He takes a slow step closer, his gaze sharp enough to slice through me. “Don’t play dumb, Elara. You rerouted his transactions before he could make the sales. You’ve been bleeding him dry from the inside for years.”
My mouth goes dry. My pulse is a wild, uneven rhythm in my chest. “How—how do you know that?”
“I make it my business to know everything about my enemies,” he says evenly. “And the night I caught you in that museum, I figured why you were there. What I don’t know”—he tilts his head, studying me like I’m some puzzle he’s finally piecing together—“is why you started doing it so long ago.”
I take a shaky breath, my throat tightening. He knows. He knows. No one was ever supposed to know. Not even my father.
“Do you have some personal motive in all this?” he asks, voice low but sharp. “Because what you did wasn’t random. You were deliberate. Methodical. That’s not rebellion, Elara; that’s a vendetta.”
I shake my head quickly. “There’s no personal motive.”
He studies me for a second too long, and before I can move, he steps in—fast—closing the distance until my back hits the wall. My breath catches as his palm slams flat beside my head. The force vibrates through the plaster.
“Then why?” His tone drops lower, rougher. “Why the hell would you risk your life for something that had nothing to do with you?”
His proximity burns. I can feel the tension in his body, the control he’s barely holding on to.
I meet his gaze, pulse hammering in my ears. “Because I’m not his pawn,” I hiss. “And I won’t be yours either.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Our faces are inches apart. His breath fans against my lips, steady but heavy, and the air between us crackles. It’s sharp, electric, unbearably intimate.
He doesn’t kiss me, but God, it feels like he might. My chest rises and falls too fast, and before I can stop myself, my eyes flutter shut, expecting something I’ll probably regret.
But nothing happens.
When I open my eyes, he’s already stepped back. The distance he creates feels cruel, deliberate. My face burns with humiliation, but I mask it quickly, straightening my shoulders.
“The dress for the wedding will arrive tomorrow,” he says quietly, voice back to that calm, unnerving tone. “I picked it out myself. I hope you like it.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He just turns and leaves, the sound of the door closing echoing in the silence he leaves behind.
I stand there trembling—half in fear, half in something I don’t want to name.
Two things are true: I’m attracted to Roman, and I’m an idiot.
Chapter 10 – Roman
The wedding is rushed, but grand—just how I wanted it. No press, no guests, no fanfare. Only family, Vivian as her friend, and a handful of trusted soldiers stationed around the perimeter.
Soft instrumental music drifts through the garden as the ceremony begins. The air smells faintly of roses and rain.
I stand at the end of the aisle in a black suit, my hands clasped behind me, my expression unreadable. When she appears, every other sound fades.
Elara.
She walks down the carpet with slow, deliberate grace, a vision in lace. The gown fits her like it was stitched for her soul—soft, haunting, and defiant. I’m happy I chose it. The veil trails behind her like a sigh of rebellion. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even look at me. But she still looks regal.
Her eyes burn with silent fury, and I deserve every ounce of it.
When she reaches the podium, I step forward and take her cold, trembling hands to help her up. For a second, her skin presses against mine, fragile but fierce. Then the priest drones on, our vows short, impersonal, binding.
“Do you, Roman Rusnak, take Elara Chang to be your wife, to have and to hold, in wealth and in poverty, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“Yes,” I reply, voice steady.
He turns to Elara. “Do you, Elara Chang, take Roman Rusnak to be your husband, to have and to hold, in wealth and in poverty, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
She hesitates, drawing out the moment. “I do.”
