Page 32 of Betrayal and Vows

Mikhail.

He steps into the room like he owns it—ownsme.He’s wearing an expensive tailored suit. His hair is too perfect, his smile cold enough to freeze hell.

And he’s furious.

I feel it like a drop in air pressure. Like thunder coming.

“Out,” he snaps to the seamstress and my mother.

The seamstress practically trips over her sewing kit in her rush to escape.

I don’t blame her.

I look to my mother, silently begging her not to leave me alone.

I see the resignation on her face. “I’ll be back to go over the new flower arrangements.”

I open my mouth to argue, but it’s pointless.

“Mikhail,” I say quickly, forcing a nervous laugh. “You can’t see me in the dress. It’s bad luck.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even blink.

“Bad luck,” he repeats, voice flat. “You think I give a fuck about bad luck?”

Nope.

He walks slowly toward me, the kind of slow that makes my pulse stutter. Like a tiger stalking its prey and not in a good way.

I tell myself not to show fear. I paste on my silly smile, relaxing my features and doing my best to be the empty bobblehead he thinks I am.

“I know what you did last night.”

Ice floods my veins.

My heart punches my ribs.

The corset is suffocating me. I’m going to pass out.

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

My voice is higher than usual.

“You ditched your guard.”

Oh God.

He knows I was gone.

But… not with who.

If hereallyknew, I’d already be dead.

There wouldn’t be a conversation. It would be a bullet between the eyes.

He steps closer. Too close.

I can smell his sour scent. It’s vodka but for some reason it smells sour and tart on him. It clashes with the overpowering cologne he always wears.