My expression shifts almost instantly. I can’t help the relief that floods through me. It’s good.
She already knows. She knows she belongs to me.
And that’s how it should be.
I walk across the room, the tension still thick in the air. My hands are steady as I pour myself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as I take my time, savoring the slosh in the glass. It’s a rare moment of calm in a storm of emotions, but it’s all I have right now.
I turn back to her, and I can feel the weight of the decision pressing on me, settling into the space between us. My gaze doesn’t leave her as I take a slow sip, the glass cool against my fingers.
Then I say it, my voice firm, final, as if I’m reading off a verdict, something she can’t argue with.
“We’re getting married. Next week.”
She stares at me, confusion clouding her expression. She doesn’t respond at first, as if she’s misheard. But I’m not repeating myself. I won’t.
“What?” She looks bewildered.
“The child of the Bratva Pakhan will not be born out of wedlock,” I say, the words cold and commanding. “What kind of example would that set?”
She opens her mouth, like she’s going to protest, but the words falter before they even leave her lips. I don’t need her to speak. She’s cornered now. She knows it.
I walk back toward her, my steps deliberate, slow. My drink still in hand, I lean in close. My finger brushes lightly along her cheek.
“You should be happy,” I murmur, my voice low, almost teasing. “You get to carry my name before the world knows you’re carrying my child.”
She doesn’t respond, her lips trembling just slightly, but that’s enough. I see it—I’ve won.
And for now, that’s all that matters.
I straighten, leaving her in the room, my footsteps quiet on the floor. I don’t trust her to stay, not yet. Not after everything. Not after the way she tried to run from me before.
I lock the door behind me. The sound of the bolt clicking in to place is final, like a promise I’m making to myself.
She’s mine now. And this time, there’s no escape.
As soon as I leave the room, I’m met with a familiar presence—Arseny. He’s standing there, just a few feet away, appearing from the shadows as if he’s been waiting for me. His expression is neutral, but there’s a sharpness to his gaze, a knowing look that tells me he’s aware of the situation.
I don’t waste my time before I turn to him, my anger rising above the surface. “Who was the driver that took Zoe from the gala?”
“His name is Ricardo,” he says, the words coming out clipped.
I look Arseny dead in the eyes, my voice cold, biting. “He hurt her,” I say, my words slow and deliberate. “He crashed the car. She’s hurt. I don’t want to see him again. If I do, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”
Arseny doesn’t blink. He knows the violence that simmers just beneath the surface. But I can see that he understands. The weight of my words lands, and he nods, acknowledging the seriousness of the promise.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says quietly, his gaze unwavering.
“Good.” I start walking again. “Where’s Adrian? We have a wedding to plan.”
Chapter Nineteen - Zoe
The wedding is over.
I’m sitting in the back of the limousine, the long white fabric of my wedding dress bunched around me like a suffocating cloud. The silence between us feels like a weight, pressing down on my chest. My fingers twitch at the hem, wanting to rip the damn thing off and run, but I stay still. My body feels like it doesn’t belong to me anymore, like everything is happening to someone else.
Everything is moving too fast.
I look out the window, the city lights blurring past, but I’m not really seeing anything. My mind is too busy, too chaotic, to focus on anything outside the car. The ring on my finger feels like it’s burning into my skin, too tight, too real, and every time I glance at it, a wave of disgust washes over me.
