Probably fearing I’d have cold feet or start some shenanigans, Dad planned the wedding to take place the moment I landed in Chicago.
My chest throbs, and I’m so sleep-deprived, I’m barely standing.
I pace my room in the venue back and forth, the walls closing in on me.
It’s all suffocating.
The smell of flowers.
The hum of hushed voices outside.
The burn of the collar against my throat.
I undo the first buttons of my shirt with agitated fingers as I try to breathe properly.
Cyrus insists I run away. He said he’ll protect Alya and take her out of the country if necessary, but he lost her the first time, and there’s no telling if he’ll lose her again. Say we did escape Dad, but then what? We’ll both live on the run, and while I’m fine with that, I won’t put Alya in that position.
She loves stability and the idea of a home and would be miserable without her public recitals and the ability to move around as she wishes.
I pull out my phone, which I’ve kept turned off since the flight.
It’s a cowardly act, knowing full well that if I open it, I’ll find texts and missed calls from Vaughn.
Thing is, I don’t think I can handle that.
Every fiber of my being is already bursting at the seams with the urge to go back to him, to that safe haven tucked deep in the Altai Mountains.
It’s the same urge that made me go to New York four years ago, searching, trying to find a sliver of that peace I experienced in that cave.
I place a palm on my chest, on the sole tattoo I have there as a realization hits me. Whether it was in that cave, at the house on Brighton Island, at the Altai Mountains estate, the feeling was the same—peace.
Even if I was hurt, it didn’t matter, because Vaughn held me and stroked my hair and gave me those soft kisses that made me feel prized.
But now, I hurt him.
Pain blossoms in my chest, and it’s not because of my fucked-up ribs.
The last thing I want is to be the cause of his misery. He’s been so happy lately, lighter, freer—probably because his parents know about us. He even started planning for the future.
He told me he loves me.
I let out a tortured exhale. I shouldn’t have insisted he say that. It’s just a sure recipe for pain now.
Maybe I was selfish, but I wanted to hear it. Just once.
The first and last time.
Or maybe it’s not the last time.
See, I have a plan, even if it’ll hurt Vaughn anyway. I can’t get out of this marriage, but I will use it to my advantage. My not-so-dear dad needs this marriage for the alliance with Boston, so I’ll go through with it and build connections within Boston.
In a couple of months, I’ll be able to access my trust fund Dedushka left me that Yaroslav can’t touch. I’ll use that money to get Alya as far away from him as possible, then buy my way to the top and maybe see if I can help Lukas get rid of him.
I honestly don’t give a fuck if Lukas is at the top as long as he doesn’t hurt Alya and me, but dealing with him will be tricky. He’s always given off the vibes of someone who doesn’t trust anyone but Mikailo.
But he’ll have to help me, or I’ll find a way to kill him.
Tonight, I’ll ask my future wife to make this marriage for appearances only and to agree to get divorced in a couple of years, and then I’ll go back to Vaughn.
