Chapter 6 Konstantin
KONSTANTIN
She’s beautiful even when she’s furious. Maybe even more so.
She’s still sitting stiffly at the table across from me, her hands clenched in her lap, her posture tight, her eyes burning holes straight through me.
She didn’t even bother changing clothes before coming down here, wearing that wrinkled white blouse and old jeans, her hair twisted back in a messy knot like she couldn’t be bothered to play the part.
It’s a deliberate insult. A tiny act of rebellion she knew I’d notice.
Good.
I prefer it this way. I’d rather deal with a woman who fights than one who rolls over and smiles for the camera.
“I’m not going to make things easy for you,” she says after a long, tense moment, her voice low and shaking slightly, but still full of fire.
I set my coffee cup down and lean back in my chair, giving her a slow, assessing look. “I do like a challenge,” I say, meaning it.
She presses her lips together, the flush that creeps up her neck telling me exactly how much she wants to throw something at me.
“Why are you doing this?” she demands, voice harder now. “What’s the end goal? You have a humiliation kink or something?”
I raise a brow, unbothered by her attempt to provoke me. “I’m making you my wife. That’s the highest honor I can give you.”
Her nostrils flare slightly, and I know she’s about to bolt, about to end this conversation before she says something she’ll regret. She pushes back from the table, ready to leave, but I move first.
I stand and reach her before she can get a full step away. My hand closes around her waist, firm, fingers digging into the curve of her hip. She stiffens instantly under my touch, like a live wire ready to snap.
“I haven’t dismissed you yet,” I say calmly, my mouth close to her ear.
She twists slightly, trying to pull free, but I don’t let her.
Her breath hitches. “Is this how it’s going to be?” she mutters.
I slide my hand higher, grazing her ribs, feeling the tension coiled tight in every inch of her body.
I lower my head and brush my lips against the side of her neck—barely a kiss, more of a slow, dangerous graze—just enough for her to feel the heat of my mouth against her skin.
“Why don’t you want to be my wife?” I ask, my voice a low rumble against her throat.
She’s still, frozen except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
“Is it because you don’t want to be a bastard’s wife?” I murmur against her pulse. “Is that it? You don’t want your precious blood polluted by mine?”
She jerks slightly in my hold, and I tighten my grip, pulling her flush against me.
She can feel exactly what she’s doing to me. Exactly how little her insults touch what I really want.
And I can feel her too—anger, defiance, confusion—and something darker starting to burn under her skin.
Before I can say anything else, her hand cracks across my face.
I barely feel it, but the shock of it cuts through the moment like a blade.
“Don’t you dare say that,” she spits, her chest heaving, her eyes flashing like she’s ready to set the whole house on fire if I push her one inch further.
For a second, we just stare at each other, the air between us burning hotter than any fight I’ve been in. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath, her fists still clenched at her sides as if she expects me to strike her back.
I step into her space, crowding her without touching, and she flinches instinctively, bracing herself.
I grab her chin between my fingers, firm but careful, forcing her to look up at me.
“I don’t hit women,” I say quietly. “But don’t think for a second you’ll get away with touching me without consequences.”
Her breath hitches, her hands curling into fists at her sides, as if she’s ready to fight me, as if she thinks she still has some control left to defend.
She doesn’t. Not from me.
Not anymore.
I reach out and grab the back of her neck, not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough that she can’t mistake what’s coming. Then I take her mouth with mine.
There’s nothing soft about the kiss. It’s punishing. Hard. A claim more than a caress, a warning written in the way my lips crush hers, the way my tongue forces her mouth open and demands her surrender.
She struggles at first—her hands pushing against my chest, trying to shove me away—but it’s weak, uncoordinated, her body betraying her even as her mind screams no.
And when she gives in, when her hands stop pushing and fist instead into the fabric of my shirt, dragging me closer, it sets something loose inside me.
Something dark.
Something I’m not sure I can leash again.
I deepen the kiss, swallowing her small, broken gasp, feeling the heat pouring off her skin, the way her body strains toward mine despite every instinct telling her to run.
When I finally rip my mouth from hers, both of us breathing hard, I keep my grip tight at the back of her neck and press my forehead against hers for a brief, charged second.
“You’re mine now, Nadya,” I murmur against her lips. “Start getting used to it.”
The sun is already dipping low behind the hills, the estate swallowed up in gold light and long, dark shadows.
I stand in the study with Lev, reviewing the last of the preparations.
He leans lazily against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that dry, knowing look that’s always annoyed me.
“You really think she’s going to go through with it that easy?” he asks, voice casual but the meaning sharp underneath.
I adjust the cuff of my jacket, keeping my attention on the paperwork in front of me.
“No.”
Lev chuckles low. “Didn’t think so.”
I don’t bother explaining. He knows. Nadya’s not the type to roll over just because she’s out of options. She’s going to fight this the whole way down, whether it’s smart or not.
“But she needs the money,” I add after a second.
Lev studies me for a beat, then shakes his head slightly. “This life’s made you heartless, you know that?”
I glance up at him, my face unreadable.
“Not saying it’s a bad thing,” he adds. “You’re going to need it. Especially when Pyotr starts sniffing around again after he figures out he sold you more trouble than leverage.”
I don’t answer. There’s no point.
Lev’s right about one thing, though—I can’t afford softness. Not now. Not with everything I’ve set in motion. I’ve already made preparations for the fallout this marriage is going to cause. I can’t have second thoughts.
I hear the light click of heels on marble just as the thought crosses my mind.
Right on schedule.
I turn toward the staircase. Nadya is descending slowly, her hand trailing lightly on the banister.
She’s wearing a simple white dress—nothing elaborate, nothing dripping in lace or rhinestones.
It’s modest enough to be decent but cut close enough to her body that it makes my mouth dry out anyway.
Short sleeves, a clean neckline, a skirt that brushes her knees. Elegant without trying to be.
Beautiful.
In a way that has nothing to do with the dress.
I take her in, every stubborn line of her posture, the stiff lift of her chin, the narrowed challenge in her eyes.
“This is what you chose?” I ask, voice dry.
She reaches the bottom step and squares her shoulders. “What kind of wedding happens after sunset?” she fires back. “Should I be expecting a vampire priest too?”
I smirk. “It’s just a civil ceremony. I don’t have time for theatrics.”
“Of course you don’t,” she mutters, brushing past me, the barest hint of her perfume trailing behind her.
I catch it—a warm, slightly sweet scent—and something low in my gut tightens immediately. For half a second, I consider dragging her right back upstairs and showing her exactly what she signed up for.
I close my eyes, inhale deeply, forcing the tension down, anchoring myself.
When I open them again, Lev is standing by the desk, watching me with a bemused grin.
The car ride is quiet. I sit back against the leather seat, watching the city lights blur past the tinted windows. Nadya sits beside me, her body angled slightly away, her fingers flying over her phone. Her brows are furrowed, her mouth tight with whatever conversation she’s carrying on.
She’s distracted. Focused. Like the world outside the car doesn’t exist anymore.
For a few minutes, I let her be. But the longer I watch her, the more the question worms its way into my head. Is she texting a boyfriend? Someone waiting for her back home?
It shouldn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter.
The auction was clear—untouched girls only.
Virgins, if you believed what the brokers swore up and down.
But I’m not stupid. I know how easily people lie when there’s money on the line. I never put stock in the promises whispered behind closed doors.
I never expected her to be pure. Purity is a myth men like my father cling to because it makes ownership feel cleaner.
I don’t care about that.
And yet…
Watching her now, typing furiously, her face tight with urgency, I wonder anyway.
Who is she texting?
Who is she thinking about?
Who, if anyone, is she wishing she could run back to?
Something thorny lodges under my skin, something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
She’s yours now. It doesn’t matter.
I remind myself of it the way I would remind a soldier where the line of battle is drawn.
This isn’t about love. It never was.
Nadya is a move on a chessboard, a piece I needed in place to close a door my enemies were clawing through. She’s a political pawn, nothing more.
But when she tucks the phone away and folds her arms tight across her chest, curling into herself like she’s bracing for impact, the part of me that’s supposed to be cold and detached stays silent. I turn my head away and look back out at the lights, the tightness in my jaw refusing to ease.
She’s the one who breaks the silence first, her voice cool. “Who’s invited to this little…event?” She keeps her tone casual, but the way she grips the strap of her purse tells me she’s more anxious than she lets on.
I glance over at her, taking in the way she sits so stiffly, the way her jaw tightens when she pretends not to care.
“A few people,” I say easily, letting the vague answer hang between us for a second longer than necessary.
She narrows her eyes. “Define ‘a few.’”
I smirk slightly, turning my gaze back out the window. “Enough.”
She exhales sharply, annoyed. “Family? Friends?”
“Associates,” I say. “Business partners. Some family.”
I see her stiffen a little more.
“Your father will be there too,” I add casually.
That earns me a look, full of something I can’t quite place. Anger. Betrayal. Maybe just exhaustion. “You didn’t think to mention that sooner?” she says tightly.
“I thought you’d like the surprise,” I say, voice dry.
This marriage isn’t just a contract. It’s a message. A clean severing of old loyalties and the start of a new power structure. And there’s no better way to send that message than to have everyone who matters standing in the room to watch it happen.
She shifts in her seat, folding her arms tight across her chest again. I can feel the anger rolling off her now, thick and hot. But she doesn’t lash out. She knows better than to make a scene before the battle even starts.
Good.
Let her hate me for it. It’ll make what comes next even easier to survive.
I glance back at Nadya one last time before the car rolls to a stop. Her face is blank, but her hands are fisted so tightly in her lap I can see the strain in her knuckles.
I reach for the door handle. “Smile pretty for the cameras,” I say quietly.
And then I step out, ready to start the show.