Eight o'clock, nine, ten...
The steaks had gone completely cold, a greasy film congealing on the surface, no longer appealing. The candles had burned down to nothing but waxy stubs. My messages to Igor vanished into the void, unanswered. My calls rang straight to voicemail, the mechanical female voice repeating monotonously.
The apartment was eerily silent, the ticking of the wall clock mocking my endless wait.
Just before midnight, the doorbell finally rang.
I sprang from the chair, rushing to open it. A rush of overwhelming joy and grief flooded me; I'd even rehearsed how I'd throw myself into his arms and complain about how late he was.
But it wasn't Igor standing there.
A stranger in a black suit loomed in the doorway, his face impassive. Tall and stony, he was clearly one of Igor's associates.
"Ms. Jensen?" he asked in heavily accented English.
"...Yes, that's me." My heart plummeted, my voice sounding alien even to myself. "Where's Igor?"
"I'm the boss's assistant. He's handling urgent matters and can't get away." The response was rote and emotionless. He handed me an elegantly wrapped gift bag. "This is the anniversary gift he asked me to deliver."
I accepted it numbly, my hand lingering in the air for a moment.
"Did he... have any message for me?" I asked, clinging to one last thread of hope.
"No." He gave a slight bow and turned to leave.
I closed the door and mechanically unpacked the bag. Inside was a box from a top luxury brand. I opened it: a pair of earrings encrusted with rubies, nestled on velvet, sparkling brilliantly.
They were stunning, exorbitantly expensive—worth more than several years of my salary combined. But I didn't have pierced ears.
What was more pathetic: that my boyfriend was too busy to select a suitable gift himself, relying on an assistant, or that he'd forgotten such a basic detail about me?
The wallet with his branded initials still sat on the table. Looking at it now, I couldn't muster the courage to give it to him.
That night, I had a nightmare.
I dreamed I was in a grand Gothic church, stained-glass windows casting eerie, colorful shadows. I sat among faceless guests. Igor stood at the altar in a sharp black suit, his features etched starkly in the light. But he wasn't there for me.
Beside him was a bride in a pristine white gown, her long veil obscuring her face. I couldn't make out her features, only the intimate way she looped her arm through his, sending sharp pangs through my heart.
The priest intoned the vows, the sacred words twisting into malicious curses in my ears, making my head reel and the world spin.
"Igor, do you take this woman to be your wife?"
He nodded without a hint of hesitation.
"I do." His voice was as low as in our most intimate moments, but laced with a resolve I'd never heard before.
I wanted to surge forward, to confront him, to yank off her veil and see who had taken my place. But my feet were rooted like lead, immovable. I was trapped in my seat, forced to watch as they exchanged rings, as Igor slowly, tenderly lifted the veil.
Just as it was about to reveal her fully, I jolted awake, sitting up abruptly and gasping for air. Cold sweat drenched my nightgown, sticking clammily to my skin.
The room was pitch-black. I reached out, feeling the other side of the bed. It was empty and cold. Igor still hadn't come back.
Chapter Four
Igor
To ensure the engagement banquet went off without a hitch tomorrow night, I'd spent the entire day deploying my men. I couldn't let anything jeopardize this marriage alliance—the family's future depended on it.
