He leans in, the movement impossibly slow, deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to unravel me. My heart thuds loudly in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears as his lips hover just a breath away. Close enough to feel the heat of him but not close enough to touch.
My body tenses, caught between wanting to lean into him and the desperate need to pull away before I do something stupid. My fingers twitch at my sides, fighting the urge to grab his tie and pull him the last inch closer.
He pauses, his lips so close I can almost taste him, and I swear I catch the faintest smirk—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. The bastard.
My breath stutters, and just when I think he’s about to close the gap, to finally, finally kiss me—
A sharp, clear voice cuts through the priest’s well-rehearsed monotone.
“Wait!”
Every head in the room swivels, including mine.
Down the impossibly long aisle, a little girl with pigtails and a dress so frilly it could double as a cupcake emerges, marchingtoward us with the confidence of someone who’s not just delivering a ring but a decree.
It’s her. The tiny assassin. Konstantin’s daughter.
She stops in front of us, holding a velvet ring box aloft like it’s the Holy Grail. Her face is as solemn as a judge sentencing someone to life. Probably me.
“You forgot this,” she says, her tone laced with just enough sass to make the entire room hold its breath.
The priest nods, clearly startled, and adjusts his glasses. “Ah, yes. The ring…”
She doesn’t wait for instructions. The box snaps open with a dramatic flair and inside rests a diamond that could blind a small village. I half-expect her to toss it at him and walk off, but instead, she holds it out to Konstantin like she’s knighting him.
“Don’t drop it,” she warns.
For a split second, I swear I see the ghost of a smile on his face—gone so quickly I might’ve imagined it. He takes the ring, his movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of her glare is a physical force.
“Thank you, Alya,” he says, his voice carrying the same lethal calm it always does.
She smirks—a miniature version of her father—and then glances at me. “Good luck,” she whispers, low enough that only I hear. It’s not encouragement. It’s a warning.
And with that, she spins on her tiny designer heels and skips back down the aisle, her job complete, her judgment delivered.
Konstantin turns to me, holding the ring between his fingers like it’s a weapon. For a second, I think he’s going to say something ominous, but instead, he captures my hand in his, his touch firm and inescapable.
“Give me your hand,” he demands.
I obey, mostly because I’m afraid not to. His fingers are warm, his grip unyielding, as he slides the ring onto my finger with excruciating precision.
The diamond catches the light, refracting tiny shards of brilliance across the room. It’s beautiful. Gorgeous, even. And it feels like a shackle.
“There,” he says, his voice smooth and final, like he’s just closed a deal.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest beams, oblivious to the tension radiating between us. “You may kiss the bride.“
Konstantin’s gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, everything else fades—the murmurs, the stares, the absurdity of it all. It’s just him and me and the suffocating knowledge that I’ve just signed my life away.
He leans in once more, deliberate and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to make me second-guess my choices. The faint scent of his cologne wraps around me—dark, smoky, dangerously addictive.
My fingers dig into the fabric of my dress, clutching it like a lifeline as I will myself to stay composed.
Don’t react. Don’t let him see what he’s doing to you because every muscle is tensed and strung tight.
The heat of his body is a tangible force, pulling at me like gravity, threatening to make me buckle like a drunk girl at prom.And my panties?They’re clinging to me, begging me to keep my damn head on straight, praying I won’t lose control of my very, very turned-on body, a shameful response to the way his lips hover just a breath away.
When his lips meet mine, it’s not a question; it’s an answer. Soft but firm, he doesn’t just kiss—he claims. It’s a warning of the power he holds, a promise of everything I’ve just agreed to, and a declaration that there’s no turning back. My brain short-circuits, every rational thought drowned in the pure, unrelentingheatof it.
