Page 22 of Darkest Oblivion

“You... may kiss the bride.”

Dmitri rose, his hand clamping around my jaw like iron, tilting my head back as his mouth slammed onto mine, a storm of possession and fury in every movement.

He kissed me with an intensity that stole my breath—hungry, claiming, his lips bruising mine as if marking his territory. A claim made in front of kings and killers.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as he swallowed my protest and forced the crowd to witness his possession.

Cheers erupted, glass clinking, voices rising in approval as if we were some fairy-tale couple.

The kiss ended, leaving my lips raw, my dignity in ashes.

Dmitri didn’t release me, not even when the priest muttered the final blessing.

His grip was a shackle as he pulled me down the aisle, the marble floor gleaming beneath my faltering steps.

Whispers cut through the air like daggers.

“Who weds in a sleek emerald dress?” a jeweled woman sneered, her diamonds catching the chandelier’s light.

“Poor girl—didn’t even know it was her wedding,” another whispered back.

Her companion smirked. “He’ll rape her to death tonight, mark my words.”

Laughter, sharp and cruel.

“I’ve heard the rumors—he’s a monster in bed.”

Their words pierced deeper than any blade. My lungs tightened.

I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let Dmitri destroy me, not like this.

The heavy doors groaned open, spilling us out into the open air.

Outside, the whir of rotor blades split the sky—the waiting chopper crouched on the helipad, its floodlights slicing through the darkness.

The downdraft whipped my hair across my face, my emerald dress plastering to my body. Dmitri tugged me forward, but I dug in my heels, my shoes scraping against the concrete.

“Where are you taking me?” I shouted, my voice almost swallowed by the roar of the blades.

Dmitri stopped, his icy gaze drilling into me.

“To Italy.”

The word slammed into me like a gunshot. Italy—his empire, his fortress, the place where he ruled with absolute power. Where no one could save me.

“No.” My voice cracked, desperation tearing through me. “And just like that? Against my will, without warning? First you forced me into marriage, and now you’re dragging me to a foreign land?”

My throat burned, the words ripping raw from me.

Tears stung my eyes, hot and helpless. “Today’s my birthday, Dmitri! My mom and Nonna are waiting at home to cut the cake. They don’t even know I’m married—or that you’ve completely lost your mind!”

Frantic words escaped me, my chest tightening, panic rising like a storm ready to drown me.

His eyes burned with that glacial fire as he leaned close, his breath brushing my cheek.

“I gave you the only gift that matters, Penelope,” he murmured, his voice velvet and venom. “I gave you my name. My ring. My protection. Your cake, your balloons, your silly little candles—forget them. Today, you became mine. That’s the only celebration that matters.”

I wrenched against his iron grip, but his fingers only tightened, bruising my wrist. “Please, Dmitri,” I begged, my voice breaking.