And I intended to make him regret it. I knew the next twelve months here would be hard, but I would endure. It was worth sacrificing for Gabriella.
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
“Come,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
The door opened to reveal Oleg, the scarred enforcer, standing silently like a stone.
“He’s waiting,” he said simply.
No ‘sir.’ No ‘your husband.’ Just ‘he.’
Perfect.
I followed him down the hall, my stomach tight.
The dining room wasn’t the grand ballroom-like one in my father’s mansion.
This was a smaller, darker room, private, with low lighting and a long oak table that could seat twelve but only had two places set.
Misha sat at the far end, a glass of water untouched before him.
He didn’t rise when I entered. Didn’t speak. Just watched.
The air between us thickened. Even in the stillness, there was a palpable charge, a tension I couldn’t escape.
The chef, a woman with a name tag, Sofia, gray-haired and severe, placed a silver tray between us. She lifted the lid, revealing roast venison, root vegetables, and thick, crusty bread.
I didn’t know if the food was meant to comfort me or keep me grounded, but nothing in this house felt comforting.
“Eat,” Misha said quietly, his voice low, edged with an authority that made my pulse quicken.
I didn’t sit immediately.
Instead, I planted my palms on the chair, leaned toward him slightly, a challenge in my posture.
“Good evening, husband,” I said, my tone just the right amount of icy, just the right amount of sultry.
His lips curved, not quite a smile, but something colder.
“I expect perfection,” he cut in, voice even but laced with ice. “In public, before my men, you will look at me as if you’re in love. When you speak, it will drip with devotion. And when you walk beside me, it will be as a proud wife.”
He leaned in just enough to make the threat feel personal. “You can rebel now. But I’ll show you how quickly that gets old.”
My stomach twisted, but I didn’t flinch. “I understood the terms of the contract well, okay? There’s no point in reiterating it.”
The corner of his mouth curled again, the hint of something darker lingering there. I dropped into the chair, stabbing a pieceof bread viciously, the tension between us wrapping tighter with every passing second.
“What happens if I mess up?” I asked, my voice a little more daring than I intended.
“You won’t.”
“And if I do?”
He took a slow, deliberate sip of his water, eyes fixed on me, unreadable.
“Then you’ll learn very quickly why your family feared disappointing me.”
A chill swept down my spine, not just because of the threat, but because part of me believed him. Part of me believed he wouldn’t need to lift a finger to destroy me, to destroy my family. He could do it with a glance.
