Page 41 of Arrow

“I’m not fighting you. I’m surviving you.”

He caught my wrist. “There’s a difference between survival and self-destruction. You’re dancing on that line, Harlowe.”

“Let go of me,” I said quietly.

To my surprise, he did, his fingers uncurling slowly.

“You need to understand something. This isn’t a game anymore. The families will be watching us. Every gesture, every look, every word will be scrutinized. If they sense weakness⁠—”

“If they sense I hate you, you mean.”

His jaw tightened. “If they sense discord, they’ll start plotting. Your father has enemies who would love nothing more than to see this alliance fail. My father has rivals waiting for any opportunity to challenge him.”

“So . . . what? You want me to pretend we’re in love?” I laughed. “I don’t think even Mrs. Montalto expects that miracle.”

“No. But I need you to act like you’ve accepted this.” He moved to the vanity, trailing his fingers across the polished surface. “Like you understand your place in what’s happening between our families.”

I gripped the edge of the windowsill. “My place? As your pet?”

He stepped closer, his reflection in the window growing larger until I could feel his breath on my neck.

“As my wife,” he said, the word sounding like both a threat and a promise.

“I’ll never be that,” I whispered. “Not in any way that matters.”

His hand came to rest on my shoulder, thumb pressing against a bruise Zephyr had left. “You already are. The ceremony is just a formality.”

I turned to face him, my back against the cold glass. “What do you want from me, Arrow? Really? Because if it’s just an alliance, there are easier ways.”

It wasn’t tenderness that flickered across his face, but something adjacent to it, like a predator recognizing itself in its prey.

“I want what I’ve always wanted,” he said quietly. “Control.”

“Of me?”

“Of everything.”

Laughing, the sound was hollow even to my own ears. “Good luck with that, Romanov Prince.”

He caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up. “You’re confusing obedience with surrender,” he said, his thumb pressing harder. “I don’t need you to love me, Harlowe. I just need you to understand that fighting me is pointless.”

I jerked my chin away, refusing to be held in place like a disobedient child. “And yet, here I am, still fighting.”

Arrow smiled as he stepped back, shaking his head. From his pocket, came a cigarette, the lighter’s click sharp. He inhaled, let the flame catch, then exhaled slowly, blowing smoke in my direction. When he spoke, his voice was silk over steel.

“You think you’re rebelling, but you’re just proving my point. Every bruise on your body, every defiant word, they’re all part of the same pattern.”

“And what pattern is that?”

“Self-destruction.” He stepped closer. “You’re not fighting me. You’re fighting yourself. The part that already knows this is inevitable.”

I wanted to slap him. To scream that he was wrong, that I’d never surrender, never accept this prison sentence disguised as a marriage. But the words stuck in my throat because beneath the rage and defiance was a sliver of truth I couldn’t face.

“The wedding isn’t far away,” he continued, his voice level. “After that, you’ll move into my home, you’ll take my name, and you’ll be mine in every way that matters to the world outside.”

“And inside?” I challenged. “What happens behind closed doors, Arrow? Do I become your punching bag? Your whore?”

“I don’t need to beat a woman into submission to feel powerful.”