Page 46

KAT

M y fiancé will get his climax on our wedding night…

Just not the one he’s expecting.

Courtney adjusts my veil. The same antique lace that once crowned my mother’s head, now framing mine. How fitting.

“God, you’re stunning,” she gushes, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “If your man sees you like this, he’ll rip that dress off before you even say ‘I do’.”

She giggles, blissfully unaware of the poison vial I’ve just tucked into my bouquet. The vial bites into my palm, its contents thick as regret.

If only she knew.

The gown is everything I once dreamed about: ivory silk that molds to the curves Pavel used to trace like scripture, pearls sewn into the bodice with surgical precision.

Courtney spins me toward the mirror. “Well? Do we love it?”

“I-It’s perfect,” I breathe, pulse thudding against the hidden vial.

Piotr’s voice slithers through my mind: Marry Pavel Fetisov. Earn his trust. Finish the job.

Easy enough—except for the killing-my-ex-first-love part. I remember Pavel’s laugh, the way he’d tug me close and murmur solnyshko—his little sunshine—like I was something precious. All lies in the end.

The Fetisovs stole everything from us.

I’m not a killer. But tonight, I’ll kneel at an altar and lie to a man I once loved. And when he kisses me, I’ll taste vengeance on my tongue.

Six years ago, I thought Pavel was my future.

I loved him in that reckless, all-consuming way only first love can be—trusted him with my secrets, my body, the jagged pieces of my soul he promised to keep safe. He kissed my scars and called them beautiful. Held me after the funeral when I sobbed for parents I didn’t yet know he’d helped bury.

Piotr revealed the truth.He told me Pavel and the rest of the Fetisov Bratva orchestrated our parents’ deaths.

I immediately ended it. That night, I crushed everything we’d built, and swore I’d never look back.

A few months later, I found out I was pregnant.

My daughter was the best damn thing that could ever happen to me.

Ofcourse, Piotr didn’t take the news well.

Furious doesn’t even begin to cover it. He sent me south to our Aunt Irena’s estate, far away from prying eyes and any chance of the Fetisovs learning the truth.

There, I gave birth to Ana, my beautiful, sweet girl, who deserves to live her best life, one not hidden in the shadows.

When we returned to the family home two months ago, I thought I’d feel a sense of relief. Instead, it feels like I’ve traded one cage for another. Piotr and I agreed that Ana’s paternity must remain a secret.

Especially from Pavel.

As I gaze at my image in the mirror, I exhale slowly, trying to ignore the gnawing doubt at the back of my mind.

This is the right thing to do.

Pavel deserves this. His family deserves this. And yet…

Courtney takes a step back and looks me over one last time.

“Absolutely perfect,” she says with one final approving nod. “Don’t want to toot my own horn, but your dress might be my finest work so far.”

“You’ve done an amazing job.” I plaster a bright smile on my face, doing my best to look the part I’m playing.

But my mind’s a million miles away.

Courtney studies my face, worry softening her smile. “Hey, you okay? I’m only the dress girl, but you look like you’re carrying a whole lot more than lace right now.”

“It’s nothing, just last-minute butterflies,” I say with a smile in a cheerful tone.

“Good.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

A soft knock at the door interrupts us. I turn, waiting for the person on the other side to speak.

“It’s time.” The deep, resonant voice of my other older brother, Vlad, comes through.

“I can tell him I’m not done yet, if you need a few more minutes,” Courtney says.

The offer’s tempting, but I shake my head.

“No, but thank you. Time to get this show on the road.”

I steal one more glance at my reflection before turning and striding toward the door.

A petite, curvy bride stares back at me—long, straight brown hair cascading over bare shoulders, smoky brown eyes framed by arched brows, full lips set in determined silence.

She’s stubborn. Strong-willed. Loyal to a fault. A devoted mother.

Not some simpering girl in a fairytale?—

No.

She’s a woman walking into hell with her chin held high… and a secret buried beneath ivory silk.

Vlad stands on the other side, his expression warm but serious. He has always been my anchor, my quiet support, when Piotr’s fire becomes too overwhelming.

Vlad is tall, handsome, and solidly built, with the same blue eyes as our father. His dark hair is slicked back. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored tux, looking every bit the supportive brother.

He looks me over, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“You look beautiful,” he says softly. “Mother would be proud.”

“Don’t start,” I reply, waving him off with mock irritation.

He chuckles, holding out his arm. “Ready?”

Not even a little, but I take his arm, straightening my back. “As I’ll ever be...”

We walk in silence for a moment, his presence grounding me. I know what’s on his mind. Unlike Piotr, Vlad is totally against this plan.

He sighs heavily as we make our way through the halls of the church.

“You don’t have to do this,” he finally says.

“Yes, I do,” I reply firmly.

He shakes his head. “I know your reasoning. And I know that Piotr has put pressure on you to?—”

I pause, turning to him. “You think this is all Piotr’s doing?” I ask, my voice low. “Like I’m some naive little girl who can’t make my own decisions?”

Another sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then tell me what you meant.”

“They’ll kill you the second they suspect,” Vlad growls, crushing my hand in his calloused grip. “Pavel’s not some reckless boy in love anymore—he’s the Pakhan now. He commands an army of killers. You think he’ll hesitate to slit your throat the moment he senses betrayal?”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be,” he snaps. “You have no idea what he’s become. The things he’s done.” His jaw ticks. “I’ve seen the bodies, sestra. Men tortured for less than a stray look. You step into that chapel, you’re not walking down the aisle—you’re walking into a den of wolves wearing white.”

I swallow hard but don’t let my voice shake. “You’re not going to lose me.”

“It’s not your courage I doubt,” he says, softer now, but no less intense. “You’ve always been the brave one. The stubborn one. But this... this is a suicide mission. And for what? To satisfy some?—”

“This isn’t about vengeance,” I cut in sharply. “This is about survival. About protecting Ana.”

Vlad flinches at her name.

“If Pavel finds out he has a daughter,” I continue, voice low and trembling with fury, “he’ll take her from me like she’s a prize to claim. He’ll raise her in that cold empire of his, mold her into one of them. She won’t be safe. She won’t be mine.”

I look him dead in the eye. “You want to protect me? Then understand this: I’m not doing this for revenge. I’m doing it because if that man draws one more breath, everything I love stays in danger.”

Vlad’s eyes darken with a swirl of pain and pride. He reaches for me, pulling me into a tight embrace that smells of cedar and home. “I just… I’ve already lost too much, little sister. I can’t lose you too.”

His voice breaks on the last word.

I squeeze his hand, then cradle his cheek. “You won’t. By this time next week, Pavel Fetisov will be rotting in the ground, and Ana will have the future she deserves. One where she’s free.”

He nods, though his throat works with the effort of holding back words he doesn’t say. The doubt lingers in his eyes, but he lets me go.

“Come on,” I whisper, straightening my spine. “You’ve got a sister to give away.”

A faint, bitter smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah… to a monster.”

“To his execution,” I correct softly. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

And with that, we walk toward the chapel—where vows will be spoken, secrets buried, and blood, if needed, will be spilled.

I grip Vlad’s arm tightly as we step into the hallway, my nerves twisting into a tight, merciless knot. My stomach churns, threatening to rebel, but I hold my head high. Despite my tough talk, I am scared.

My brother is right. There are all sorts of ways this plan could go awry.

But this is no time for weakness, not when I’m walking into the lion’s den, wrapped in white satin, pretending to be a willing lamb.

Vlad’s presence is steady beside me, his hand resting lightly over mine.

When we reach the entrance to the chapel, I pause. My grip tightens on Vlad’s arm. A faint murmur of voices filters through the wooden doors, and my breath hitches.

“It’s time,” Vlad says quietly. “It’s not too late, you know. You could still play runaway bride and vanish into the wind.” A dry chuckle escapes him. “I’ll just tell everyone I tried to stop you.”

Despite the storm inside me, I manage a faint smile.

“No. I’m seeing this through.”

He nods slowly, his eyes scanning my face like he’s memorizing it. Like he’s afraid it’s the last time he’ll see me whole.

“Well then…” he says, voice tight with emotion. “Good luck, sestra.”

He rests a hand over mine—one last, silent plea for safety?—

Then turns and pushes the chapel doors open.

And just like that, there’s no turning back.

The chapel is grand—vaulted ceilings, sunlight pouring through stained glass like blessings I don’t deserve. But only one side of the pews is full.

My side, the Andreevs, is a ghost town. Most of my family refused to attend, unwilling to witness what they see as treason wrapped in lace.

The Fetisovs are here in full force. A silent wall of dark hair and ice-blue eyes. Predators dressed in designer suits. Their gazes pin me in place like I’m already prey.

Then I see him. At the alter.

Pavel doesn’t move as I walk. He never does.

His stillness is its own kind of violence—controlled, calculating, absolute.

The room bends around his gravity, as if every soul inside knows: nothing happens here unless he allows it.

Standing tall—calm, confident, dangerous. Power clings to him like a second skin.

His suit fits like sin, the rich fabric hugging broad shoulders and tapering over a body I still remember too well. His dark hair is laced with silver now, a cruel evolution that only sharpens his appeal.

His jaw flexes when he sees me.

It’s subtle—so fast I almost miss it—but it’s there.

A shadow of something old. Pain. Possession. Loss.

Then it's gone, replaced with that familiar mask of cold command.

A wave of heat rises in me—sharp, shameful.

My thighs clench.

God, not now.

I hate the way my body remembers his.

How he once moved inside me, slow then brutal, a rhythm designed to ruin.

How he whispered filth in Russian while I came undone in his arms.

Six years.

Six years, and my body still burns for the man who destroyed my life.

Beside him, Piotr plays the role of devoted ally, smiling at the man he’s marked for death.

His mask is flawless, a performance honed over years of lies and shared vodka toasts.

I grip Vlad’s hand like a lifeline.

“You good?” he asks, voice low, tense.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

I force my gaze away from Pavel—to the high arches, the flowers, anything but him.

But I can feel it.

The heat of his stare dragging over my skin like a promise.

My pulse stutters.

Anger blooms in my chest.

Why couldn’t time have ravaged him?

Why does he have to look like sin dipped in silk?

Why does he still smell like cedar and winter and ruin?

This is the man who stole my parents.

The man who made me a mother in hiding.

He should repulse me.

But my body—traitorous and weak—wants him still.

As we reach the altar, Vlad releases my arm. His fingers linger for just a beat longer than necessary before he steps aside.

Pavel’s eyes lock onto mine.

My knees wobble beneath the weight of his gaze.

There’s something in his eyes I can’t place—something old.

Like he’s lived a thousand lives and buried all of them.

Or maybe it’s just regret, twisted into something cold and sharp.

“Kat,” he says.

His voice is low and rough—gravel and smoke. It slices right through me.

Damn him.

Damn me.

He threads his fingers through mine, the gesture intimate—claiming. A snare wrapped in affection. I refuse to look away.

His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Arrogant bastard. He thinks he still owns me.

The officiant begins to speak, but the words blur, meaningless.

All I can feel is the warm pressure of his hand in mine…

And the maddening graze of his thumb across my palm.

It’s soft. Repetitive. Designed to disarm.

It works.

Heat coils low in my belly.

No.

I steel my spine.

Remember.

My parents.

Ana.

The years I spent living like a ghost while he built his empire.

Then, Pavel leans in, breath warm against my cheek.

“You’re breathtaking, Malyshka,” he murmurs. “I’ve imagined you in white for six years..”

His thumb drags slowly across my palm—reverent, possessive—like he’s reacquainting himself with sacred ground.

I squeeze his hand tighter. Let him think it’s longing. Let him think I’m still his.

The deeper he falls back into this fantasy?—

The easier it’ll be to slip the poison past his lips.