My breath catches. The blood drains from my face, leaving me cold. I don’t need to turn to know who it is: Clarissa. Her voice, a perfectly modulated instrument of disdain, is unmistakable.
Viktor’s body stiffens beside me, the pressure of his hand on my back increasing. He doesn’t acknowledge her directly, but his shoulders tighten underneath his immaculate suit.
I can see her out of the corner of my eye, like a specter haunting a bad dream. Clarissa stands a few feet away, a vision in crimson, her red dress a stark, aggressive statement against the muted elegance of the room. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a severe, perfect chignon, and her eyes, usually cold, are alight with a furious, venomous fire.
She looks like a predator, poised to strike. At me.
“Clarissa.” Viktor addresses her, his voice a silky purr that screams danger. “What a surprise.”
She laughs, a brittle, humorless sound that draws the attention of those nearby. “Surprise? I wouldn’t miss your annual money laundering gala for the world. And it seems I’ve arrived just in time for the main attraction.” Her gaze rakes over me with a sneer that twists her beautiful features. “I see your game now. You finally got what you wanted, didn’t you? After failing with the son, you went straight for the father.”
The insult stings, a raw wound. My past with Peter, the betrayal, the humiliation, all of it weaponized by the woman who birthed him. My hand instinctively goes to my stomach, a protective gesture, but I force it down. She’s the last person I want to know about the baby.
“My relationship with Peter is ancient history, Clarissa,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, refusing to rise to her bait. “And my relationship with Viktor is none of your concern.”
“Oh, but it is, dear,” she purrs, taking a step closer, her eyes blazing. “You think you’re not Viktor’s flavor of the moment?That he won’t get what he wants from you and discard you, like he did me?”
My gaze flickers to Viktor. He’s silent, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on Clarissa with an intensity that promises violence. But he doesn’t speak. He waits. For what? For me to defend myself? For her to push too far?
“Maybe his taste has grown more discerning over time,” I state, my voice gaining strength.
Clarissa’s eyes widen, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her face before it’s replaced by pure, unadulterated fury. “You’re nothing but a cheap distraction. You know that, don’t you? A momentary amusement for him before he tires of your pathetic attempts to climb the social ladder!”
Her voice rises, attracting more attention. Whispers ripple through the crowd. I can feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck.
“Clarissa, you’re making a scene,” Viktor says, his voice low and cold. “I suggest you stop now, while there are still a few people left in this city who still tolerate you.”
A dangerous glint enters Clarissa’s eyes. She raises her hand, her long, manicured nails poised like claws. I brace myself, my instincts screaming danger.
Before her hand can connect, Viktor moves in a blur of motion, swift and decisive. His arm sweeps around my waist, pulling me against his side, his body a solid, impenetrable shield. I’m pressed against his chest; my head tucked under his chin. His other hand, large and strong, clamps down on Clarissa’s wrist, stopping her midair.
His voice, when it comes, is a low, guttural growl that vibrates through my entire being. It’s not the polite murmur from earlier, nor the hard edge he used with Dmitri. This is something primal, dangerous, raw.
“Clarissa, this is your last warning.”
His grip on her wrist is iron. Clarissa pales, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and defiance. She struggles, but he holds her effortlessly.
“Leah,” Viktor continues, his voice rising just enough to be heard by those closest, “is under my protection. Any disrespect shown to her is disrespect shown to me. And disrespect shown to me will not be tolerated. You know that.”
The words are a clear warning. Against me, I feel the solid muscle of his chest, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, the warmth of his breath on my hair. His presence envelops me, a powerful, undeniable affirmation.
My body responds instinctively, leaning into him, finding solace in his strength. For the first time since Clarissa’s arrival, I feel truly safe, truly protected. It’s a strange, intoxicating sensation, this absolute certainty of his defense. Every inch of my skin feels alive with his proximity, by the sheer force of his will.
Dmitri, who has been observing the scene with an impassive expression, steps forward. His movements are fluid, deceptively casual. He places a hand on Clarissa’s arm, his touch a stark contrast to Viktor’s unyielding grip.
“Clarissa,” Viktor says, his tone with an undeniable authority that brooks no argument. “It’s time for you to leave.Now.”
Clarissa glares at Viktor, then Dmitri, then finally at me, her eyes burning with impotent rage. She opens her mouth as if to protest, but Dmitri’s grip tightens just enough, a silent reminder of the power Viktor wields. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t threaten overtly, but the message is clear: She is outmatched.
With a frustrated sound, Clarissa snatches her arm away from Dmitri, her face contorted with fury. She casts one last, venomous look at me before turning sharply and storming out of the ballroom, her crimson dress a fading blur against the elegant crowd.
Viktor’s arm remains around me, holding me close. He doesn’t release me, doesn’t loosen his grip. His hand moves from my waist to cup the back of my head, gently tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so guarded, are soft, tender, and filled with an emotion I can’t quite name. Possessiveness, yes, but also something deeper, something that makes my breath catch in my throat.
He leans down, slowly, deliberately, heedless of who’s watching us. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, the slight tremor in his hand as it cradles my head. The world seems to shrink, narrowing to just us, standing in the center of this opulent room. All the whispers, all the curious glances, all the judgments, fade into a distant hum.
His lips meet mine, soft at first, then deepening, claiming. The kiss is both tender and fiercely possessive, a public declaration that leaves no room for doubt. It’s a kiss that says,She is mine. This is mine. And I will protect what is mine.
My eyes flutter shut, and I lean into the kiss, into him, letting his strength envelop me. The taste of him, the feel of his lips, the sheer audacity of it all is overwhelming. I shouldn’t be doingthis, not in front of a crowd of New York’s upper crust. Not in a situation like this. Not when I still don’t know exactly how I fit into Viktor’s life and the role he plays.
