Then:
“Because revenge tastes better when the world believes it’s love.”
There’s no emotion in his tone—just ice.
Sharp.
Final.
He steps closer, just enough to crowd the air around me.
“You’ll be paraded on my arm,” he says quietly. “My wife. The Laurent jewel worn by a Rusnak. The world will celebrate it as a union of peace between two dynasties.”
My breath catches.
“And behind closed doors?” he adds. “Your family’s reputation will crumble under my ownership.”
My spine stiffens, fury trembling through my veins.
He straightens his cuffs, calm as ever.
“You asked why,” he finishes, gaze pinning me in place. “That’s your answer.”
A laugh slips out of me—brittle, humorless, sharp enough to cut skin.
“Then you should’ve married my father,” I say, lifting my chin. “He’s the one who plays your games, not me.”
Dimitri stills.
Then he steps closer.
Closer.
Until I can feel the heat of him, until the room seems too small to contain his shadow.
His voice drops, a blade sliding between my ribs.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you’ll bleed for his sins all the same.”
My breath stutters.
Not from fear.
From fury so white-hot it scorches.
This man isn’t here to ruin a family alone.
He’s here to ruin me.
His eyes flick down my face—slow, claiming, merciless—before he straightens and turns away like he didn’t just split me open with a sentence.
I stand there for a beat, breath trapped in my chest, heat clawing up my throat. Then I spin on my heel and march down the hallway, every step louder than the last. My vision blurs, but I blink hard, refusing the sting.
I will not cry.
Not for him.
Not because of him.
