Chapter 3

Laura

THE WOODENdoors creak open, and the first notes of the wedding march float through the air. My stomach churns, bile rising in the back of my throat, but I force myself to take my father’s arm, my fingers digging into his sleeve.

“Smile,” he hisses through clenched teeth, patting my hand. “You’re a lucky girl, Laur. Don’t forget it.”

I want to tear myself away from him and run, but I can’t. Not with all these eyes on me, watching, judging. So, I paste on a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as brittle as it feels.

Slowly, we start down the aisle, the train of my dress whispering against the ancient stone. The church is packed, every pew filled with faces I don’t recognize. Men in sharp suits, women dripping with jewels, all of them turning to stare at me like I’m some prize on display.

I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, searching for him. For Victor. He should be there, waiting for me at the altar. But as we draw closer, my heart sinks.

He’s not there.

The spot where he should be standing is empty, a gaping void that sends a chill down my spine.

Where is he?

Panic claws at my insides, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I can’t do this. I can’t go through with this, not without him. He’s the only thing keeping me tethered, the only thing stopping me from losing my mind completely.

I scan the crowd desperately, looking for a friendly face, for someone who might help me. But all I see are strangers, their expressions ranging from boredom to outright hostility.

A man with a jagged scar bisecting his cheek leans forward, his eyes raking over me like I’m a piece of meat. Next to him, a woman with a diamond choker that probably costs more than my entire bookstore sips champagne, her lips curled in a sneer.

They clearly don’t want me as the bride.

I peer around; everywhere there’s the glint of gold and the flash of tattoos, a sea of wealth and power and danger.

My father’s grip on my arm tightens, his fingers biting into my skin. “Keep walking,” he mutters, his voice low and threatening.

I swallow hard, blinking back the tears that burn behind my eyes. This can’t be happening. This can’t be my life.

My father releases my arm and steps aside, leaving me standing alone at the altar. My eyes dart around frantically, searching for Ksenia, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, my gaze lands on little Eli, sitting in the front row. She waves her small hands at me, a bright smile on her innocent face. She’s too young to understand the darkness that surrounds her.

I force myself to smile back, to put on a brave face for her sake. What can I possibly say to an eight-year-old about a forced marriage?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Oh God. What am I going to do?

A priest steps forward, a bible clutched in his wrinkled hands. He’s an old man with a long white beard and heavy brows that almost obscure his eyes. The moment I see him, I know there’s no escape.

This is really happening.

The wedding march fades away, replaced by a hushed murmur from the crowd. Everyone is whispering, wondering where Victor is. I tune out their words, my mind racing.

Where is he? Is he even alive?

The thought sends a fresh wave of nausea crashing over me, and I sway on my feet.

He’s dead.

Victor is dead.

I try to draw in a breath, but my chest is too tight. My head spins, and the world around me blurs. Dimly, I hear Eli’s voice rise above the din. “Help her, Dyadya!”

Large hands grab me, holding me upright. I blink, trying to clear my vision, and find myself staring into a familiar face.

It’s him. It’s Victor.

His left eye is swollen shut, his lip split and bleeding. Fresh bruises bloom across his cheekbones, a mottled canvas of purple and black. But he’s here. He’s alive.

“Victor…” I choke out, tears welling in my eyes.

“Little firecracker, too happy to see me?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

Using his good eye, he winks at me.

God, how is this man still so fucking hot with a beat-up face?

“You… you’re alive,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers. “I thought… I thought you were dead.”

“Dead? No, little firecracker, I’m not that easy to kill,” Victor growls, his good eye blazing with intensity. Sweat drips down his battered face, but he doesn’t flinch.“They tried their best, but I’m still here. I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it.”

I tilt my head up and look at him.

Promise.

The word echoes in my mind, a bitter reminder of all the broken vows I’ve encountered. No man has ever kept their promises to me. Not my father, not Dave, the stranger in my life who claimed to love me. But as I stare into Victor’s one good eye, I see something different. A flicker of sincerity, a glimmer of determination.

I want to believe him, but the cynical part of me hesitates.

How can I trust him after everything that’s happened?

Don’t be stupid, Laur.

This is a contracted marriage, nothing more. One year, and then I’m done.

I repeat the words in my head, a mantra meant to keep me grounded, to remind me of the reality of this situation. But even as I silently scold myself, I can’t ignore the way my traitorous heart skips a beat when he looks at me, the way my skin tingles under his touch.

Stop it.

I can’t let myself feel safe with him, can’t let myself believe that this is anything more than a business arrangement.

Because in the end, that’s all it is—an illusion.

One year,I remind myself again. One year, and then you walk away. No attachments, no regrets.

At least I know I won’t end up as another dead body dumped by the Morozovs. They still need me alive for this fucking marriage.