I nod once. “The very same.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Violet’s not going to be happy about this.”
I shrug. Well, too bad. I’m sure there were many people who weren’t happy when he literally kidnapped Violet and married her. So, yeah.
“I’ll bring her in time for the ceremony,” he mutters, turning to leave. “I have an appointment.” And just like that, he’s gone, leaving Adrian and me alone.
Adrian studies me, eyes narrowing. “Are you…okay with this? You actually want to go through with the wedding?”
I let a small, almost imperceptible smile curl my lips. “I do. This is the best way to handle things.”
He exhales, clearly weighing my answer, then nods. “Alright. I’ll see you at the ceremony tomorrow.”
I give a curt nod in return, watching him leave the office before I turn back to the window.
For a moment, I just stare out the window, letting the city lights blur together. I wonder if I’m putting desire above duty. Is this the right thing to do, or is this my selfish desire to own and possess?
I push the thoughts aside and step out of the office, down the hall, and through the main doors of the estate. The cool night air hits me as I make my way to my car. Guards stationed along the drive straighten at my approach, bowing sharply in silent deference. I acknowledge them with a mere tilt of my head and settle into the leather seat.
The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the compound, my car gliding onto the streets of Chicago. Neon lights reflect off the hood, the city’s pulse matching the rapid thrum of my own. Skyscrapers blur past as I speed through avenues and side streets, the hum of the tires on asphalt merging with the thoughts I can’t shake.
Finally, I ease the car to a stop in front of a high-end jewelry store, its windows gleaming with displays that glint like captured stars. I step out, pulling my jacket tighter against the evening chill, and stride toward the entrance.
As soon as I enter, two staff members notice me.
“Mr. Volkov,” one greets, bowing slightly. “I’ll fetch the manager.” The other gestures for me to follow.
I allow myself to be led into a separate room reserved for VIP guests, the soft lighting making the display cases gleam like liquid gold. I sit, crossing my legs at the ankle, observing the subtle elegance of the space. Moments later, the manager appears—tall, wiry, his posture formal, a practiced bow greeting me.
“Mr. Volkov. It’s an honor to have you here. How may we assist you today?”
I meet his eyes, expression neutral. “I’m getting married. I need a ring for my wife.”
Thomas blinks once, barely hiding the flicker of shock, then recovers with professional composure. “Of course, sir. Please, follow me.”
He leads me into a private room where an array of high-end rings rests under carefully lit cases. Each piece gleams like a promise. Thomas gestures toward the cases with a practiced flourish, voice calm and precise. “This one here,” he says, lifting a platinum band with a cluster of small diamonds, “is handcrafted by a Venetian jeweler, using ethically sourced stones. Notice the setting—it maximizes brilliance while remaining delicate. Perfect for someone who prefers understated elegance.”
He moves to the next, a rose gold band set with a single princess-cut diamond. “Here, the contrast between the warm gold and the clear diamond makes it stand out. It’s ideal for someone with a bold personality, yet refined taste. Each facetis cut to catch the light at every angle, ensuring it sparkles continuously, even in dim lighting.”
He continues, showing band after band, explaining the minutiae of cuts, clarity, and carat weight. I listen, but only half. My mind is elsewhere, scanning the rings for the piece that’ll draw me in, instead of just going with what he’s trying to sell.
Then—It catches me.
One ring, a flawless round-cut diamond set in a simple white gold band, seems to burn in the light, every facet scattering it like tiny flames.Ogonek. Just like her.
Something inside me stirs, primal and unrelenting. I don’t even hear Thomas start explaining the diamond’s origin, the clarity grade, the cut angle. I cut him off with a sharp motion.
“Enough,” I say, my voice low, deliberate. “That one. Give it to me.”
Thomas freezes, then nods slowly, clearly understanding the weight behind my words.
“I’ll handle payment,” I continue, pulling my card from my jacket pocket. I don’t hesitate. The transaction is swift, silent, and final.
The ring is placed carefully in a black velvet box. I lift it once, letting the light catch the diamond again, then tuck it into my coat pocket. Without another word, I stride out of the store. The door closes behind me with a soft, definitive click.
I drive back to the estate in silence, the city lights blurring past like streaks of fire. When I reach the gates, the guards bow as I step out, and I move up the stairs, down the hallway, until I reach the door. The passcode clicks open, and I step inside.
Noelle is lying on the bed, sprawled like she owns the space, and she springs to her feet as the door opens. Her eyes blaze at me.
