17. Seventeen #4
He left then, the door closing quietly behind him.
I stood in front of the mirror, alone with the ghost of his words hanging in the air.
The truth of Arrow’s words burned inside me.
I wasn’t just angry at being forced to marry him; I was terrified of how easily he saw through me, how completely he understood the darkness I’d spent my entire life trying to hide.
When the door opened again, I expected Arrow, but it was only Mrs. Montalto, her smile strained as she bustled in with her assistants trailing behind her.
“Mr. Romanov has informed me of your decision,” she said brightly, as if we hadn’t just had a screaming match that probably echoed through the entire atelier. “Such a beautiful choice. You’ll be the most stunning bride Manhattan has ever seen.”
I said nothing as they helped me out of the dress, their hands careful around the delicate lace. One of the assistants kept stealing glances at the collar, her eyes widening each time the light caught the obsidian.
“We’ll need to make a few minor adjustments,” Mrs. Montalto continued, filling the silence with professional chatter. “The bodice needs to be taken in slightly, and we’ll add a few more crystals to the train. Everything will be ready before the ceremony.”
The wedding was so close. This wasn’t just a dress fitting, it was one more step toward the inevitable.
When I emerged from the dressing room in my black dress, Arrow was waiting in the reception area, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I approached, his eyes immediately finding the collar at my throat.
“Ready?” he asked, as if we’d just finished a pleasant afternoon of shopping.
“I want to go home,” I said, then realized my mistake.
I didn’t have a home anymore. Not my father’s house, and certainly not Arrow’s glass prison. I had nowhere that was truly mine.
“Then let’s go,” he said, offering his arm. I ignored it and walked past him to the door.
When we arrived back at Arrow’s house, I headed straight for my room, desperate to be alone with my thoughts. I’d almost reached the stairs when his voice stopped me.
“I have meetings for the rest of the day,” he said. “You have the house to yourself.”
I turned to face him. “What else would I do?” I asked. “Run? Call in a hit on you? Burn your house down?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” His mouth quirked at one corner, almost a real smile. “But the security system would alert me before you got far with any of those plans.”
I crossed my arms. “So, I’m still a prisoner, just with a prettier cage.”
Arrow shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.
“You’re not a prisoner, Harlowe. Like I said last night, the doors aren’t locked.
” He turned to face me. “But you already know the difference between freedom and suicide. Your father has enemies. I have enemies. And there are at least a dozen organizations in this city that would love nothing more than to find you alone on a street corner—a Romanov bride-to-be with no protection. So yes, you can leave anytime you want. Walk right out that door.” He paused.
“But we both know you won’t survive the night. ”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words dissolved on my tongue.
Because he was right. Every option was a dead end wrapped in a different paper.
My father would either use me as leverage or disown me for running, leaving me to the city.
Frank would protect me right into a grave.
And the streets? They belonged to predators.
“Right. I can leave anytime I want . . . and go where, exactly?” I laughed bitterly. “Back to my father? To Frank, who isn’t answering my calls? To the police, who’d laugh in my face? Where exactly am I supposed to go, Arrow?”
Something shifted in his expression. It wasn’t quite sympathy, but a flicker of understanding. “That’s the problem with our world. There’s nowhere to run that isn’t already claimed by someone worse than me.”
“You think pretty highly of yourself for someone who threatened to kill his fiancée an hour ago.”
He approached me slowly, like I was a wild animal that might bolt. “I never threatened to kill you. I only pointed out that I could have, but didn’t.” He stopped a few feet away. “There’s a difference.”
“A semantic one.”
“An important one.” He studied me for a moment. “One that might save your life someday.” He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I’ll have a meeting with the Bratva in an hour. Try not to destroy anything while I’m gone.”
I watched him walk away, his shoulders broad beneath his tailored shirt, and fought the urge to throw something at his retreating back.
Instead, I stormed upstairs to my room and slammed the door so hard the walls shook.
That dress. The way he’d looked at me in it.
Fuck me. The way my body had responded to his touch betrayed me again.
Yanking off the collar, I threw it across the room where it hit the wall with a satisfying thunk before falling to the carpet. My fingers traced the place where it had rested, feeling oddly naked without its weight.
I hated it. And even more so, I hated that some part of me craved the structure he imposed, the boundaries he set, the way he saw through every defense I’d built.
* Little viper