Light spills everywhere—warm bulbs strung across the lawn, chandeliers hanging from tree branches like stolen stars.The Roth estate looks immaculate, engineered for spectacle. Long tables dressed in linen, servers gliding with trays of champagne, a string quartet playing something elegant and unobtrusive. Wealth made tasteful. Power disguised as celebration.
Families from both sides mingle with practiced ease.
Laughter comes easily here. So do lies.
I move slowly through the crowd, my posture perfect, my smile controlled. Hands reach for mine. Voices overlap.
“Congratulations, Sienna.”
“What a beautiful match.”
“You look radiant.”
“We’re so pleased for both families.”
I thank them all the same way—warm tone, distant eyes, impeccable manners. The same neutrality I reserve for artists after a mediocre exhibition. Polite. Professional. Unmoved.
Inside, I feel nothing.
Every step I take across the manicured grass reminds me why I agreed to this arrangement. Not to become a Rusnak. Not to disappear into their world of violence polished with money and art.
But to dismantle one man’s place within it.
To stand exactly where I was never meant to stand—and pull the ground out from under him.
I accept a glass of champagne I don’t drink. I listen to my father discuss futures and alliances, nodding at the right moments. I let my mother beam beside me, proud and oblivious.
Then—I notice it. His absence. Sebastian isn’t here.
My gaze sweeps the yard once. Then again, slower. I catalog faces, suits, and familiar silhouettes. Marko—Sebastian’s right-hand man, whom I’d been introduced to years ago—stands near the bar, staring at me. I meet his eyes once and not again.Lev is deep in conversation with my uncle. Dimitri laughs with Vivian across the lawn.
But Sebastian Rusnak is nowhere to be seen.
Interesting.
I don’t let it show. I keep smiling. I keep moving. I keep playing my role.
But something sharp curls in my chest—not disappointment. Not worry.
Anticipation.
I don’t care how late he arrives. This wedding will be held. It’s too late for either of us now.
An hour passes.
I’m midway through a conversation I’m not listening to when something happens.
I feel it first.
A shift in the air. A tightening under my skin. The same instinctive awareness that used to haunt me five years ago, before I learned how to bury it. My spine straightens without permission. My fingers curl lightly around the stem of my glass.
He’s here.
I turn.
Sebastian steps into the backyard like he owns the space—like he always does.
The charcoal suit fits him too well, cut sharp across his shoulders, tailored to a body that hasn’t softened with time. His hair is neatly combed back, jaw clean, expression carved into something cool and controlled. Power made elegant.
