And something primal and violent coils inside me.
I want to gouge out the eyes of every man staring at her. Rip their admiration out of their throats and scatter it at her feet.
She’s mine. Even though she’s blissfully unaware she just agreed to marry the man who once ruined her in a stable over a year ago.
Vivian pauses near the center of the gallery, scanning the crowd—poised, elegant, regal in a way that makes the rest of the room look cheap.
Then she stops to speak to a man. Some asshole in a suit—too close, too eager, already smiling down at her like he deserves her time.
My jaw grinds. I set my drink down. Hard.
The glass thuds against the counter, and Chloe flinches like she’s been slapped. I don’t spare her a glance. I peel her hand off my arm and start walking—slow, deliberate steps that feel like the entire room is shifting out of my way.
I aim straight for Vivian and the idiot standing too close to her.
Fortunately for him, they break apart before I reach them. He walks off, oblivious. Lucky bastard. Another five seconds and I would’ve given him a reason to develop lifelong instincts about staying the hell away from what’s mine.
Vivian turns.
Our gazes collide. She stops breathing. Good. Very good.
I don’t stop walking until I’m close enough to feel her exhale tremble against my chest. Up close, she’s even more exquisite than I remember—delicate curves begging for possession, golden-brown bob brushing her jaw in soft, perfect lines, eyes like sharpened emeralds that flash between fear and fury.
She looks like wealth.
Like legacy.
Like the empire I’m about to take in my hands and twist.
“I told you not to look so desperate to be ruined,” I murmur, leaning in just enough for only her to hear me. “And yet here we are…all set to be married.”
Her eyes fly wide—shock, outrage, disbelief hitting her all at once.
Before she can speak, a loud voice breaks in.
“Dimitri Rusnak!”
I turn slightly as the host approaches, beaming like a fool. Of course he’s excited—my name opens more doors than it closes.
But I’m watching Vivian.
Her porcelain skin goes several shades paler.
Her lips part.
Recognition hits her like a blow to the chest.
Rusnak.
She knows exactly what that means.
Exactly who I am.
And she knows her father sold her straight into the devil’s hands.
A spark of rage flashes across her face—bright, beautiful, defiant.
I smirk. Slow. Wicked. Claiming. “Welcome to the family,ma chère.”
