Page 9 of Sweet Obsession (Savage Vow #1)

LUNA

The North Wing was colder than the rest of the mansion. Not just in temperature, but in feeling. Even with the fire crackling in the marble hearth, the walls felt... sterile. Lifeless. Like no warmth had ever touched them.

Maybe that was the point.

I sat stiffly on the edge of the giant bed, dressed in the soft black sweater and jeans one of the maids had laid out for me. No silk. No lace. Just comfort clothes.

Because tonight wasn’t about seduction.

It was about survival.

I had made him agree to dinner every night.

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 piece of 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.

I shoved more food into my mouth, my jaw clenched as he dropped the next bombshell:

“Our first public appearance is tomorrow.”

I froze, fork halfway to my lips. “Tomorrow?”

“An annual gathering. The families allied to the Bratva will be there. Politicians. Enemies. Allies.”

“And I’m supposed to pretend I’m madly in love with you?”

“Isn’t that the purpose of this marriage?” His eyes glinted darkly, the calm of his voice belying the intensity behind it.

“You’ll perform well,” Misha said, his voice colder than I thought possible. “Make them believe you would kill for me, and I’ll believe it too.”

I stared at him, stunned. “You’re serious.”

“Always.”

He stood smoothly, his tall frame towering over me, casting a shadow across the table. A breathless silence stretched between us, broken only by the crackling of the fire. He leaned down, his presence overwhelming, dangerously close.

“Your performance tomorrow will determine the next twelve months of your life,” he murmured, voice a dangerous caress, a promise I couldn’t place.

I set the fork down with a clatter, my hands trembling slightly, but I refused to give in.

“Good. I’ve always wanted to be an actress.”

His lips brushed the edge of a smile, “Is that so,” he said quietly, his breath warm against my skin. His words were slow, deliberate, almost like a teasing threat. “Goodnight.”

And then, as quickly as he had come, he was gone, disappearing back into the depths of his dark kingdom.

About an hour after dinner, after Misha disappeared back into whatever dark corridors he ruled from, I found the private landline in my wing.

No cell phones yet. They were being “secured,” the guard had said.

Bullshit. They didn’t want me calling for help.

But Misha allowed one concession: A five-minute call to my sister.

The phone rang three times before Gabriela picked up.

“Luna?” Her voice was small and fragile.

Pain twisted through me. “I’m okay,” I said quickly. “Are you?”

There was a pause.

“Papa’s angry,” she whispered. “He says you embarrassed the family. He, he blamed me too.”

My chest clenched, and my mind scrambled for words.

“I’m sorry, Gabby. I should’ve taken you with me.”

“No. You couldn’t.”

“Did he...” I couldn’t finish the question.

“No,” she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not... not yet. but... I don’t know how much longer I can keep him off me, Luna. He’s already started drinking again.”

I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles whitened.

“I’ll find a way to protect you,” I whispered. “I swear it.”

Another pause.

“You sound different,” she said softly.

“Different how?”

“Older. Sadder.”

I closed my eyes. “I have to go, Gabby.”

The line clicked dead.

I stayed there for a long time after, clutching the receiver, my heart aching in a way no enemy could inflict.

I retired to bed with a heavy heart. I hated this goddamn place. No friends, no family. I might as well just die of loneliness before these twelve months would be over.

The following morning, in my room, Sofia laid out something that I wouldn’t dare call a dress.

It was armor. Not for beauty or comfort, but for survival.

She made me wear it. A reminder of how little my opinion mattered. Midnight black. Satin and lace. Tight at the waist, with a slit up the thigh that was practically criminal.

The kind of dress that whispered wealth, and promised violence in the same breath. Perfect for a Bratva princess. Perfect for a girl pretending to be in love with a man who terrified her.

I stood before the full-length mirror, smoothing the fabric over my hips, forcing myself not to flinch when Sofia clipped an elegant black diamond pendant around my neck.

“You are ready, madam,” she said stiffly.

Ready. If only they knew.

The door creaked open, the heavy sound of it scraping against the floor slicing through the silence.

Misha stood in the doorway, his presence like a storm crashing into the room. He was dressed in a black tailored suit that clung to his frame, sharp, lethal, every inch of him demanding attention.

He scanned me once. Briefly. No reaction. No approval. No smile. Just a cold, dismissive nod.

“We leave in five,” he said, his voice a quiet command that sent a shiver down my spine.

Then, without another word, he turned, disappearing down the hall as if I didn’t even exist. Because a man like Misha Petrov didn’t wait for anyone. Not even the woman he was about to parade around as his wife.

The car ride was suffocating in its silence. The snowy streets outside blurred by the dark windows as we made our way to the estate. Misha sat beside me, his presence pressing against me like an invisible weight. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge me at all.

He didn’t ask if I was nervous. He didn’t offer a hand, a word, or even a smile.

Nothing.

Just the slow, steady clench of his jaw as he stared ahead, the tension in his body almost palpable. As if the weight of this night was a burden he carried alone.

I shifted in my seat, restless under the suffocating silence. “You’re really good at this,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

“At what?” His voice was low, rough, like he had better things to do than entertain me.

“At pretending I don’t exist.”

For a heartbeat, I thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, in that soft, lethal tone of his, he said, “It’s not pretend.” The words hit harder than they should have. Because it wasn’t personal. It was survival. I was just another asset. Another weapon to wield. And I would play my part, even if it cost me my soul.

The Bratva banquet hall loomed ahead as the car pulled up, its cold stone facade towering against the dark, snow-laden night. The air itself felt thick with power. an unspoken command that seemed to seep from the walls, as if the building itself thrived on the blood that had been spilled here.

Guards stood at the gates, their machine guns glinting in the harsh light. Luxury cars lined the driveway, each more expensive than the last.

Power oozed from every corner. And then Misha stepped out of the car, and I followed him.

For a moment, he hesitated, offering his hand to me, as if he were a gentleman. His fingers brushed mine, and the heat of his touch sent a jolt straight through me.

“Smile,” he murmured, his voice a low command.

I hesitated, only for a second, before I allowed my hand to curl into the crook of his elbow. I didn’t trust him, but the grip of his arm was unyielding, and I had no choice but to follow his lead.

The moment we entered the grand hall, all eyes were on us.

Whispers floated through the air like moths, sharp and insistent.

“ Is that her?”

“The Colombian girl?”

“The deal with Rojas?”

“Petrov’s bride?”