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)
"No." Yelena shook her head. "What I’m saying is that you should understand that the way Kostya treats everyone else is not the way he’s going to treat you. You have a voice. Once this is settled and your life is no longer in danger, he can be reasoned with."
She held my eyes in the mirror, her expression softer now, almost pleading. "He’s not going to want to keep you locked away in some tower like a fairy-tale princess. He’s a man that adores you, not a dragon holding you against your will."
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "But this is against my will," I shot back. "I’m not getting married. Why won’t anybody listen to me? Why is everyone acting like this is perfectly normal?"
Samara’s gaze was steady, unflinching. "Because in our world, it is," she said simply.
Then, as if I had already surrendered, as if the fight had already left me, she lifted a delicate bridal crown from Nadia’s hands and placed it onto my head.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to tear the crown off, rip the veil from my hair, throw the entire display of lace and silk to the floor and run.
But I didn’t.
Because I knew—deep in my bones—I wouldn’t make it past the door.
They wouldn’t listen.
They wouldn’t understand.
Their world, the world they had chosen, revolved around men who took what they wanted. And they loved them for it.
I had seen it in their eyes when they spoke about their husbands, in the soft, adoring way their lips curled when they reminisced about their courtships—if you could even call them that. They had surrendered to this life, and they were happy.
And deep down, I knew that was how I wanted to look at Kostya.
But that didn’t mean I was okay with having my life decided for me.
Maybe if he had asked.
Maybe if he had explained why he wanted to marry me, if he had told me what this marriage was meant to be—real or not. Hell, if he had just asked me where I wanted to live, I would probably be more open to all of this.
But he hadn’t.
Because my wants, my choices, my future were not mine to decide.
Veronika had told me once, and I hadn’t understood then.
But I did now.
A gilded cage was still a cage.
"You look beautiful," Nadia murmured, stepping beside me.
I blinked back the still-threatening tears.
A delicate veil had been pinned behind the crown, cascading down my back in waves of sheer ivory. My reflection looked back at me, a vision of the perfect bride.
Elegant.
Demure.
Flawless.
It was a shame.
Because I had no intention of going through with the wedding.
CHAPTER 40
MARINA
"Grant them a long and peaceful life together," the Russian Orthodox priest announced, his voice ringing through the cavernous church.
The gilded domes above us gleamed under the candlelight, gold and crimson icons of saints watching in silent witness. Incense curled in the air, thick and cloying. Beneath my feet, the polished marble gleamed, reflecting the flickering glow of dozens of chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of heaven.
This place was beautiful. Sacred.
And I was about to set it on fire.
"I said no," I spat, my voice raw with fury.
No one reacted.
No one even flinched.
Why was I not surprised?
Every other protest, every fight, every desperate attempt to stop this had been ignored.
The entire day, I had sworn up and down that this wedding would not happen.
The men had dismissed me outright, their expressions unreadable, their presence an impenetrable united front.
The women had given me nothing but pitying looks, as if I were some child throwing a tantrum instead of a woman fighting for her goddamn life.
I fought every single step of the way.
And it never made a difference.
When I refused to get into the limo, his brother Pavel had simply lifted me off my feet, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me to the back of the car. He shoved me inside, locked the doors, and when I realized the bastard had engaged the child locks, a scream of rage tore from my throat.
I kicked.
I screamed.
I tried climbing out of the goddamn window, but when we pulled onto the highway, I had no choice but to slump back into the seat, breathing hard, seething.
There was a bottle of champagne chilling, meant for after the wedding.
Fuck that.
Since there wasn’t going to be a wedding, I might as well drink it now.
I was halfway through the bottle when we pulled up in front of the church.
It loomed before me, an imposing structure of red brick and gold domes, the mosaic of Jesus over the grand wooden doors staring down at me with piercing, disapproving eyes.
The man turned water into wine. He could hardly judge me for enjoying the fruits of his labor.
The driver moved to open the door, and I yanked it shut, engaging the lock.