The woman Viktor had sent, Isabella, was a miracle worker who specialized in making insecure wives look presentable for high-society events. She had brought an arsenal of makeup, hair tools, and accessories that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
But even miracle workers had their limitations.
“The blue one is lovely,” Isabella said diplomatically, holding up a dress that would have been stunning on someone with a different body type. “But perhaps we should try the black one instead?”
Anka stared at her reflection, fighting back the familiar wave of self-loathing that came with shopping for formal wear. Her curves, which Viktor had once worshipped with his handsand mouth, now felt like obstacles to overcome instead of assets to celebrate.
The black dress was better, as it was designed to minimize her waist and emphasize her best features, but she still felt exposed and vulnerable. These weren’t the kind of clothes she was comfortable in, the kind that announced her presence and demanded attention.
“You look beautiful,” Isabella said, stepping back to admire her work.
She looked like a Nikolai wife. Polished, expensive, perfect on the surface. But underneath the designer dress and professional makeup, she was still the same insecure woman who had been abandoned by her first love and married off like a political pawn.
A knock on the door interrupted her spiral of self-doubt.
“Come in,” Isabella called out.
Viktor stepped into the room, and Anka watched his reflection in the mirror as he took in her appearance. His gaze moved slowly from her carefully styled hair down to her heels and back up again, lingering on the curves the dress couldn’t completely disguise.
“Leave us alone,” he told Isabella, his eyes never leaving Anka’s.
She gathered her things and disappeared, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
“You look beautiful,” Viktor said, echoing Isabella’s words but with a heat in his voice that made her knees weak.
“Thank you,” she managed, turning away from the mirror to face him properly.
He was wearing a charcoal gray suit that fit him like it had been carved specifically for his body, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the lean lines of his torso. His ice-blue eyes were darker than usual, and there was something predatory in the way he was looking at her.
“Ready?” he asked, offering her his arm.
The drive to the Nikolai estate was torture. Viktor sat beside her in the back of his sleek black sedan, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, far enough that any contact would be obviously intentional. Every bump in the road sent small waves of awareness through her, every turn pressed her slightly closer to his solid warmth.
The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. She kept catching him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of her shoulders, the way the seatbelt emphasized her breasts, the length of her leg revealed by the dress’s slit.
“Nervous?” he asked as they pulled through the gates of his family’s compound.
“Should I be?”
“They’re going to love you.” But there was something in his voice that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure about that.
The Nikolai estate made Viktor’s mansion look modest by comparison. It was a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa that screamed old money and older power, surrounded by perfectly manicured gardens and enough security to protect a small country.
Inside, the house was buzzing with activity. She recognized some of the faces from their wedding, but many were new to her. Viktor’s extended family was massive, a networkof cousins, in-laws, and business associates that formed the backbone of their organization.
“Anka!” Irina’s voice cut through the crowd, and Anka felt some of her tension ease as Viktor’s sister approached with a genuine smile. “You look absolutely stunning.”
Behind her was Matvei, her brother-turned-ally, looking more relaxed than she had seen him since their childhood. Marriage to Irina had been good for him, she realized. She had softened some of his harder edges without diminishing his strength.
“Thank you for coming,” Matvei said, kissing her cheek in greeting. “I know this can’t be easy.”
“It’s fine,” she lied, grateful for their familiar faces in the sea of strangers.
“Come, let me introduce you to everyone,” Irina said, linking her arm through hers. “They’re all dying to meet Viktor’s mysterious wife.”
The next hour passed in a blur of names and faces, polite conversation and careful assessments. Viktor’s family was welcoming enough, but she could feel them watching her, looking for signs of weakness or deception. They were protecting their own, just as her family would have done.
Viktor stayed close, his hand warm on her lower back as they moved through the crowd. He introduced her with pride, called her beautiful, and played the role of devoted husband to perfection. But she could feel the undercurrent of tension in his touch, see the way his jaw tightened when certain family members asked pointed questions about their whirlwind courtship.
