The elevator opens, and I step into the garage. Dimitri’s eyes widen as they take me in, like he’s measuring every curve, every line. Appreciation, hunger, control—all of it—flickers across his face.
Kyle stays back, giving me space. I walk toward Dimitri. He wordlessly opens the passenger door and helps me in. His touch is smooth, commanding, and I feel it linger longer than necessary. Then he slips into the driver’s seat, dressed in a maroon suit that somehow perfectly matches the heat in his gaze. What a coincidence.
The engine hums as he starts the car, and we drive out of the garage in silence.
Then, finally, he looks at me. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice tight.
And then—silence again.
I can feel him watching me, every inch, every movement, but neither of us says another word. The tension between us is suffocating, charged, and I can’t decide whether I want it to break or to last forever.
We arrive when the event is in full swing. The red carpet stretches before us as the car slows to a stop. Celebrities and socialites are already there, competing with each other.
Dimitri turns to me. “Do you want to walk the carpet?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why? Because you’re with me?” His frown is sharp, accusatory. “You’ve never had a problem with it before.”
“And you know that how?”
“We’re walking the carpet,” he says, stepping out of the car. My anger rises as he walks around to open my door. His hand finds mine, firm, commanding. “Smile. We’re a loving couple, remember? First event out. Let’s make it count.”
I grit my teeth, but he doesn’t let go. A few steps in, and the paparazzi descend like predators. Flashes explode, questions fly.
How did we meet? Are we in love? Is this just a business arrangement?
Dimitri stays silent. Fine. Let him stay silent. I tilt my head, meet the camera lenses head-on, and answer for both of us.
“I’m going to answer this silly question once and for all. Are we in love? Answer it yourself.”
Before Dimitri can react, I stand on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. Just a short kiss, but it’s potent. I feel him stiffen, caught off guard, almost losing himself right there. I pull away, just enough, and give a small, victorious smile.
“Does that answer your question?” I say to the cameras. “And I hope no one asks me—or my husband—that stupid question ever again.”
We continue forward, hand in hand, walking into the event, leaving the paparazzi shocked and a little speechless. I feel the thrill of the moment, the power of control in my fingers, and the dangerous heat of Dimitri so close to me.
Once we’re safely inside, Dimitri turns to me, his gaze intense.
“Vivian….”
“What?” I shrug, tilting my head innocently. “You said to make it count.”
Before he can respond, we’re surrounded by the familiar faces of his brothers and their wives. The room hums with polite chatter and laughter, the kind that comes from people who’ve already carved out their alliances.
Elara appears beside me like a whirlwind, introducing me to the women, giving a quick, whispered rundown of who’s who. Dimitri drifts toward his brothers, their conversations sharp, clipped, but respectful.
I watch, quietly taking it all in. Elara was right—they’re genuinely sweet, welcoming. Warm. I feel a flicker of relief, almost as if I can breathe again.
The Rusnaks all share a long table draped in white linen and gold accents, each seat marked with elegant calligraphy. When I spot Vivian Rusnak written in front of my chair, my breath stutters.
Just like that—my identity rewritten. My life stamped with a name that isn’t really mine.
I’m seated between Dimitri and Elara. Dimitri on my left, Elara on my right.
Dimitri’s presence feels like heat licking at my skin, but I refuse to turn his way. I angle my body deliberately toward Elara, giving him nothing but the cold line of my shoulder.
