“Mr. Belov,” Natasha says carefully, her head lowering slightly. “I was only explaining—”
“That was not your place,” he interrupts, voice smooth but laced with quiet authority.
She stiffens but doesn’t argue. Instead, she takes a respectful step back, folding her hands in front of her.
He shifts his gaze back to me, and the air in the room thickens.
“You look surprised,” he observes, his tone impossibly calm.
I force my chin up, my breath shallow. “You… never told me.”
One corner of his mouth lifts slightly. Not a smile—something sharper. “Would it have changed your decision?”
I hate that I don’t have an answer to that.
His eyes flick down, scanning my nearly bare body before returning to my face. His expression gives nothing away, but there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at me.
Something possessive.
Something that tells me I’ve only just begun to understand what I’ve agreed to.
A heavy silence stretches between us, and then—
“Get dressed,” he orders, his voice even, unreadable. “We’ll talk over dinner.”
Oh, well, thank God I have a say in this.
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me standing there—half-dressed, pulse hammering, mind racing.
Dinner.
He wants to talk.
And I have no idea if that should make me feel better or worse.
Natasha breathes out as if she’s been holding her breath.
“Now,” she continues, back to business, “the dress. It has twenty-three buttons down back. Very sexy for wedding night, yes?”
And just like that, my momentary connection with Natasha evaporates as my cheeks flame red.
Because until this exact moment, I haven’t let myself think about the wedding night.
About Konstantin’s hands on those twenty-three buttons.
About what it really means to be a Belov wife.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the weight of silk against my skin suddenly suffocating.
The moment I walk down that aisle, there’s no walking back.
No undoing this.
No escaping the world I just agreed to step into.
A world ruled by blood, power, and loyalty.
And I’m about to become part of it.
