And the whole time?
I watch her.
She’s breathtaking.
Annoyingly so.
“Dimitri.”
I turn and find Elara standing beside me. She looks…unimpressed. Which is ironic, considering I once helped save her life. We’ve always been cordial. Respectful. She’s Roman’s wife, and Roman is the brother I trust to handle a war with me.
But now?
Her loyalty has clearly shifted.
Fine. I don’t need her to like me.
“Hi, Elara.”
She glances at Vivian across the room—Vivian is mid-conversation, smiling at some woman like she didn’t start a war in my penthouse—and Elara’s jaw tightens before she turns back to me.
“Vivian is innocent,” she says quietly. “Her only crime is being born into the Laurent family. She’s kind, Dimitri. She volunteers at shelters. Gives half her closet to charity. She rescues animals, for God’s sake. She doesn’t deserve to be used as a pawn in whatever vengeance you’re trying to exact.”
I laugh. A cold, amused sound.
“Did I ever tell you I intend to use Vivian as a pawn?”
Elara’s eyes narrow. “Why else would you pay that kind of money to marry her?”
I shrug lazily. “Maybe because she’s gorgeous. I like gorgeous women.”
Elara doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. “Dimitri, please—”
“Elara,” I cut in, voice low with finality, “with all due respect, drop it.”
Her nostrils flare. She looks at me like she wants to argue, but she also knows I don’t bluff. I don’t bend. And I won’t start with Vivian Laurent.
“Whatever you’re doing,” she says, voice softening into something that almost sounds like a warning, “be sure you can survive the consequences.”
I lift my drink in a mock toast. “I always do.”
She shakes her head and walks away.
I turn back toward Vivian—my wife—and find her laughing at something someone said.
And the jealousy comes back like a match struck in a dry forest.
No.
Not jealousy.
Possession.
Worse.
Soon, the party starts to thin. By midnight, Vivian walks the last guests—Sienna and Elara—to the door.
I remain at the empty bar, pretending to sip the drink I’m not even tasting, just waiting for a moment to get her alone. She probably knows I’m waiting. She keeps dragging out her goodbye with her friends, laughing too loudly, hugging too long, like she’s stalling.
