Chapter 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

"To make a vow is a greater sin than to break one."

― Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

Caia

"I'm so sorry, Caia. I thought he was a… good guy."

I dropped the towel from my head and slumped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. The clock was ticking—less than two hours before my father stormed in and dragged me off to my soon-to-be husband. Just thinking about it made me shudder.

After last night's disastrous escape attempt, Valeria had stayed up all night trying to soothe my nerves, but comfort was in short supply.

It felt like my options were down to two: marry Alexsei or face whatever hell my father had planned.

This morning, three black SUVs had parked outside my window—clearly, my father had gotten wind of my plans. His goons were stationed to ensure I wouldn't slip away today.

Damn Alexsei Romaniev.

Another betrayal, another wound.

"It's okay," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "I'll be fine."

I sat down and carefully styled my hair into a sleek blowout before moving on to my makeup—a dark, smoky eye that made my green eyes pop. If I had to go through with this wedding, I was going to do it with a hint of rebellion.

My gaze fell on the elegant white dress my father had left at my door last night. It was supposed to symbolize purity, but with everything he'd taken from me, purity was the last thing I felt. I pushed those feelings aside and focused on the present.

After coating my lashes with dark mascara and giving my makeup a final check, I studied my reflection. I looked like a fierce feline ready to face whatever was coming.

Perfect.

"What are you going to wear?" Valeria asked softly.

I got up and opened the battered drawer next to my bed, pulling out the dress I had saved for this occasion. Originally meant for my graduation party, it was a stunning dark red Prada gown with long sleeves and a Bardot neckline. The mermaid silhouette hugged my body perfectly, with a subtle slit up the right leg to mid-thigh.

This dress symbolized all the hard work I'd put into achieving success—my blood, sweat, and tears. It was disheartening to wear it for such a grim event, but it felt like the perfect act of defiance against a marriage I didn't want.

I took off my towel, stood in my black Agent Provocateur underwear, and slipped into the dress, asking Valeria to zip it up for me .

"You look like?—"

"Lamia, the demon?"

In Greek mythology, Lamia was a beautiful queen loved by Zeus but doomed by Hera's jealousy. Whether driven mad by losing her children or otherwise, Lamia became a monstrous figure with a serpent's lower body, known for seducing and killing men in revenge. She was a true siren.

Strangely, I kind of aspired to be like her.

Valeria laughed and shook her head. "Exactly, but you're way sexier."

I chuckled and smoothed the fabric of the dress over my lips.

Valeria wrapped me in a tight hug. "You look beautiful, Caia. Here, take this," she said, pressing a small jewelry box into my hand. "I'm sorry it's under these circumstances; I wish it could be a day of joy."

I opened the box to reveal a delicate Swarovski ankle bracelet. "Valeria, I?—"

"Your something old and borrowed," she winked. "This was my mother's. She gave it to me when I got married, so now it's yours. You're like a sister to me, Caia, and I know my mom would have adored you just as much as I do."

"Thank you so much, Valeria."

"Don't start crying now; your makeup looks too good. Do you have something blue?"

"Yes, this," I said, showing her the babushka ring on my right hand.

She had given it to me on my fourteenth birthday, telling me that Celestite crystals bring peace and harmony. She said whenever I wore the ring, I should think of her and find peace in my heart.

Oh, babushka, I'm so sorry for what's about to happen.

I wish I had another choice .

"I got it from my babushka," I said softly.

"It's beautiful, Caia."

"Valeria, please, if she wakes u?—"

"Don't worry, I won't tell her. Do you know when you'll be back?"

Before I could answer, a loud banging echoed through the room, and Drayi's impatient voice cut through the air. "Caia, hurry the fuck up!"

I sighed. "I don't know. But I'll text you, okay?"

Valeria nodded, concern etched on her face. "Just… be safe, Caia. I can't lose you too."

Before leaving, I quickly slipped into my black Louboutin heels, the signature red soles clicking against the floor. I draped my black long fur coat over my arm, savoring its softness against my skin.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and opened the door, ready to face whatever awaited me on the other side.

"Mankiev's not gonna be happy."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't care. It's my damn wedding; I'll dress how I want."

Drayi chuckled as he parked in front of Igor's Manor. The entrance was already lined with an array of fancy cars—a matte black Range Rover, a shiny red Lamborghini, two white Bentleys, a black Maserati, and, of course, my father's black Mercedes.

"The epitome of subtlety," I muttered sarcastically.

As my nerves kicked in, my lungs tightened, and my throat felt like it was on fire. The reality of the situation hit me again—I was getting married.

The urge to bolt surged within me. The idea of running through the snow-covered woods, freezing or not, seemed infinitely more appealing than enduring the day ahead. But just as that thought peaked, the car door swung open, and my father's stern voice shattered my daydream.

"Hurry up, you're late."

Reluctantly, I stepped out, feeling his critical gaze sweep over me from head to toe. Instinctively, I pulled my coat tighter, hiding the rebellious dress beneath.

With a firm grip on my arm, he led me toward the imposing entrance of Igor's Manor. Each step felt like a march toward my own execution.

"You've only got a few fucking words to say," my father spat as we entered, and an old woman stepped forward to take our coats. "And you better make them convincing. The mayor of Moscow is here, and I'd hate for him to think I raised you wrong."

Reluctantly, I shed my fur coat. It felt like I was discarding my last layer of protection, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. My father's gaze dropped to my dark blood-red dress—a clear act of rebellion—before slowly meeting mine.

Like Queen Mary Stuart heading to her execution, I wore a red dress, fully aware it was all just a grotesque spectacle of our twisted fates.

Suddenly, my father raised his hand, and I braced myself for the inevitable, closing my eyes. But when I opened them, I saw Romaniev, his hand gripping my father's arm, standing close and towering over him.

Whispers spread through the room. As I glanced around, I noticed Volk, Igor, Vlad, and an unfamiliar man at the end of the corridor, just outside the living room. They all held glasses of champagne, silently observing the scene .

"I see you're wearing the dress I sent you, Caia," Alexsei said. "I knew it would suit you perfectly."

My father lowered his arm harshly, laughing embarrassingly. "Of course I knew this was from you , Romaniev. Sadly, my daughter doesn't have… the best fashion sense."

I shot Alexsei a confused glance.

Why is he lying?

He stepped closer. "I believe the priest is waiting for us."

My father quickly moved to join the other men, warmly embracing the stranger I assumed was the mayor he'd mentioned. They headed back to the living room, their laughter echoing down the hall. I remained frozen, my gaze locked on the floor.

As the noise in the corridor faded, Alexsei closed the distance between us and gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

I jerked away from his hand.

"Cut the crap," I snapped. "I have zero interest in marrying you and even less in being here. Just tell your priest I'm sick. And do me a favor—disappear from my life, you freaking snake!"

I turned to leave, but Romaniev grabbed my arm, pulling me back.

He pressed himself against my back, his lips brushing my ear. "Oh, Caia," he whispered. "We're getting married today, whether you like it or not."

His hands slid to my hips as he nuzzled my neck. For a moment, I almost gave in, tempted to close my eyes and lean into him. But then the image of that photo he took—of me in a vulnerable, intimate moment while I slept—flashed in my mind.

Acting on pure instinct, I slammed my elbow into his gut, wrenching myself free from his grip. He just laughed, clearly entertained by my futile attempt to fight back.

"Save it," he interrupted with a cruel smirk, his eyes narrowing as he extended his hand. "You'll have plenty of time to curse me out later. For now, we've got to sign these papers."

I pulled back, refusing to let him touch me.

My jaw clenched. "Why the hell would you want to marry me? I thought you were smarter than this—throwing your life away over a pathetic game just because your ego got bruised."

His eyes narrowed further, brows drawing together in a scowl. "Ruin my life? Marrying you won't ruin a damn thing. I need a wife, and I picked you. It's that simple."

"Are you out of your mind?" I threw my hands up in disbelief. "Why am I the only one who sees how crazy this is?"

He scoffed, a mocking glint in his eyes as he leaned closer, his breath hot against my face. "You're the one who started this game. I'm just finishing it. Upset that you lost so quickly?"

A wave of confusing thoughts clashed in my mind as my eyes roamed over his face. His gaze was cold and distant, but something flickered—determination. He wasn't going to let this go easily; I could see it.

I stepped closer. "Who says you've really won?"

His shoulder tensed slightly. "I do."

Animosity filled the air between us, suffocating me.

I sighed, suddenly feeling drained. "I'm not going through with this, Romaniev."

I swung open the main door, and the biting winter wind slammed into me like a cruel, icy slap. It cut through my layers and clawed at my skin, leaving me gasping for breath as the chill seeped into my bones.

"One of our men is in your babushka's room right now as we speak," Romaniev's voice stopped me. "He's waiting for a text from me to choke her to death. I thought choking might be too harsh, but frankly, I don't give a fuck. So go ahead, Caia—leave. The second you get into that car, your dear babushka will be gone for good."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. I froze.

"You're bluffing," I breathed out.

"Let's find out," he said, pulling out his phone.

A few seconds later, a voice came through the line. " Da ."

"Show me her face."

I turned back to him, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. He held up his phone, and on the screen was my babushka, sound asleep. Her mouth was slightly open, the cover tucked under her chin, her hands resting on her chest, rising and falling slowly and peacefully. In the corner, I caught sight of Valeria, tape over her mouth, her hands bound tightly with rope. Her face was pale, eyes wide with fear as she sat on the floor.

Oh no.

Panic gripped me, and I rushed towards Alexsei, desperate to take his phone away.

But he instinctively lifted his arm high, so high that I couldn't possibly reach it.

Frustration escaped my lips in a desperate sigh as I pushed against his chest multiple times in vain.

"Should I go through with it?" The man on the other side of the phone asked.

" Nyet !" I screamed. "P-Please, don't hurt her!"

Romaniev put his arm around me as my legs started to give way, and I fell to the ground, my face pressed to his chest, and my arms hugging myself tight.

"Are you going to marry me?"

"Y-yes," I replied faintly, every last bit of energy gone.

"Hmm…You don't sound too convincing. Dve, you- "

"I WANT TO MARRY YOU!"

"Okay, jeez, calm down woman," he chuckled, hanging up the phone and lifting me to my feet. "Come on."

Before I could even open my mouth, the laughter of the men in the other room hit me like a cold slap, reminding me that we were entirely alone, and no one was coming to save me.

Romaniev took my hand, and before leading us to the living room, he gently cupped my chin, wiping away the last of my tears. Our eyes met, his icy blue against my green, like winter colliding with spring.

"You look perfect," he whispered before guiding me to the noisy room where I knew my destiny would be changed forever.

In the dim, intimate glow of Igor's lavish living room, Romaniev and I stood before a makeshift altar draped in symbols of a union I didn't want.

The air was thick with the scent of cigars and spices as the Russian Orthodox priest, dressed in ornate robes, began the ceremony.

He guided us through the rituals, each one steeped in ancient meaning. As he placed the ceremonial flames in our hands, their warmth contrasted sharply with the cold knot tightening in my chest.

"May you be each other's clothes, wrapping each other in warmth," the priest began. "May you be each other's sustenance, sating the hunger of your souls. May you be each other's treasure, shielding against the trials of life. May you be each other's remedy, healing each other's wounds. And may you be each other's lifeblood, a sanctuary against the darkness of the world."

I bit my tongue, barely holding back a scream about how it felt like I was marrying Lucifer himself and walking straight into a demonic circus. But the fear of what might happen if I spoke up kept me silent.

I didn't want my babushka to die because of me.

With both of our right hands clasped in his, the priest introduced a knife, a glint of steel catching the candlelight. As he delicately cut our palms, the mingling scent of spices and burning candles intensified.

Our wounded hands were brought together, and a piece of lavender-scented cloth was rolled over our joined hands, a symbol of our intertwined fates, bound not only by vows but by shared blood.

At that moment, it felt like the room itself was holding its breath. Or maybe it was just me.

"May the groom repeat after me."

Romaniev, his face determined, jaw tight, and eyes blazing like a wildfire, nodded.

"I, Alexsei Romaniev," the priest began.

"I, Alexsei Romaniev," Alexsei repeated, his tone sharp and clear.

"Take Caia Mankiev."

"Take Caia Mankiev," he said, turning his face to meet my eyes properly.

"As my wife."

"As my wife."

"I vow to protect her from any harm, to cherish her, guide her, and love her until death do us part."

After the priest finished speaking, the room went dead quiet, but Romaniev and I just stared at each other. I couldn't figure out why he was standing there like a statue— maybe he was finally seeing the mess he'd made, or maybe he wanted out too. The priest cleared his throat, breaking the silence. Alexsei's gaze, still locked on mine, flickered briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, with a hint of darkness clouding them.

"I, Alexsei Romaniev vow to protect you, Caia Mankiev, from any harm, cherish you, guide you and love you until death do us part."

The priest then turned to me. "And now, may the bride repeat after me."

As I began to echo his words, each sentence felt like a weight on my chest.

"I, C-Caia Mankiev, vow to protect you, Alexsei Romaniev, from any harm, cherish you, guide you and l-love you until death do us part."

I closed my eyes, desperately trying to retreat into my own mind and escape the nightmare unfolding around me.

"I now declare you, by the will of God, husband and wife," the priest announced with a decisive clap. The command that followed pulled me back to the present, as I heard him say, "You may now kiss your wife."

I snapped my eyes open.

In one swift motion, Romaniev removed the bloodied cloth and wrapped it tightly around my wounded hand. Then, with his left hand cradling the back of my neck, he drew me in until our lips met.

His kiss was a heady mix of cinnamon, coffee, and the sharp bite of betrayal.

I'd just kissed the devil, and I could already feel my soul burning up, destined to turn to ashes—all because of one man: Alexsei Romaniev.

My husband.