Preview

PROLOGUE

Ten Years Earlier

THEY WOULD PAY and pay dearly. Every last fucking one of them.

The purr of luxury cars and the rhythmic click of heels and polished shoes mingled with the swish of neatly-pressed uniforms while Viktor maintained his distance.

Head down, dressed in nondescript, inexpensive clothing with his hands buried in his pockets, he looked like a nobody. Just like he’d planned. No one at Liberty Ridge Academy would give him a passing glance.

He glanced at his watch. Though he’d come early before his session with his mentor Kolya, time was ticking. Kolya detested tardiness and it mattered to him to show on time.

Where was she?

Sometimes she”d be cloaked in a scarf and a knee-length sweater, concealing her figure as though shielding herself from the relentless, judgmental gaze of her peers. But today, she was conspicuously absent from the usual flurry of student arrivals.

His pace slowed, and he moved away from the throng, even though most students steered clear of him. He was a giant among them, a decade their senior and twice the size of the biggest varsity football player.

Fortunately, the lack of surveillance at the school was laughable. Anyone paying attention would have noticed the imposing young man who was always there. Always watching.

”Here she comes,” one of the boys announced in a snide whisper about ten feet ahead of Viktor. ”The fat girl with the big tits.”

Viktor clenched his fist in a surge of protective fury and made a fact: he’d deal with that fucker first.

He had only been training with Kolya for three months, but he had already begun to develop hard muscle under Kolya’s tutelage. It would come in handy when he cornered that asshole in the dark alley between school and home.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed as the familiar Lincoln purred to a stop at the curb. He held his breath. She was here, brought by her father. Viktor refocused his attention, his gaze icy and menacing as he contemplated knocking the boy”s teeth out. He cracked his knuckles, tension rolling off him in waves.

One of the boys shot him a wary glance before nudging his friend as the car door swung open.

”Sit up straight,” her father commanded from the backseat. ”You represent the Ivanov family with dignity.”

Viktor’s breathing became labored. Time stood still for a moment when he saw her.

His angel.

Lydia Ivanova. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. The girl who lived in his dreams. The object of his utter obsession. He stroked the gold earring in his pocket and pricked his finger with the post to keep him focused.

Each tiny pain was a tether, keeping his thoughts sharp and his desire in check.

Viktor’s mind was a constant whirlwind of thoughts about her: her scent, the way her eyes, a striking emerald flecked with hazel, flickered with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. He knew her every expression, every quirk. He had watched her for months, always from the shadows, always unseen.

He knew it was wrong, the way he tracked her movements, the way he collected items she had touched—like this earring, lost one summer night and now a permanent fixture in his pocket.

He was her shadow, her silent sentry, driven by a need he didn’t understand, a desire so deep, it bordered on madness.

“Back off, motherfucker,” he said softly under his breath when Sterling Eldridge took a step toward her. “Back the fuck off.”

Lydia was fire, in more ways than one. He’d watched the way her eyes lit up when she set things ablaze, the joy and freedom she found in the flames. It was a part of her he loved, the dark side she showed no one.

His fingers tightened around the earring, the sharp sting grounding him.

She stood facing her classmates, a defiant spark igniting her emerald gaze as she swung one long leg out, then the other, her plaid uniform skirt grazing the top of her knees. Her glasses perched precariously on the edge of her nose. When she tossed her head, thick waves bobbing defiantly in the breeze, her chin lifted in silent challenge.

Fat girl with the big tits.

Viktor”s blood boiled at the thought. She was amazing.

Despite her father”s harsh, dismissive tone—always scolding, always belittling—she stood proud and tall. He fucking loved that about her.

But today from his vantage point under the shelter of a thick maple, he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. A public scolding only added to the torment inflicted by her cruel classmates.

Fucking losers.

“Awww,” one of the said under his breath to the other. “Is she gonna cry?”

Viktor’s hand curled into a fist.

He would be victim number two.

He noted the golden Lincoln purring at the curb and narrowed his eyes before he zeroed back in on the boy with the big mouth and imagined what he’d look like missing his two front teeth. Viktor cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck. It would feel so fucking good to when his fist connected with flesh and bone.

As Lydia walked toward the school, one of the books fell from the large pile. She bent to pick it up.

“Lydia,” her father muttered. “Don’t be so damn clumsy.”

Always scolding, always dismissive and harsh. Viktor didn’t know how anyone could withstand the constant berating. Did it make her feel small and unworthy? From what he’d seen, her father was relentless.

In his eyes, Lydia was neither overweight nor clumsy — she’d developed earlier than her other classmates, all curves and voluptuous temptation, and she simply hadn’t grown into her own body yet.

And who the hell were they, anyway? Who decided what her body should look like and who decided it didn’t meet some set of random fucking expectations?

She was perfect.

Viktor stood taller and glanced at the time. He had seven and a half more minutes before he’d have to jog to get there on time.

Lydia’s father frowned and sat up straighter. “I’ll be here to pick you up today. We have something urgent to discuss,” her father said, glancing at his watch.

“Yes, Father,” she said in a clear, graceful voice. “See you then.”

As the car left, she stepped forward and wobbled. A few of the boys made derisive comment. The leader winked at a tall, slender blonde girl exiting a silver Mercedes behind Lydia. They shared a look when the girl pressed her finger on her nose and wrinkled it at the girl, as if mimicking a pig. Snickers erupted all around them.

Fucking spoiled, pretentious brats. Viktor delighted in imagining how he would punish them all.

“Lydia! You okay?” A thin girl a full head shorter than Lydia sidled up beside her. Maybe he’d spare that one.

“I’m good, thanks,” she said in that beautiful voice that haunted his dreams.

The first bell rang. It was time to go. If he showed up late, he’d be in deep shit. Kolya didn’t warn twice.

The blonde walked in front of the boys, standing tall and flaunting her breasts. She’d left a few of the buttons on her uniform shirt undone, her meager breasts push up to flaunt. Pretending to sneeze, she made a big production of scattering tissues in Lydia’s direction. Laughter erupted all round them. Lydia’s pretty cheeks pinked.

Viktor’s growl rumbled deep in his chest. This particular girl had been hitting at Lydia stuffing her bra for weeks now. Jealousy was an evil little bitch.

“Morning, Lydia,” the girl said with fake camaraderie. “Need help?”

“No.” Lydia held herself erect, not trusting the girl. She held her head high and turned away. The boys watching on and snickered.

“Fine,” the girl said, shaking her head. “Not sure why you have to bring so many home anyway. Show-off,” she muttered under her breath. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and turned to walk away as one of the boys, the tallest and obvious leader of the group, discreetly stuck his foot out.

Viktor risked coming out of the shadows. If he could — fuck.

Lydia stumbled but quickly righted herself. Her cheeks flushed, she turned on the boy.

“You fucking asshole! You did that on purpose!”

Pride surged in his chest.

Atta girl.

“Lydia!” A sharp voice came from several paces ahead where a tall woman with her hair in a merciless bun at the nape of her neck marched over to them. Snickers erupted all around them as she approached. “Come here at once.”

Viktor”s gaze hardened. Lydia might have stood up to him today, but it left her more vulnerable than ever to the cruelty of her classmates. His protective instinct, already fiercely attuned to her, flared. He could not stand by while she was mocked and isolated.

Stepping forward, his presence immediately silenced the group. His voice, when he spoke, was low but carried an unmistakable threat. ”You find something funny? Maybe you”d like to share the joke with me.”

The snickers died in their throats. Lydia, her gaze flicking briefly from the teacher heading her way to Viktor, seemed to straighten even more, her eyes meeting his with a silent thank you that said she knew, at least for today, she wasn’t alone against them.

No words passed between them, only a quiet understanding before her teacher reached her.

“This is the last straw, Ms. Ivanov,” the woman said severely. “But soon you’ll be no bother to me. Perhaps your father will tell you of his recent decision and how it impacts your attendance here.”

Lydia stared and paled. “They were?—”

“I don’t care what they were doing,” the teacher dismissed.

Viktor kept careful note of all of them. The tall pompous football player. The stuck-up blonde. The critical teacher.

They would all pay and he would take his sweet time making it hurt.

“What are you talking about?” Lydia marched after the teacher. Her bag was slightly open, and a few papers and a slim, well-worn paperback book fell to the ground. Viktor bent and picked them up, but when he went to give them to her, she was gone.

Her classmates scattered like scared little ants.

He tucked the under his arm and headed to meet Kolya and face the consequences for being late.

He came the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

But she never returned.

CHAPTER ONE

Present Day

“Name a price,” Mikhail says. “I owe you, Viktor. It’s time.”

Mikhail looks at me over the fuzzy head of his sleeping son and says, ”I indebted to you for everything.”

I shake my head slightly, dismissing the weight of his gratitude. ”You don”t owe me. I did what I had to do. I did what you needed me to do. It was crucial that I take care of what”s yours, because we”re family, and you know that.” I pop the top of a Hennessy and drink half of it in a few gulps.

I look out into the dark blue-black haze of a late September evening, the lights of the city twinkling in the distance from our vantage point in The Cove. We’ve had a tumultuous few months with a brief pause for our brother Nikko’s wedding, but now it’s time for us to continue to make our moves. We’ve made great strides here in The Cove and it’s time we kick things up.

Since our father’s death, we’ve been doing everything in our power to strengthen our ties and put down roots as the most powerful family in The Cove, nestled between Coney Island and Manhattan.

Every day that passes counts. Every strategic move a power play.

Mikhail’s voice grows softer, more earnest. ”You saved my wife’s life, Viktor.”

I shift in my seat, feeling the unease settle over me. ”Family does for family. You’d have done the same for me,” I respond, my eyes briefly meeting his before settling on the infant. ”Just make sure you keep them safe. That’s all I ask.”

The room falls silent, the magnitude of my request left lingering. Mikhail nods, his expression solemn. ”I will. And anything you need, Viktor, it’s yours. You name it.”

The other brothers present – Lev, and Aleksandr – listen intently to our conversation. I can sense Lev getting restless beside me, tapping his foot as if he’s holding himself back from interrupting.

”You guys don”t get it.” Lev speaks up from the back of the office, his voice cutting through the previous chatter. Our youngest brother often keeps to himself but misses nothing. We’ve grown closer the past few months while my brother Nikko was stationed in Moscow.

“Leave it, Lev.” I shake my head. Jesus.

”What are you talking about?” Aleks asks, his curiosity piqued. Head of cyber security, he prides himself on noting everything but he’s been deep in the weeds researching a new development on the West Coast and hasn’t looked up from his laptop.

Lev continues, his voice firm and clear. ”He doesn”t want money. He doesn”t want things. Viktor doesn”t want any of that. He already has his own house, he has everything he needs... well, almost everything that he needs.”

The room falls into a brief silence as everyone processes Lev”s insight, waiting for him to reveal what it is that I still need. I look away, my jaw tensing. He’s read my fucking mind. When Mikhail offered me the proverbial Genie’s lamp, I immediately knew what I would wish for when I rubbed the golden sides.

I’d only need one wish.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. My brothers hide nothing from each other. I won’t hide this.

“Lydia Ivanova,” Mikhail says quietly, almost reverently.

Silence reins for long moments before Aleksandr speaks up. ”Is she available? Has anything changed?”

Lev shakes his head, ”No.”

Mikhail growls. “Since when does that fucking matter? You know our mantra.”

Aleks’s lips twist into a grim smile, his gaze hardening. “No one and nothing stands in our way.”

I stand up abruptly, my voice low and resolute, ”I don”t need anything. I don’t need anyone. It’s too risky.”

Blowback from the LB, the group to which Lydia’s been promised, is more powerful than we are and known for their ruthlessness. The retribution if we intervened would be swift and severe.

But before I can continue, Lev interrupts. He’s smaller in stature than I am but a force to be reckoned with. His eyes gleam with intensity, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Youv’ve taken your eyes off the prize, brother. You haven’t seen what Ollie and Aleks have.” He leans forward. “Do you have any idea what Timur Yudin plans on doing with her when they’re married? What he plans to do to the Ivanovs?”

I draw in a sharp breath, willing my racing pulse to slow the way my mentor Kolya taught me to do when I was just a boy who didn’t know his own strength.

It doesn’t help.

“I get it,” Lev presses on, his fierce gaze burning into mine. “It would fucking kill you to see a woman like her treated like property. And if you killed Yudin like you want to, the blowback to the rest of us would be brutal.”

I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands. He goes on.

“Yudin plans on sharing her with his men. He’s a filthy, sick son of a bitch. He’s already filmed her and shared it. He’s got on in his crew that jerks off every fucking night to pictures of her on his phone.”

“Where?” I growl. “Who?”

“Sit down, Viktor.”

I shake my head and Aleks puts his hand on Mikhail’s arm. “Let him. He’ll turn into the fucking Hulk right here in front of you if you don’t.”

I pace, trying to let the rage bleed off me.

“He plans on decimating the Ivanovs. He’s an insidious fucking snake and already made strategic moves by infiltrating their ranks and spreading misinformation to sow distrust within their leadership. By marrying into the Ivanov family, he gains access to their secrets and vulnerabilities. And unlike us,” he says, pausing for emphasis. “He doesn’t plan on strengthening by collaboration. He plans on decimating for his personal gain. Over time, he’ll destroy them. Sabotage business deals, assassinate the Ivanov power players.” He shakes his head and lowers his voice.

“You’ve watched Mikhail, Aleks, and now Nikko get married. We’ve grown in strength here in The Cove, and we all know joining forces with the Ivanovs is complicated.” He shakes his head and looks to Mikhail. “Lydia Ivanovo’s marriage to that self-centered prick would fragment our control as well. She’d be used and discarded” He looks to me next. “We have to intervene and fucking end this before their marriage.”

Aleks and Mikhail share another look, an unspoken understanding passing between them as they consider Lev”s words and the implications they carry.

I don’t even want to think of actually…having her. If I let myself hope, if it doesn’t happen… My mouth goes dry.

I pace in the office and shake my head. “Fuck.”

“Her marriage to him will bring severe consequences,” Lev counters. “If we secure the hand of both Ivanov women, you know what that means for us.”

I do. It means creating a foundation that decades of influence and legacy couldn’t rival. It means allowing brutal devastation to our friends and family.

But it’s complicated. So fucking complicated.

Mikhail holds my gaze. “Tell me what you know about Yudin.”

I look away, my jaw tense. “I’ve stayed away.”

I had to.

Watching her go anywhere near him sends my blood to boiling and my gaze grows hazy. I have to focus on protecting my family and can’t risk going nuclear on a man who means nothing to me. I can’t expend energy on a situation that’s out of my control.

I’ve watched. I’ve watched so carefully, but from a distance. “He hasn’t hurt her and that’s all that matters.”

Timur Yudin buys her nice things, makes sure she has a guard on her, albeit it a weaker one that I would have, and has never once raised a hand to her. I would know. If he did, I’d rip his dick off and shove it down his throat so he choked on it while I slit his throat.

“Yet,” Aleks says, shaking his head. “Aria’s got a file on him. We researched heavily after Nikko’s marriage to Vera.”

My skin prickles and I swivel my gaze to Aleks.

Aria, Mikhail’s wife, is our head of cyber security and excellent at what she does. When our brother Nikko married Lydia’s sister Vera Ivanova, it became necessary to zone in on whoever might pose a threat to us.

I look away, not wanting to listen to the details.

What good will it do? I’ll only want to fucking torture every cell in his body before I murder him with my own bare hands. I hate him for being near her. I despise him for not being worthy of her. If I find out one goddamn detail about him?—

“He’s a master at orchestrating these deadly catastrophes,” Aleks says, his voice icy. “He makes sure people in his stable have fatal accidents, then he swoops in and collects hidden insurance policies.”

I shake my head. Fucking douchebag move, but it’s not out of the ordinary to?—

Aleks goes on, relentless. “He stages human trafficking. He sells women and children as if they’re cattle. He’s a top trader in the black market.”

I clench my jaw and stare straight ahead. The fucking asshole. I’m no saint, but anyone involved in human trafficking deserves to be dealt with severely. He’ll live to regret every vile action he’s taken. No one harms the innocent on my watch.

And I want her. I want her so fucking bad it consumes my every thought. If I can’t have her… if she ends up with that self-serving, sadistic prick —

Lev speaks up. “There’s more. Don’t shut this down, Viktor, and fucking listen.” My gaze snaps to his. “Three months ago, his lawyer got him acquitted on accusations of ownership of child pornography, but he’s guilty as fuck. He’s just untouchable. Too much money and too much power.”

“Fuck,” I growl.

Aleksandr delivers the final blow. “Aria uncovered accusations that were deeply buried. He brutally assaulted his last girlfriend. She faked her death to escape, but he found her. When he did, he broke her jaw before she threw herself into oncoming traffic.”

Bile rises in my throat with the effort of restraining myself.

“It’s not a question of if he will hurt her, Viktor, but when.”

“You’ve been tailing him?” I growl. “Where is he?”

Aleks frowns, making a few clicks on his keyboard. “Two hours north of here. Near the Mid-Hudson Bridge.” He reaches for his phone without breaking eye contact with Mikhail, signaling the gravity of the decision. He dials quickly, and the room falls silent, waiting for the call to connect.

”Nikko,” Aleksandr begins when the call is picked up, ”we need to discuss the Ivanov situation.”

Nikko, always quick on the uptake, responds, “I’ve been waiting for this call. Go.”

Mikhail takes over, his voice firm, ”It’s about Lydia. We need to secure her for Viktor.” He fills him in.

Nikko pauses, the gears turning as he considers the implications, especially given his ties with Lydia’s sister. ”Alright, I see the angle. I’ll set things in motion. But remember, this isn”t just about owing us; it”s about aligning our families for the long term.” He needs the Ivaonov’s buy-in. After the death of their Pakhan, new leadership has taken position, and Nikko is the only one that has a working relationship with them. He’ll know how to play this.

They go on to discuss the details and how they’ll make it happen while my mind races with possibilities. There’s a faint buzzing in the back of my mind, a combination of disbelief in what we’re about to do and the need to find Timur Yudin and destroy him.

As the call ends, the atmosphere in the room shifts from tension to a more calculated focus. Mikhail looks around, ensuring everyone is on the same page. ”Nikko will handle the arrangements. We need to be strategic and careful. This isn”t just about acquiring what Viktor wants but about positioning ourselves favorably within the community and ensuring long-term alliances.”

“And dealing with the fucking blowback from Yudin,” I mutter.

Aleksandr nods in agreement, his mind already racing through potential scenarios. ”We have to consider every move as part of a larger game. Lydia is the key piece. Not only does Viktor get what he desires, but her connection through marriage ties us to a powerful family, strengthening our influence.”

Lev, usually the quietest, seems fueled with his need to see this happen, adds, ”And we need to keep this clean. No loose ends that can come back to haunt us.”

Easier said than done.

I’ve been silently listening but finally have to speak up, my voice low and contemplative. ”Make sure Lydia is treated with respect in this process.”

I’ll take good care of her. Such good care of her.

My brothers nod, understanding the delicate balance of fear and favor they need to maintain. This isn’t just another acquisition; this was personal, and it has to be handled with precision.

Mikhail”s expression darkens as he leans forward, the lightness of our earlier considerations gone. ”While we aim to manage this smoothly, understand that Lydia will likely not come willingly. We’ll need to compel her.”

Of course she wouldn’t. She might see us, or me in particular, as a threat. She’s fiercely independent and resists being controlled or used in any of her family’s political moves or machinations. Being forced to marry me after her engagement to Morozov will likely piss her off. Who knows what she thinks about me? Given what I know about her, she doesn’t easily trust and almost never lets her guard down.

This won’t be easy.

Aleks smiles. “You know… we can align this necessity with an old Russian prophecy known to both our families, which we can use to our advantage.”

Aleksandr, intrigued, raises an eyebrow. ”A prophecy? Explain.”

Mikhail nods, a grim smile touching his lips. ”Yes, the prophecy known to families that hail from Moscow speaks of a ”Scourge”—a great turmoil that one family will endure, only to be saved by an alliance through marriage. It’s vague enough to instill fear and acceptance. It’s believed that rejecting the prophesied union will bring disaster, and embracing it will restore balance and prosperity.”

I shake my head. “That’s ridiculous. We’re all too pragmatic to believe in old prophesies. No. If I’m going to have Lydia—” I pause and get my shit together before I continue. “I want it out in the open. I want to solidify our alliance with the Ivanov family like Nikko did, and for the same reason.” I shake my head. “She can’t go to that monster.”

I’ll do way more than fuck him over.

I dislike manipulation and typically prefer brute force. But this situation requires a delicate touch. “I want the Ivanovs to believe that aligning with us is not only inevitable but beneficial.”

I shake my head, still disbelieving that this could work, that Lydia… could be mine.

“And if it doesn’t work?” I try to keep my tone light, pretending that what hangs in the balance could make or literally fucking break me. I fail. My voice cracks.

“It will work,” Mikhail says. “I promise you.”

When I finally leave Mikhail’s office, I’m weary but energized.

Lydia Ivanova.

I drive to my home, an apartment in a high-rise on the Manhattan border. I walk up the brick steps on autopilot, barely noticing where I’m going or what I’m doing.

Nikita, my large, muscular Tibetan Mastiff, meets me at the door. I scratch her ears. “Give me five,” I tell her. I need a minute before we go for a walk. I take the stairs to my bedroom two at a time and walk straight to the closet hidden deep in the back of my bedroom.

I slip the key into the lock. The door creaks open on its hinges. I give myself a moment to lean against the worn wood and take in a deep breath before I let my gaze roam over every damn piece I’ve collected.

A nearly empty bottle of Opulence I lifted from her locker at the gym a year ago. A lipstick-stained napkin I confiscated at a coffee shop where she met her mother a few months ago. A torn page from a notebook she carries with the simplest of shopping lists on it. A disposable, empty coffee cup with her name scribbled on the side in permanent marker. A ticket stub from a concert she snuck into when she was still a teen here in America. Her photograph from her senior year in high school and a more recent one I found online and had made into a print. Her copy of Wuthering Heights she left behind all those years ago that I’ve read so many times the pages are falling apart.

Lydia’s shrine.

I lift the bottle. The heady, intense fragrance is her signature scent. I lift it and give myself the luxury of a deep, cleansing breath of it. Just smelling it conjures up the mental image I have of her.

I let myself linger through the shrine. I finger the napkin and press it to my lips. I read her shopping list and recite it from memory.

Chocolate

Coffee

Oranges

Something for dinner

I run my thumb along the edge of the coffee cup, where I imagine her lips graced. I place them all back own with reverence and stare at the picture of her as a teen and compare it with the way she looks now.

She’s only grown more beautiful, more exquisite, more sensual with time. Curvy and lush, she’s imposing yet graceful. Her long, dark hair cascades over should in waves, her eyes expressive and intense. She favors flowing tops and dresses that accentuate her curves.

Lydia.

With a sigh, I place everything back with precision, shut the door, and lock it behind me. I stifle a yelp when I almost trample Nikita beneath my feet.

“Jesus,” I mutter, my heart hammering in my chest. “You should give me some notice you’re there. God.”

I look at the locked door with a frown. I turn around and face the bedroom. It’s hard to even believe, but if this works… if Mikhail actually pulls it off and Lydia becomes mine… I might need a bit of a feminine touch to this room.

And fucking safety measures put in place.

I snap on Nikita’s leash and head out to take her for a walk when my phone rings.

“We spoke with Zofia.” Zofia Ivanova, my sister-in-law Vera and Lydia’s mother, is the Ivanov family matriarch in the wake of her husband’s death. She and my brother Nikko are the ones that make all major decisions.

“And?” My heart smashes against my rib cage, my mouth instantly dry.

My phone rings with a call from my brother Nikko as I get out at the entrance to my home a few miles from the Romanov family headquarters.

“Yeah?”

“Her mother’s amenable to the idea but I need more time. I’m working on it. Let’s assume this is a go and work accordingly.”

I swallow hard.

“Alright. Thanks.”

“But you know we need to destroy Yudin, Viktor. You know what he’ll do in retaliation. We can’t leave a single shred of him behind.”

I nod. “Consider it done.”

CHAPTER TWO

I fiddle with my engagement ring, spinning it around on my finger, and stare. Diamonds inlaid in yellow gold, they sparkle under the overhead lights. I know they must’ve cost a fortune. Timur Yudin, a man of high tastes and a high-ranking captain of the Ledyanoye Bratstvo, doesn’t do cheap.

My belly churns with nerves as I wait for him. The guard he’s stationed by me stand scrolling through their phones as I sit at a quiet table by myself. Timur said he’d be here any minute, and instructed me to go and wait for him. He seemed a bit guarded but that’s not unlike him after a busy day of work.

I pick up my phone and pretend to make a call, then surreptitiously put my phone camera on so I can look myself over to make sure I’m flawless. Timur doesn’t like anything less that perfection.

I’m wearing a soft green dress that highlights my curves and emphasizes the green in my eyes. My make-up’s flawless, not a hair out of place.

I finish checking myself over, and when satisfied, put my phone back down. When he arrives, he won’t like it if I’m on my phone. I’m expected to pay attention to him.

The flicker of the candle on the table gets my attention. I’m drawn to the orange flame behind frosted glass. I reach out and run the tip of my polished fingernail around the base of the candle. I pause and note a drip of wax.

My heart races.

It’s not one of those fake electric candles, but real fire. If I took the edge of this tablecloth and touched the flame, I know exactly what would happen. First, it would smoke?—

I close my eyes and draw my hand back as if it the glass itself scalded me. I hate that my mind goes there when I’m stressed or under pressure.

No.

I worked too hard and too long to go back there now. I can’t.

I won’t.

I can still hear my mother’s tearful plea while my father slammed my suitcases into the back of the car that took me to boarding school. “Why, Lydia? Why did you do it?”

I heard the questions she didn’t ask as clearly as I heard the ones she did.

Where did I go wrong?

I take another sip of wine, aware that I’ve liked only traded one vice for another, but I don’t fucking care.

I take a few minutes to look around the upscale restaurant. It’s difficult to get into Le Jardin de Lumière, but I’m excited because the name reminds me of Beauty and the Beast, my childhood favorite. Who am I kidding? It’s my favorite even now in adulthood. They’re booking six months out here, but Timur likes expensive, hard-to-get things, so it makes sense he would want to come here. I’d expect no less from him.

Quiet instrumental music plays in the background. The tables are set with fine china and crystal wine glasses, the utter picture of sophistication. The basket of fragrant, warm bread accompanied by slabs of homemade butter topped with crystalized truffle salt. Delicious.

My phone buzzes with a text. My heart leaps, thinking it might be Timur, but when I look at the screen, I sigh.

Vera: Lydia, can you talk now?

Vera gets so caught up in her studies she doesn’t talk to me for weeks at a time, and now that she has a break she wants to chat? I shoot her a quick response.

I can’t now, I’m meeting Timur for dinner, but I’ll call you when we’re done.

I’m still holding my phone when I hear his familiar voice behind me. I quickly tuck it in my purse.

“Lydia. Thank you for waiting so patiently.” He stands tall and imposing behind me with an air of unapproachable strength. I turn to face my handsome fiancé, once more appreciating his features are sharp and defined with high cheekbones and a strong, clean-shaven jawline. Dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, he exudes confidence and sophistication, his demeanor composed but with an icy detachment that can be intimidating to those who don’t know him. I know him, though. I know him well.

I stand and give him the full effect of my smile.

“Hi. How was your day?”

With a smile, he bends and kisses my cheek. My heart flutters at his nearness. Timur Yudin is all grace and refinement, a gentleman in every sense of the word. His hand rests on the small of my back for a brief second before he takes his seat. He always holds my chair out for me, so I stand a bit awkwardly before I realize he must’ve forgotten.

I clumsily sit in front of him.

“You’re looking quite nice tonight, Mr. Yudin,” I say flirtatiously. He smiles coldly when the waiter approaches.

Normally attentive and gentlemanly, his behavior takes me off guard. Timur addresses the waiter. ”Bonjour, je voudrais un verre de vin rouge et une sortie, s”il vous pla?t.”

I cringe when the waiter looks confused. Timur just accidentally ordered an exit instead of an appetizer. I don’t want to correct him in public, but he’s made a mistake.

I quickly amend. “Je voudrais un verre de vin rouge et une entrée, s”il vous pla?t.”

The waiter bows and takes his leave. Timur levels his gaze at me with an air of coldness so sharp, I shiver.

“Do not ever do that again,” he snaps.

“Do what?” I look at him in surprise.

“Correct me in public.”

I laugh. “Timur, you ordered an exit instead of an appetizer. I was hardly correcting you, just making sure?—”

His hand reaches out and snatches my wrist. “Are you talking back to me, too, now?”

I blink in surprise. “No.”

Sometimes he reminds me of my father, and I hate that. Though Timur is handsome and polished and treats me well, he occasionally has a bit of a cold streak when stressed.

“What is it, Timur? You seem troubled,” I say gently. I lay my hand on his. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head. “I’m guessing you haven’t spoken with your mother.”

I blink. “No. Why?”

He looks away, his jaw taut. “Oh, you’ll see. Did you order yet?”

Why does my belly dip to my toes.

“Timur. What is it? What do you need to tell me?”

His gaze hardens. “I asked you if you ordered yet.”

I shake my head. “No, I was waiting for you.”

He blows out a breath. “Of course you were.”

I look at him in surprise. My phone buzzes and buzzes in my purse. When Timur scowls at me, I silence it.

“What is wrong?” I ask, my anger rising. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, and it seems like he’s lying to me.

He only shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Order. Something light, Lydia.”

My cheeks color and I suddenly lose my appetite. We’ve only known each other for a few months. Not long before my father’s sudden and tragic death, he arranged for our wedding. Timur has been the perfect gentleman, attentive and generous, even if a bit cold sometimes. But he’s never been like this before. He’s definitely never commented on my food choices.

I look down at my full figure, my bust spilling out of dress I wore to accentuate my curves.

I thought he liked my curves.

“You want me to choose something light?”

He smiles, but his eyes remain cold. “I’m teasing. Choose whatever you want. You know that.” He mutters something under his breath.

What the hell?

“Timur,” I say in a little voice. Who is this man and what’s become of the man I’d actually grown used to and was looking forward to marrying?

The waiter comes back with a wine menu.

“I worry about you, you know,” Timur says, as he butters a roll and places half of it on my plate. It’s a lot less butter than I would use, and only half the bread, but the gesture seems almost sweet.

“Oh?” I take a bite even as my stomach clenches. The food tastes like ash in my mouth. “Why?”

“We’re getting married soon and the weight of responsibility will fall heavily on you to manage our home, our social engagements, and eventually, our children. And the little hobbies you have aren’t becoming of the wife I know you could be.”

My little hobbies?

I drop the bread, my appetite gone. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I snap.

“There you go again,” he says, his eyes on me heated. “Losing your temper.” He leans in and rests his chin in his hand. “I’m going to be your husband. I’m only expressing concern for you, Lydia. There’s no need to lose your temper.” He gives a casual shrug but his tone is anything but. “I’d hate to have to lose mine.”

Was that a threat?

I stare at him, my jaw slack.

The candle flickers between us. Beckoning.

“Look,” I say in a low voice so as not to draw the attention of everyone around us. “I don’t know what happened to you to cause you to behave this way, but I’ve had a few drinks and I need to use the bathroom. I’m going to just take a little break and when I return, let’s have a civilized conversation, shall we?”

It”s hard to issue an ultimatum to a man that has more power in his left thumb than I do in my entire life, but I’m over this.

I stand but he grabs my wrist again, even harder than before.

“Sit down, Lydia.” When I don’t, he gentles his voice. “I’m sorry. I had a bad day at work. Sit down and tell me about your day.”

He almost convinced me. There’s something about that suave, persuasive voice of his that almost convinced me it was only a slip-up and my real fiancé is going to come back. But I need a little bit of a breather.

I jerk my wrist away from him, getting the attention of several people nearby.

“I’m just using the restroom,” I say. “Please let me go.”

He reaches for me but a waiter comes by, so to save face he plasters a smile on his face. For once I’m happy he’s always more concerned with appearances than anything else. “Go. Come right back.”

A crowd of women passes in front of me. I take the opportunity to step right into the middle of them and head to the bathroom before he can pull me back.

What’s happened and why is he behaving this way?

I feel sick to my stomach and wish, not for the first time, I had someone to confide in. I wish my sister and I were still close, like we were when we were children, but now that she’s married into the Romanov family, that’s impossible. Timur has forbidden it.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror and take a deep breath.

He’s obviously in a bad mood, but he’s never been like this before.

I dab at my lips with lip gloss, trying to quell my rising nerves.

I reach for my phone, wishing again I could call Vera. I have no friends, and my mother and I were never close.

It doesn’t matter. So he was…what, impatient? Crass? A man’s entitled to the occasional bad temper, isn’t he? I’m certainly not a ball of sunshine every waking hour.

Up until now, he’s always treated me well.

Maybe I just have unrealistic expectations. It’s a fluke. A bad night.

It will be fine. I’ll go back out and my charming fiancé will order dinner for me and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’m starving. Maybe I’m exaggerating things in my mind.

I tap the screen and stare at five missed calls and as many missed texts.

What the hell?

My blood runs cold.

Vera: Lydia, you are in danger. Come home. I’m sending a car for you now. You have to leave. Please. I’ll explain everything

Come home? I’m two hours away from home.

I’m in danger? I look around the spacious, luxury bathroom. It’s well-lit with marble flooring that gleams under soft, ambient overhead lighting. The walls are adorned with large, oval-shaped mirrors in gilded frames. The polished countertops boast bouquets of fresh flowers. It seems too elegant, too refined, for me to be here and in…danger.

Still, I walk to the stall and open it, sliding the lock in place behind me. I open my purse and eye the lighter and pepper spray I always carry with me. I have some measure of protection, anyway.

I check the rest of my messages.

Lydia, please call me. It’s urgent

And then another text from a number I don’t recognize.

Lydia, this is Nikko Romanov, your brother-in-law. It is imperative we secure your location and bring you to safety.

What the hell is going on?

I jump when the door to the bathroom opens and I hear the click of heels on the tiled floor. I hold my breath as the footsteps approach. I reach in my bag and take out my pepper spray, my finger trembling on the trigger. But I only hear a door to a stall shut.

I’m losing my mind.

I put the pepper spray back.

I’ve made this into something much, much bigger than it actually is. I’m at a fancy restaurant. With the man I’m going to marry. Vera’s being dramatic, or influenced by her new husband.

With trembling fingers, I text Vera back.

Okay what is going on?

It’s too much to text and something I don’t want to communicate this way. I don’t know if your phone is tapped. It’s important to come home so we can chat. Are you alright? Are you safe?

I blink. My phone…tapped?

I’m hiding in a bathroom stall. My fiancé is acting strange, and my phone’s blowing up with cryptic messages about my safety. No, of course I’m not alright.

I’m fine, don’t worry. I’ll call you after dinner, okay?

I slide my phone into my bag and leave the stall. The door opens again, letting in another woman dressed in a silky ivory cocktail dress but I barely notice her. Timur stands outside the door, leaning casually up against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

I go to him.

“I need to call my sister soon. She said she needs to talk with me,” I tell him when I exit. The pinched expression on his face has vanished and instead, he looks like the polished, civilized man who proposed to me bathed in sunset hues on a beach in Maui. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Oh? Our first dish has arrived. Can it wait? You said you were starving. I’ll expedite the delivery of the rest of our food and we’ll leave early so you can call her.”

He ushers me back to our table, matching my strides as we walk hand in hand. I wonder if I imagined the grumpiness from before. This is the Timur I can’t wait to be with.

“Thank you. I could tell she’d rather talk to me in person.”

Timur leans in and reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry, Lydia. I shouldn’t have been so rude before. I had a day from hell.” He smiles at me, his warm brown eyes crinkling around the edges. A little dimple in his cheek flashes at me. I’m not sure why something makes my stomach dip with nerves and a prickle of fear skate across the back of my neck.

This is Timur. My future husband. He’s never hurt me. Maybe I had too much to drink.

“Forgive me?”

“Of course.”

My phone buzzes again and Timur scowls. He hates cell phones and especially hates being interrupted.

“Sorry. She’s really worried.”

“About what?” he asks, as he takes a stuffed mushroom and slides one onto my plate. I’d rather eat two, but he’s distracted.

“No idea.” I reach for another roll to go with the mushroom but he scowls disapprovingly.

“What?”

“The wedding’s coming and you said you were watching your carbs,” he says with a shrug.

My cheeks flush pink. “Eating low carb made me feel like I had the flu. I hated it.”

Why am I explaining this to him? Shouldn’t he accept me for who I am?

When my phone buzzes again, Timur looks near apoplectic. His eyes burn into me, his cheeks flushed.

“What the fuck is —”

“It’s fine, It’s fine,” I tell him, shaking my head. “I’ll shut it off.”

I polish off the wine in my glass to steady my rising nerves. In a normal situation, he’s sending me all kinds of red flags, but we’re not a regular couple in an ordinary situation and I know that well.

“She’s just worried, said something about me not being safe.”

He nods but doesn’t look too bothered. “You’re safe when you’re with me. I stationed a guard here for you before I came. She should stop watching the news.”

“She doesn’t watch the news.”

Timur’s lips thin. He doesn’t like being contradicted.

My food feels too dry in my mouth. I swallow with effort.

A chill shivers down my spine, and I don’t understand why. I push my wine away. I don’t want anything interfering with my ability to think straight. It’s a strange, strange night.

I’m not in danger. I’m with my fiancé and bodyguards. “You’ll keep me safe, won’t you?”

Timur leans forward and holds my hand. “Of course I will, Lydia. Always.”