Chapter 12

Laura

“TWELVE.”

“Eleven.”

“Ten.”

My stomach lurches as Eli counts each passing floor, nerves and anticipation warring within me.

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Six.”

The elevator dings and slows to a stop, the doors sliding open.

I freeze, and my breath catches in my throat.

Because there, standing right in front of me, is none other than my new husband.

What the hell?

We were just together a few hours ago, and now he’s here, looking like he stepped out of a goddamn magazine shoot?

And he does. Even with the bruises and cuts marring his chiseled face, he’s still unfairly gorgeous in his tailored black tuxedo, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders and trim waist in all the right ways. His dark hair is slicked back, and those steely gray eyes are fixed on me, raw and unfiltered with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

“Wife…” he greets me, his voice low and smooth. “You look… acceptable.”

I bristle at the backhanded compliment, even as a traitorous part of me thrills at his attention.

Acceptable? I’ll show you acceptable, you arrogant prick.

But I paste on a smile, determined not to let him get under my skin. “Thank you, husband. You clean up well yourself.”

He grunts, offering me his arm. I hesitate for a moment before taking it, feeling the hard muscles beneath the expensive fabric.

“Thank you, Yuri, malyshka, for escorting the bride down safely,” Victor says, giving his little niece a cute fist bump and a nod to Yuri. They both fall into step behind us as we make our way down the hall.

The sound of music and chatter grows louder with each step.

Victor nods to the two suited guards stationed on either side of the ornate double doors. Moving in perfect synchronicity, they reach out and grasp the golden handles, pulling the doors open with a flourish.

The sight takes my breath away—soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, flowers spilling from every surface. The air is thick with the mingled scents of perfume and gourmet food. It’s like stepping into a fantasy world, a glimpse into how the other half lives.

But as Victor leads me to the sweetheart table, I feel hundreds of eyes following our every move, judging, appraising, looking for cracks to exploit. This isn’t just a wedding reception—it’s a performance, a power play.

Victor pulls out my chair, ever the gentleman in public. But I can feel the tension radiating off him, barely contained beneath his polished veneer. His hand grazes the small of my back as I sit, making me flinch away from his touch.

Leaning in close, he murmurs in my ear, “Smile, wife. The wolves are watching.”

I look around the room, my pulse racing as I catch people openly gawking at us. Some look curious; others are straight-up sizing us up like pieces of meat. It’s a fucking circus of designer dresses and tailored suits, with jewelry flashing and guns bulging under jackets.

Politicians rub elbows with mafia bosses, celebrities with cartel leaders.

Bodyguards lurk in every corner, watchful and wary.

And the man beside me, my new husband? He’s the most dangerous predator in the room.

I take a steadying breath as I settle into my seat next to Ksenia. She shoots me an icy glare that tells me everything she feels about me.

It’s just a year. Try not to get killed by her death stare.

I have to keep reminding myself of that.

At the head table, my new father-in-law looks exhausted, the festivities clearly taking their toll. Dr. Petrov leans in, whispering something in his ear. Yuri and Eli bound over, kissing their grandfather on each cheek and drawing out a tired smile.

Our gazes lock across the room. I shoot him a nervous glance, and I see a flicker of approval in the Pakhan’s eyes. He inclines his head slightly, a subtle nod of acknowledgment.

At the table, there’s this guy already making himself cozy, toasting Victor like they’re old war buddies or something. I can’t help but notice the scar slashing across his cheek like a signature. He’s decked out in this suit that screams, “I’ve got money and probably a couple of bodies buried somewhere.”

Nobody bats an eye at the groom looking like he lost a fight with a paintball gun.

Except this involves actual guns.

Drawing in a lungful of air. I smooth my hands over the silk of my gown, trying to calm the nerves fluttering in my stomach.

Just get through tonight.

One hour at a time.

I take a bite of my steak, the tender meat turning to ash in my mouth as I watch yet another stunning woman approach Victor. She’s tall and willowy, with endless legs and a mane of glossy black hair—a supermodel, if I had to guess.

Probably one of those Victoria’s Secret angels, all lace and lingerie and impossible beauty.

“Vitya,” she coos, draping herself over his shoulder like a designer scarf. “I’ve missed you.”

Victor smiles up at her, that lazy, charming grin that makes my stomach flip. “Katya,” he greets her warmly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You look ravishing, as always.”

I sit there awkwardly, my presence completely ignored.

It’s been like this all night—a parade of beautiful people orbiting Victor, toasting him, laughing with him, all while I fade into the background. No one spares me a second glance, as if I’m just another piece of decor, as insignificant as the centerpieces.

I watch as Katya leans in close, her hand splayed possessively over Victor’s chest.

Jealousy flares up in me, raw and biting. I take a big gulp of water and drink it in, trying to wash this feeling off.

But it’s useless.

The jealousy burns too hot, like trying to smother a grease fire with a wet rag. I can’t tear my eyes away as he flirts right in front of me.

She’s saying something in Russian, her voice low and intimate, and though I can’t understand the words, I can read the intent behind them clear as day. Victor seems to be drinking it in, his eyes alight with amusement and something darker, more heated.

Before I can process the sharp sting of jealousy, another woman approaches—this one a blond with sky-high cheekbones and a dress that looks painted on. She kisses Victor on both cheeks, leaving behind perfect lipstick imprints.

“Zhenya, thanks for coming.” He laughs, pulling her into a hug. “When did you get back from Paris?”

They launch into a rapid-fire conversation in Russian, their heads bent close together. I might as well be invisible for all the attention they’re paying me. The new bride, the supposed woman of the hour.

I reach for my wineglass, downing the contents in one unladylike gulp. The alcohol does little to quell the hot, prickling sensation under my skin, the sour taste of humiliation on my tongue.

I need to get the hell out of here. This whole fucking scene is just too much.

Abruptly, I push back my chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. “Excuse me,” I mutter to no one in particular.

I walk away from the table, from the suffocating weight of my own insignificance. It doesn’t matter where I’m going—I just need to be anywhere but here, watching my new husband bask in the adoration of other women. Women who are taller, more beautiful, more poised. Women who clearly have a history with him, a connection I can’t even begin to touch.

I knew this marriage was a sham, a transaction.

But fuck! I don’t know why I’m feeling this way.

Just as I’m about to escape, a strong hand grabs my elbow, spinning me around. I find myself face to face with Victor, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls, his grip tightening on my arm.

I yank myself free, glaring up at him. “I need a break from this circus. From watching you flirt with anything in a skirt.”

He scoffs, stepping closer until we’re nose to nose. “Jealous, wife? How unexpected.”

“Hardly,” I scoff back, ignoring the way my heart is pounding. “I just don’t appreciate being made a fool of in front of everyone.”

His eyes flash with something dark and dangerous, a primal hunger that makes my breath catch. In one swift movement, he grabs me by the waist and yanks me against his hard, muscular chest. I gasp at the sudden contact, my hands flying up to brace against him.

“You’ll be a good girl now, kiska,” he growls, his voice a low, sinful rumble that vibrates through me. He leans in until his lips are a hair’s breadth from mine, so close I can feel the heat of his breath. For one wild, dizzying moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, to claim my mouth right here in front of everyone.

But instead, he angles his head to whisper in my ear, his words dripping with dark promise. “Keep behaving like this, and I’ll bend you over my knee and spank that horny little cunt of yours until you beg for mercy.”

I suck in a sharp, shuddering breath, my body responding with a shameful throb of desire even as my mind rebels. Tears of humiliation prick at the corners of my eyes, my chest heaving with the effort to control my reactions.

With a burst of desperate strength, I shove against his chest, pushing him away.

“Fuck off,” I choke out, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions.

For a heartbeat, he stares down at me, his expression unreadable. Then, just as quickly as he grabbed me, he releases his hold, stepping back with a mocking bow.

What have I gotten myself into?

Just then, I’m saved from having to respond by the sound of a champagne glass clinking, another toast demanding Victor’s attention. He turns away without a second glance, leaving me reeling and raw, my skin still tingling from his touch.

I press a shaking hand to my chest, feeling the wild thunder of my heartbeat beneath my palm. I’m torn between the urge to run, to hide, to lick my wounds in private—and the dark, traitorous desire to chase after him, to let him make good on his filthy threats.

Ah, Laur, don’t fall for his crap. Seriously, don’t.

I’ve just managed to slip into the bathroom when I hear the click of a door closing behind me. I spin around to find myselfface-to-face with an unfamiliar woman.

She’s stunning, all curves, and red lips and knowing eyes.

“So, you’re Victor’s new bride,” she purrs, looking me up and down appraisingly.“I have to say, I was expecting someone a little more… impressive.”

I bristle at her tone, crossing my arms defensively.“I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“Someone who knows Victor far better than you ever will,” she smirks, stalking closer.“He and I, we have a history. The things I could tell you…”

She trails off suggestively, and I feel a flare of something hot and angry in my chest.

“I’m not interested in your games,” I snap, moving to push past her.

But she sidesteps smoothly, blocking my path. “Oh, but you should be. Because if you think Victor married you for love or even loyalty, you’re more naive than I thought.”

My hands ball into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but let’s get one thing straight. I’m not here to play your little mind games. Victor is my husband, for better or worse. Whatever history you have with him, that’s your business. But don’t think for a second you can intimidate me or make me feel small. I’ve faced far worse than a bitter ex with an axe to grind.”

Her eyes narrow, red lips twisting into a sneer.

“Brave words from a little gold-digger who just hit the jackpot. Enjoy it while it lasts, sweetheart. Girls like you are a dime a dozen in this world. Victor will get bored with you soon enough, just like all the rest.”

“Go to hell,” I snap, shouldering past her and out the door.

It slams shut behind me with a satisfying bang, leaving me alone in the quiet hallway.

For a moment, I just stand there, breathing hard, trying to get my emotions under control.

C’mon, Laur, don’t let this bitch who doesn’t know anything about youmess with you like this. Seriously.

Suddenly desperate for some air, some place to clear my head, I strike out down the hallway, my heels echoing loudly on the marble floors.

Breathe.

The sound of the party fades behind me as I walk, replaced by blessed, blissful silence.

But just as I’m about to round the corner, a door to my left flies open. Before I can react, a hand shoots out, grabbing my arm in a vice-like grip and yanking me into the dark room beyond.

I open my mouth to scream, but another hand clamps down over my lips, stifling the sound. Panic claws at my throat as I struggle against my attacker, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Shhh,” a deep, familiar voice breathes against my ear. “It’s just me.”