Page 58 of Arrow

Arrow’s men hauled my bags through the entrance, moving with silent efficiency before melting into the shadows of the house.

“Welcome home,” Arrow said, his voice carrying no warmth, just finality.

I swallowed hard. “This isn’t my home.”

“It is now.” He rolled up his sleeves. “You hungry?”

The casual question after everything that had happened tonight made me want to scream. I stood frozen, in the center of the foyer, hands clenched at my sides.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“With me.”

His response was immediate, matter-of-fact.

“No,” I said, taking an instinctive step back. “I want my own room.”

He studied me, head tilted slightly. “Upstairs, first door on the right. Your things will be there.” He paused. “For now.”

The implied threat wasn’t lost on me. This was temporary—a concession he was making only because he was allowing it. For now. I was still the bride, the Virelli property, the bargaining chip who needed to be intact for the wedding.

But after that . . .

“Fine,” I said, trying to sound indifferent despite the tremor in my voice. “Show me where.”

He gestured toward the stairs but didn’t move to lead me. It was a test.

I hesitated, then walked past him, feeling his eyes on me as I climbed the spiral staircase. Each step felt like a surrender, my heels clicking against the metal like a countdown.

Closed doors lined the upstairs hallway, all identical in their minimalist design. I found the first door on the right and pushed it open.

The room was large but sparse, with a king-sized bed with crisp white linens dominating the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Hudson, too, the city lights reflected in the dark water below.

There was a dresser, a small sitting area, and an en-suite bathroom visible through an open door. My bags had already been placed at the foot of the bed.

I heard his footsteps behind me, then felt his presence fill the doorway.

“This is temporary,” he said, leaning against the frame. “Until after the wedding.”

“And then what?” I asked, not turning to face him.

“Then you’ll sleep in my bed.”

The bluntness of his statement sent a chill down my spine—not entirely from fear. I turned to look at him, jaw tight.

“I’d rather sleep on the floor.”

“We’ll see.” He pushed off the doorframe. “Bathroom’s stocked. There are clothes in the closet that should fit you.”

“You planned this.” I looked around the room with new eyes. “You knew I’d be here.”

“I’ve planned for every contingency where you’re concerned.” He stepped into the room, closing the distance between us. “Your father hitting you just . . . accelerated the timeline.”

I backed away until my legs hit the edge of the bed. “Like you care.”

“I don’t like damaged goods.” His voice was eerily calm. “Especially when I’m the one who paid for them.”

The words stung more than I wanted to admit. “Ah, yes, another acquisition for the great Romanov prince.”