Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
The women threw their heads back and laughed.
I stood frozen in place, my stomach churning as Nadia strolled past, effortlessly pouring four glasses of champagne. The soft pop of the bottle, the clinking of crystal, it was all so normal.
Like this was some celebration.
Like I hadn’t just woken up in a gilded cage I had no idea how to escape from.
“Look,” Yelena said, handing me a glass, apparently unaware I was considering hurling it across the room. “They’re not always the best at communicating what they want.” She took a slow sip, her dark lashes lowering as she studied me. “But you have to believe Kostya is going to be a good husband.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh.
“I’m sure he’ll be a fantastic husband. To someone else.” I set the champagne aside, crossing my arms. The delicate lace of the dress shifted with the movement, reminding me that I was still trapped in this ridiculous fantasy none of these women seemed to question.
“I am not getting married today.”
I’d lost count of how many times I had said those words since I woke up, and yet, every single one of them refused to hear me.
Samara tilted her head, contemplating me. “Do you know why Kostya wants to marry you?”
A bitter smile curled my lips.
“Well,” I muttered, “last night, he couldn’t stop talking about how he’d get to fuck me whenever he wants and keep me pregnant.”
Yelena smirked.
Samara’s knowing gaze didn’t falter.
And Nadia simply sipped her champagne and said, “That sounds about right.”
My pulse pounded in my ears.
The room suddenly felt too small, the tight bodice of the dress pressing in on me, stealing my air.
The mirrors surrounding me reflected back the image of a woman dressed in white, perfectly styled, perfectly poised. A bride.
But beneath the lace and silk, my heart was pounding like a trapped animal’s.
I was trapped in a fucking waking nightmare…a white-silk-and-champagne-drenched nightmare.
CHAPTER 39
MARINA
Ihad to get out of here before it was too late.
The girls laughed again as if I had just told the funniest joke they had ever heard.
If someone looked in through the boutique’s large windows, they would see a picture-perfect moment. A beautiful woman in white, surrounded by friends sipping champagne, laughter spilling effortlessly into the air. They would see a bride preparing for the happiest day of her life, glowing with excitement, her friends celebrating with her.
They wouldn’t see the truth.
They wouldn’t see the smothering weight pressing against my ribs, the dread curling in my stomach like a living thing, the way my fingers trembled as I smoothed the skirt of the gown.
I looked like a blushing bride.
Nothing could be further from reality.
"Yeah, the Ivanovs in Moscow are just like our men," Samara laughed, shaking her head at an inside joke I was supposed to understand.
Nadia smirked and handed me another glass. "That might be one reason," she said. "But do you know the others?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Because I didn’t know.
I had assumed Kostya’s obsession with marrying me was about power. Control. His possessiveness. But as much as he enjoyed making me submit to him, there was something deeper at play, something I hadn’t quite put together.
Samara filled the silence. "It’s because you’re in danger."
My stomach clenched.
"We don’t know all the specifics," she continued, her voice more serious now. "The men try to keep us out of the loop when it comes to business, but…"
"We hear things," Yelena finished for her, tilting her glass slightly, the champagne swirling inside like shimmering gold. "Solovyov sent a hitman after someone, not sure who, but that was who kidnapped you. It was about the money, or more specifically, the hits that were written on the money."
A chill slithered down my spine.
The money.
The bloodstained bills that had led Kostya straight to me. The reason I had been taken in the first place.
“Oleg,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. "The hitman was Oleg."
I turned back to the mirrors, my fingers tracing lightly over the beading on the bodice, the delicate crystals that shimmered under the soft boutique lighting. The dress was a masterpiece, something from a dream.
And yet I was living a nightmare.
"Wow," Samara exhaled. "I didn’t know it was Oleg. Gregor has mentioned him before. He is one scary man."
"Was," I corrected flatly. "Kostya put a bullet between his eyes."
Silence.
For the first time since I stepped into this boutique, the laughter stopped.
Nadia set down her glass and rested a hand on my shoulder, her touch warm but heavy.
"Solovyov will want to tie up loose ends," she said. "That includes you. Right now, you’re fair game. Kostya can’t keep you safe without locking you away somewhere. But if you’re his wife…"
She let the implication settle between us.
I swallowed hard. "Then I’m untouchable."
"Exactly."
I scoffed. The sound came out harsh, almost bitter.
"Am I?" I turned, meeting Nadia’s gaze head-on. "My sister wasn’t."