“Filipp’s still in the city.”
Of course he is.
“Where?”
“Suite 41. Wild Sky Villas. Two women with him. One’s definitely not his wife. The other might not be legal. Everything’s on camera. He didn’t waste any time getting hooked up for the night.”
I smirk. “Of course not. He’s never had the discipline for delayed gratification.”
“What should I do with the footage?” he asks.
That makes my smile widen just enough to be dangerous.
“Send it to his mother.”
Arseny’s eyes flick over to Bella.
“Consider it done.” Then, with a grin that begs for a broken nose, he adds, “Enjoy your lovely evening, boss.”
He winks at her.
“Fuck off, Arseny.”
He smirks, then vanishes into the crowd like he was never there.
Bella watches him go, her face frozen. The casual mention of surveillance footage, underage girls, and revenge delivered like a business transaction—I see the exact moment it hits her. Reality crashes in, color draining from her face in real-time.
Her lips part. She sucks in a breath that doesn’t seem to reach her lungs.
“I need some air,” she whispers. And then she leaves.
Fast.Too fast to be casual. Every head in the room turns to watch my new bride flee.
Fuck.
I catch her elbow just as she reaches the terrace doors, my fingers wrapping around bare skin. She flinches—actually flinches—at my touch.
“Let me go,” she says, voice tight.
“No.”
I guide her outside with a firm hand, nodding at the guards, who immediately step aside. The terrace is empty, bathed in moonlight and shadow. Music from the reception filters through the glass, muted and distant.
As soon as we’re alone, she yanks her arm free.
“What the fuck was that?” She whirls to face me, panic written across her features. “What the fuck did I just hear?”
“Business.”
“Business?” She laughs, high and brittle. “Is that what you call ordering someone to spy on yourbrother? To… to film him with underage—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”
She takes another step back, hugging herself against the evening chill. Her midnight blue gown shimmers under the garden lights, the silk clinging to her body in ways that make my hands itch to touch her. The neckline dips just low enough to make every man in that room struggle to maintain eye contact.
“I can’t do this,” she continues, voice unsteady. “The contract did not mention this.”
“This is exactly what you signed up for.”
“No.” She shakes her head again, harder this time. “I signed up to marry a businessman with questionable ethics. Not a—”
