At the reception, I become exactly who I need to be.
The room hums with music and laughter and expensive champagne. Crystal glasses clink. People congratulate us like they’re congratulating themselves for witnessing history. Sebastian plays the role effortlessly—laughing with his brothers, clapping backs, trading inside jokes in Russian. He brings me along, an arm draped around my waist, introducing me as if I’m a prized acquisition.
And I shine.
I hold conversations with ease. I charm. I listen. I laugh at the right moments. I ask the right questions. I make them feel seen, important, entertained. His brothers warm to me quickly—I make sure of it. I watch Sebastian notice. Watch the faint crease form between his brows as he realizes how seamlessly I fit.
Good.
Then the lights dim slightly. The music shifts.
The announcer calls for the first dance.
I don’t wait for him.
I take Sebastian’s hands and pull him toward the dance floor, forcing his arm around my waist, looping mine around his neck before he can object. My body presses into his, close enough to feel the tension vibrating through him.
I smile up at him.
He doesn’t smile back.
His expression is sharp now—curious, wary, threaded with warning. Like he’s waiting for the blade he knows is coming but can’t yet see.
We begin to move.
The song is slow, romantic, indulgent. I sway to it like I mean it, like this is something I’ve dreamed of instead of engineered. My cheek brushes his jaw. His hand settles more firmly at my waist, controlling and possessive.
I dance like the room belongs to me. Like every eye watching is exactly where it should be. I feel his breath shift, his focus fracture, the careful balance he maintains slipping just enough for me to notice.
He leans closer. “Careful, Sienna.”
I don’t respond. I keep dancing.
To everyone watching, we are perfect. A beautiful couple. Wealth, elegance, power wrapped in silk and diamonds. I let them have that illusion. Tonight is not about honesty. It’s about optics.
And for once, I actually feel…good.
Happy, even.
Not because I married Sebastian Rusnak, but because I know exactly what I’m doing.
When I first started looking for the best way to destroy him, Viktor Mikhailov’s name kept surfacing. Powerful.Connected. Vindictive. Apparently, I’m not the only one Sebastian has crossed. Viktor despises him, still nursing the humiliation Sebastian dealt him years ago.
Our partnership is simple. Convenient.
Viktor wants revenge.
I want control.
We have a meeting scheduled soon, and when we do, I’ll make one thing very clear: This is my war. I didn’t marry Sebastian just to hand my vengeance over to another man. Viktor will follow my rules, or there will be no alliance.
The music shifts, and the host calls for the families to join the dance floor. Applause ripples through the room.
Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. He releases me immediately and places my hand into my father’s, his touch polite, distant.
“Excuse me,” he murmurs, already stepping back.
Then he turns and walks out of the hall without looking back.
