My mouth is as dry as the desert, and my voice feels trapped. I stare at Viktor, at the mixture of expectation, desire, and unyielding demand on his face. I look at the sea of faces around us, curious, waiting, assessing.
If I refuse Viktor, if I say no to the powerful Bratva boss in front of all these men over whom he has so much power, I will humiliate him. I will also make myself an enemy and potentially put Eliza and me in danger. The thought of his anger, the cold fury I’d glimpsed the other night, is terrifying.
I see Iliya in the crowd, his lips a thin, white line, his eyes dark with anger, his hand clutching a glass of amber liquid so tightly his fingers are white. Is that a warning for me?
I’m trapped with no escape.
“Yes,” I whisper, the words barely audible, yet it seems to echo through the silent room. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
There is a collective sigh, then applause and shouts of congratulations in multiple languages. At least I think that’s what they’re saying. Viktor slides the ring onto my finger; its weight is heavy, binding, just like Viktor’s hold as he pulls me into a tight embrace and presses a kiss to my temple. I force asmile, a brittle, fragile thing, as the crowd surges forward with congratulations.
If only the diamond on my hand didn’t feel like a padlock.
“Are you okay?”
Iliya’s question catches me off guard as he helps me up into Viktor’s SUV. When I look at him, his eyebrows are drawn in, his mouth in the same thin line, and I wonder if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing—concern.
“Would you like me to call Suzie before Viktor comes out?”
Viktor is trailing behind us as his men bid him good night and deliver their personal congratulations on the heir and the engagement. I know for certain one of those is far more important than the other. An heir is something he has to have to maintain his hold on the Bratva, even after he’s gone; a wife isn’t vital to his position or power.
Iliya knows even more than I do the truth of the matter. And I know he is, without question, loyal to Viktor. Yet he seems concerned forme, his expression an echo of the dark look when Viktor proposed to me. Had I understood that expression incorrectly? Was he somehow unhappy about what happened on my behalf?
“No,” I reply, as enticing as the offer is. “I need to think for a bit before I talk to anyone.”
Iliya dips his head. “I understand.”
The wait for Viktor is only a few minutes, but it feels interminable, my mind a whirling mess I can’t organize. Viktor finally slides in beside me, the door closing with a soft thud. Iliya gets into the passenger seat, and the driver starts the engine, the powerful hum of the luxury car filling the silence.
Viktor is looking at my hand, which rests on the soft silk and organza covering my baby bump. It wasn’t a conscious move, but his expression is satisfied.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks me, not waiting for an answer as he continues, “I had it custom made for you.”
“It is beautiful,” I agree, a fact I can’t deny. “But I need you to know I only said yes so you wouldn’t be humiliated and lose face in front of all your men.”
I don’t look at Viktor as I say it, staring at the blur of city lights outside the window. I don’t see the expressions that cross his face when he doesn’t respond immediately. The silence stretches, thick and tense. Once, I see Iliya glance at me out of the corner of my eye. But mostly, I feel Viktor’s gaze on me, sharp and cold.
“You asked fora commitment, Leah. Is that not what this is? Is this not what you asked for? You can’t keep moving the mark.”
My head snaps toward him. “I didn’t move the mark. You’re just not listening!”
“Not listening? I did exactly as you asked. I asked you because I mean it, and I want you to mean it. I want you to be mine, truly. Not just for show.”
“I’m not a possession, Viktor!” I retort, my voice rising despite the warning bells going off in my head at the look on Viktor’sface. “What you did tonight was a performance, not a proposal! You can’t buy me; you can’t force me into this.”
“It was necessary!” Viktor slams his hand on the car door, a loudthudthat makes me jump, and Iliya glances at me again to assess, what, my safety? “You are carrying my child, Leah. This makes it clear. No one questions your place. No one questionsourplace. When you are my wife, no one will touch you.”
“My ‘place’?” I scoff, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “This isourchild, Viktor, not just yours. And I want more out of a relationship than to be a trophy paraded around for your Bratva friends. I don’t want to be a princess in a tower. Hell, I don’t want to be a queen! I deserve no less than a relationship in which I am an equal, where I am treasured and respected for who I am and what I bring to the relationship beyond my position and my ability to bear children. I want to know I’m safe and won’t be discarded when my usefulness has served its purpose. That is what I want, that is what I deserve, and I won’t accept anything less.”
Though I’m quaking inside and I feel queasy, I meet Viktor’s furious gaze, gathering courage for the last words still on my tongue. I have to get them out, because they’re the most important ones.
“I’m not Clarissa, Viktor. I don’t want jewels and couture and to parade my wealth. I want a partner who respects and loves me. I deserve that, and I won’t settle for anythingbutthat.”
Viktor doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the road, his profile rigid. The atmosphere in the car is thick with unspoken anger, coupled with the raw, exposed nerves of our confrontation. The lavish event, the public display, is a distant, grotesque dream.
This is the reality: a quiet, tense drive home with a man who sees me as property, and who’s furious that I dared to challenge him.
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, all the way back to the house.
