I toss. Turn. Kick the sheets off. Drag them back on. I stare at the ceiling until the shadows start to look like him too—broad shoulders, tall frame, the silhouette of a man who shouldn’t have this much power over my life…or my mind.
Why is he everywhere?
Why can’t I get rid of the burn he left in my body a year ago?
By 3 a.m., my pulse is still racing, my room feels too small, and my chest feels too tight.
I curl on my side, gripping the pillow, angry at myself for remembering his hands at the stable…angrier that some traitorous part of me still reacts to him.
I hate him.
I hate this.
And yet my heart won’t slow down.
Sleep never comes. Only the terrifying realization that Dimitri Rusnak isn’t done with me—not by a long shot.
Chapter 5 – Dimitri
The wedding happens exactly three days later.
Because I said so.
Because Vivian tried to slap me in the garage at the art gala and ran away.
Because I want to prove to her that no matter how far she runs, she can never run far enough.
The ceremony is a spectacle. White roses climb the walls, crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, and the press swarms like flies hungry for a story: “Union of Two Great Dynasties!” The headlines will scream it, and the world will know who controls the Laurent legacy now.
Vivian stands beside me in a pale-gold gown. She looks beautiful, untouchable…remote. Her hand is stiff in mine, each finger pressed reluctantly against mine like a silent protest. The air around her is tense, fragrant with expensive perfume and unspoken defiance. I savor it.
The host’s voice drones over the vows, but I only hear her breath, the slight hitch when she swallows, the tiny shiver I can feel even through the stiffness of her posture. My pulse quickens—not with love, not with warmth—but with anticipation. I’ve waited a year for this moment.
All my brothers are here, dressed in black, successfully hiding their shock at this union. They didn’t know I was getting married until yesterday. Until today, they thought it was a joke. Their wives sit like statues beside them, polite, poised, mirroring the shock on their husbands’ faces. Elara looks very upset, and naturally, Roman, her husband, mirrors her mood.
Typical.
Vivian’s friend, Sienna Roth, is there too. She looks ready to intervene, to comfort her, maybe even to make a scene. But she won’t. She knows better. They all do.
I glance down at Vivian. All through the ceremony, her hatred is a living thing. Sharp. Bright. Delicious.
Vivian doesn’t even try to hide it—her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed, her posture rigid like she’s resisting the urge to stab me with the nearest crystal centerpiece. And God, it thrills me.
The more she fights, the more I want her submission.
The more she hates me, the sweeter the victory will be when she finally breaks.
When the priest announces us husband and wife, I lean down, brushing my mouth near her ear, close enough that she goes perfectly still.
“Now you belong to me,” I murmur, my voice low, meant for her alone. “And I will make sure the world sees what happens when a Laurent crosses a Rusnak.”
Her eyes widen, a tremor running through her—not fear exactly, not yet. Confusion.
Real confusion.
“What have I done to cross you?” she whispers back, stunned.
For a heartbeat, I pause.
