fact, I was enjoying the peace and quiet."

She turned to walk away blindly toward the living room, her hand sweeping out to feel for the edge of the dining table.

Before she could take two steps, Aaron’s long fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

"Let go of me," she demanded, trying to twist her arm out of his hold.

"I came back because I was worried about you," Aaron said, his tone softening slightly, dropping its playful edge. "I cut my meetings short to check on your hangover."

"I am not a child, Aaron!" Isabella snapped, pulling against his grip with all her strength. "I can take care of myself! If your multi-billion-dollar business crashes because you keep running home to check on me, don’t blame me!"

"My business will not crash," Aaron replied calmly, refusing to release her wrist, though his grip remained gentle enough not to hurt her skin. "I pay capable people immense amounts of money so I can leave whenever I please."

He pulled her a fraction closer, sensing the genuine anger vibrating through her small frame. His brow furrowed slightly. "You’re genuinely angry. Why?"

"I am not angry!" she lied instantly, her chin lifting. "I am just tired of you smothering me!"

"Lie," Aaron said softly, echoing Klara’s earlier words. "Tell me what’s bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me!" Isabella insisted, her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps as she tried to push his chest away with her free hand. "I just want to go to my room!"

Aaron watched her for a long moment remembering the agony he went through after witnessing this stubborn little woman wreck him with her little drunken act.

He knew she was hiding something, but he also recognized the fierce pride that made her build walls around herself whenever she felt vulnerable. He decided not to push the issue... not immediately at least.

"Fine," Aaron said softly, releasing her wrist.

Isabella took an immediate step back, rubbing her skin where his warm fingers had rested, expecting him to order her around again.

"I came back early for another reason," Aaron continued, his deep voice carrying a strange, heavy weight that made her stop. "The medical team in Russia reached out to me two hours ago."

Isabella froze. All the anger, embarrassment, and confusion drained out of her in a single second. "The... the medical team?"

"Yes," Aaron said, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of her again, his presence warm and grounding. "They have finalized the test results from your last checkup. Your eye nerves have stabilized completely."

Isabella held her breath, her heart pounding against her ribs for a completely different reason now. "What... what does that mean?"

"It means you are ready, Isabella," Aaron said gently, his calloused thumb reaching out to brush lightly against her cheekbone, right below her eyes. "The doctors are prepared. We are returning to Moscow in two days for your surgery."