The audience erupts into applause. The sound crashes over us, breaking the spell.
Maksim pulls back slowly, deliberately. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone in a gesture that feels too tender for what this is supposed to be.
"Perfect," he murmurs.
People surge forward after that. Congratulations spilling between glasses of champagne and air-kisses that never quite land. Maksim's hand stays on the small of my back, warm and possessive, guiding me through the crowd as we move toward the reception area.
The live band is already playing something upbeat and elegant that makes people sway as they walk. The reception space is even more beautiful than the ceremony. Long tables draped in ivory linens, centerpieces of white roses and flickering candles, the lake visible through massive windows that frame the city skyline turning gold in the fading light.
Maksim and I move through the room together, and I do what I was bought to do.
I introduce him to Chicago's elite. Aldermen and philanthropists, CEOs and society matrons. I watch them assess him, recalculate their opinions, decide that maybe the Severyn name isn't as dangerous as they thought. I'm good at this. I've been trained for this my entire life, how to smile, how to charm, how to make people believe whatever story you're selling.
The band shifts into something slower. Nostalgic. A Russian melody I researched specifically for this moment.
Maksim stops mid-conversation with a tech CEO. Turns to look at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
"I asked around," I say quickly, suddenly nervous. "About what music to request for the Russian guests. They suggested this one. Is it—is it okay?"
Understanding flickers across his face. Then genuine, unguarded warmth. "It's more than okay."
We're sharing a moment. Something real and unscripted in the middle of this elaborate performance.
Then Alexei bursts through the crowd like chaos on a mission, grabbing Maksim by the arm with unrestrained enthusiasm.
"They're playing our music,brat! We have to go cheer for the band!"
Maksim looks at me, question in his eyes.
I shrug, managing a smile that feels almost real. "Go. I could use a break from all the schmoozing."
He nods once, and then both men disappear into the crowd, leaving me alone in a sea of strangers wearing expensive clothes and false smiles.
I need air. Space. A moment to collect myself from the emotional whiplash this day has become.
I slip away from the reception, following a hallway that leads deeper into the building. The noise of laughter, music, the clink of crystal are replaced by the sound of my heels clicking on marble, the distant wash of lake waves against the shore.
Silence wraps around me like relief.
A hand grabs my arm. Hard enough to bruise.
I spin, and my father is there.
He's wearing a knee brace and leaning on crutches, and his eyes are glassy with too much champagne and too little sense. His fingers dig painfully into my bicep, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
"Are you happy with yourself?" The words come out slurred, furious. "Now that you have attack dogs doing whatever you ask? That psychopath broke my knee. My knee. And I know you're behind it."
For a moment, I'm speechless.
The audacity. The sheer fucking audacity of this man to stand here and play victim when he's the one who sold me to pay his debts.
But underneath the fury, something else rises. Something unexpected and pure and brilliant.
Joy.
Visceral, undeniable joy at the knowledge that Alexei personally made sure my father couldn't walk me down the aisle. That someone heard me and believed me and decided my father didn't deserve the privilege.
The joy bubbles up faster than I can control it.
