Then he smiles.
It’s not a nice smile.
It’s the kind of smile that says he’s already planning exactly how he’ll make me pay for this. The kind that promises retribution in ways I can’t even imagine.
His fingers grip my chin, gentle yet in escapable.
“The wedding is happening. Tomorrow, you become mine.” His voice drops to a whisper, meant for me alone. “Sleep well, Isabella.”
32
Konstantin
She’s going to regret it.
The slap lingers. Not on my skin—I barely felt it—but in the way it happened at all.
No one touches me like that.No one.
And yet,she did.
That cobalt-blue glare, still burning in my head like a brand, defiant even as her hand stung from striking me.
I flex my jaw as I stare out the car window, city lights smearing across the glass. The slap itself wasn’t the problem. It’s what came after—that split second where I wanted to crush her against me instead of breaking her hand. That moment where her insolence made me want her more, not less.
That’s concerning.
I run my tongue over my lower lip. Her taste is still there—warm, addictive. Like she’s been burned into me.
Pizdet.
I didn’t plan to kiss her in that restaurant.
I don’t act on impulse—survival is strategy.
But she stood there, throwing demands like they meant something, like I hadn’t already decided.
I stepped in, my fingers grazing her chin.
She froze, breath catching, lips parting for a fleeting second as mine touched hers.
Then she swung.
Her palm stung my cheek—a reckless move that no one survives.
Her eyes flared, blue sharpening to a challenge.
I should have broken her for it. Instead, I felt heat pulse through my blood.
I roll my neck, tension coiling tight.
The SUV moves smoothly through the streets.
“So…” Arseny stretches the word out.
I flick my eyes to the right, where he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other flicking a cigarette case open and shut. He doesn’t light one—just fidgets, like he’s chewing over something.
“Didn’t see that one coming.”
