I could only watch Elena leave, powerless to stop her. In my hand was the necklace she'd thrown at me—the one she used to treasure, too precious to wear. She would always open her nightstand drawer to check on it, eyes lighting up as she told me what it meant to her. Now she'd hurled it at me with such finality, as if declaring the end of everything.
Cold night wind swept through the garden. Before I could gather my thoughts, familiar footsteps approached from behind.
"Igor."
Natasha's voice shattered the silence. I turned to see her standing at the garden entrance, brown eyes blazing with fury. Her body was rigid, chest rising and falling as she struggled to contain her rage.
"Let's go inside," I said, keeping my voice calm and composed, as if nothing had happened.
"That's it?" She stepped closer, voice low but ice-cold. "You chase after another woman in front of everyone at our engagement party? What the hell are you doing, Igor? You left me standing there like a complete fool!"
I took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. She was right. I'd humiliated her at the worst possible moment, when I still needed her cooperation. She was my fiancée in name, and my behavior had damaged both families' dignity.
"I'm sorry." I met her eyes. "I lost control. That's on me."
"Igor, do you have any idea how many people were whispering back there?" Her voice mixed anger with hurt. "They're speculating about your relationship with that waitress, questioning whether our engagement is even real."
I moved closer, trying to project sincerity. "I know. Listen, it was just an accident. Let's go back and show everyone that everything's fine."
The fire in her eyes began to fade.
"Do you really understand what this alliance means for you?" she asked, her voice turning calm.
"I do." That wasn't a lie. "So trust me, Natasha. I promise tonight won't happen again."
My jaw tightened, fists clenched. For the family's future, for my inheritance, for the entire Eastern European power structure, I had to learn to sacrifice certain things. I forced myself not to think about Elena.
She studied me for several seconds, then finally sighed. "You better mean it, Igor. I've been told I'd marry you since I was sixteen. I've spent ten years preparing for this role. I won't let anyone destroy it—including you."
"It won't happen," I promised curtly.
We walked back to the ballroom together. Natasha took my arm, her movements still graceful, smile perfectly intact—the social mask she'd cultivated over years. If not for her fingers digging in too tight, nails nearly piercing my jacket, no one would know what had just transpired.
The hall blazed with light, elegant music still flowing. I scanned the room and caught my father's cold stare. His face was thunderous. Natasha's parents looked equally displeased.
"Everything alright?" Father's voice was terrifyingly calm, but I could hear the deliberately suppressed rage beneath.
"Of course." Natasha jumped in, voice light and natural. "Just a waitress who dropped some bottles. Igor was concerned she might be hurt, so he went to check. Right, darling?"
She turned to me, eyes flashing warning and reminder. She was covering for me, protecting our mutual dignity.
"Yes." I nodded, sounding natural. "It's handled. The girl was just shaken up."
Alexander's expression softened slightly, but the distrust didn't completely fade. "Compassion is admirable in young people, but you two are tonight's stars. Don't get too distracted with all these important guests watching."
"You're absolutely right," I said. "We'll be more careful."
Natasha's mother approached, taking her daughter's hand and rescuing us from the awkward moment. "Come on, there are still many guests waiting to congratulate you both."
The next two hours were endless torture. Natasha and I stood among the guests, accepting wave after wave of congratulations. Women inquired about wedding dates and venues while men discussed the business arrangements between our families. Natasha kept her arm linked with mine, smile sweet and proper, occasionally leaning against my shoulder. To outsiders, we appeared to be loving fiancés, full of anticipation and tenderness.
"Igor, Natasha, let's toast." Father raised his champagne glass with ceremonial gravity. All conversation ceased, every eye focused on us.
We approached the main table, feeling like we were under stage lights. I raised my glass, trying to make my voice sound sincere and joyful.
"Thank you all for being here tonight to witness the union of the Vorontsov and Ivanov families. This engagement carries both families' hopes and blessings, representing our bright expectations for the future."
Applause erupted, champagne glasses chiming in crisp succession like a carefully orchestrated symphony. I drained myglass, liquor burning my throat with searing pain from inside out. But that pain couldn't match the agony in my chest—a tearing sensation from every choice I was making in this moment.
