The words knock the air out of my lungs. I swallow hard, my heartbeat loud in my ears. A long, aching silence stretches between us, thick enough to choke on.
My voice barely comes out. “Tell me something: Did you discard me after our first time in Monaco because of this? Because you already knew who I was?”
He exhales sharply and looks away for the first time tonight. When he turns back to me, there’s something raw in his eyes.
“You’re right,” he says. “I was a jerk to you then. I knew your name, Vivian. But I didn’t know your heart. If I could turn back time, I would act like a better man.”
For a fleeting, foolish second, I almost believe him. Almost let the part of me that craves him reach out and close the space between us.
But reality slices through me.
I shake my head. “I can’t…not right now. I need time to think.”
His jaw tenses, but I force myself to look him in the eyes.
“Leave.”
The word is barely a whisper, but it lands like a command.
For a moment, he doesn’t move—just watches me with that haunted, dangerous longing. Then, slowly, without breaking eye contact, he steps back…turns…and heads to the door.
Before he reaches it, the door slams open. Sylvester storms inside, face pale, breathing hard.
“Dimitri—we have a problem.”
Dimitri stiffens. “What?”
Sylvester hesitates only a second. “Someone leaked all of it. The truth about why you married Vivian. The revenge. Everything. They claimed you used Vivian as a pawn and bought her with money to ruin her father.”
My heart drops to my stomach.
“What?” I whisper.
Sylvester nods grimly. “The media’s already spinning it. Vivian’s being painted as a victim of a Bratva lord seeking vengeance. If this keeps spreading, it’ll destroy your reputation, Dimitri—and shine a spotlight on your ties to…everything we’ve tried to keep out of public view.”
I frown, the sharp sting of humiliation twisting deep inside me. A victim. Reduced to pity. To headlines. To scandal.
Dimitri…Dimitri looks like something inside him has snapped.
His jaw locks. His shoulders go rigid. A cold, lethal fury radiates off him in waves.
“Who,” he says, voice like ice cracking, “the fuck leaked it?”
Sylvester swallows. “We don’t know yet. But it’s spreading fast.”
My pulse quickens with fear and anger at whoever had the audacity to air my life out for views. My entire body feels hot, tight. I can hardly breathe.
Then Dimitri turns toward me. Slowly. Deliberately. Suspicion flickers in his eyes—sharp, assessing, cold enough to gut me.
“Was it you?” he asks.
The words hit harder than a slap.
My breath stutters. “What?”
“You had motive,” he says, voice low, dangerous. “You were angry. You shut me out all day. You knew enough of the truth to leak it.”
I go absolutely still.
