Chapter 8 Dimitri #3
She looks pained. “He said ‘this is a mistake’ and something about how it would ‘never hold’. My father told him to shut up, that it was already decided. Then Marcus said…” She swallows. “He said, ‘Don’t come crying to me when the Volkovs get exactly what they deserve.’”
Red crosses my vision. “What they deserve?” I ask harshly, unable to help myself.
Vera eyes me warily. “That’s what he said. I didn’t know what it meant at the time. I thought maybe he was just bitter about the peace.” She looks up at me. “But now…”
“Now it sounds like he knew something was planned.” I lean back, mulling everything over. “What else? Anything else you remember from that conversation?”
“My father said something about ‘maintaining appearances’ and ‘seeing it through.’ Then they must have heard me outside the door because they stopped talking.” She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have more than that.
They never included me in family business.
I was just... there. The daughter. The bargaining chip. ”
Damn. While it’s not much, she did give me some valuable information, and I am grateful for it.
“If I do this,” she says slowly, “if I help you... what happens to me? To my family? When you find who’s responsible?”
It’s a fair question. A smart question, really. And I respect her for asking it.
“That depends on who it is,” I say honestly.
“If it’s one of my people? I’ll handle it internally.
If it’s one of yours? That’s a bit more complicated.
But I promise you this—” I lean forward, holding her gaze.
“I won’t use this as an excuse to go after your family.
I won’t use whatever information you give me to hurt innocent people.
This isn’t about revenge anymore. This is about survival. ”
Vera shakes her head. “This was always about revenge,” she says quietly. “That’s why you married me, remember?”
I close my eyes. Again, she’s right. This did start as revenge, but somewhere between watching her try those locked doors and throwing myself over her body yesterday, something changed.
I’m just not sure what.
“Things change,” I say finally as I open my eyes. “People change. Situations change. What this was doesn’t matter as much as what it is now.”
She raises a brow. “And what is it now?”
“Complicated.” I allow myself a grim smile. “Very, very complicated.”
She almost smiles back. It’s tiny, barely there, but I catch it. The corner of her mouth twitching up for just a second before she suppresses it.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile in my presence. The first crack in the wall of fear and hostility between us.
And it does something to me, but I don’t want to examine it too closely.
“Will you help me?” I ask.
She’s quiet for a long moment. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”
Intense relief floods through me. “Just keep thinking. About anything you might have seen or heard before the wedding. Any detail that seemed insignificant at the time but might mean something now. If you remember anything else—any conversations, any strange behavior, anything that felt wrong—tell me.”
She nods slowly before looking down at her hands. “Okay.”
“And Vera?” I wait until she looks at me. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Yesterday proved that someone is willing to kill to sabotage this peace. But you’re under my protection now and that—that means something. I’ll keep you safe, even if—” I stop myself.
She sits up a bit straighter. “Even if what?”
Even if it costs me everything. Even if it means going against my own family. Even if it means admitting that somewhere along the way, you stopped being just a hostage and became something I can’t afford to lose.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead I say, “Even if it means pissing off both our families to do it.”
She studies me for a long moment, those amber-flecked eyes seeing too much. “Why?”
I blink. “Why what?”
Vera huffs out a dry laugh. “Why would you protect me? You hate me. You hate my family. This whole arrangement is supposed to be my punishment. So why would you…” She gestures vaguely. “Why would you throw yourself over me yesterday? Why are you promising to keep me safe now?”
It’s a good question and it’s one I’ve been asking myself since 3 am.
“Because you’re my wife,” I say finally. “And despite how this started and why we’re here... that means something. I don’t let what’s mine get hurt.”
It’s not the whole truth, but it’s all I can give her right now.
She nods slowly, but I can see she doesn’t fully believe me. I can’t blame her for that.
“Is that all?” she asks quietly.
I should say yes and dismiss her to get back to work. I need to maintain the distance that’s been keeping me sane. But instead, I hear myself say, “How are you feeling? After yesterday?”
From the way her eyebrows rise and her head tilts, she’s just as surprised as I am at my question
“I’m... fine,” she says, but it’s automatic. It’s the kind of fine people tell when they’re anything but fine.
“Vera.” I narrow my eyes at her.
She looks down at her hands, and I notice how she’s picked the skin around her nails.
Her cuticles look swollen and bloody. “I’m tired.
I didn’t sleep. I keep seeing it—the window exploding, the bullets, all that blood…
” She takes a slow breath. “I keep thinking about my father not even checking on me. He didn’t once look to see if I was okay. He just ran.”
The bitterness in her voice makes me uncomfortable, but I stay silent.
She sighs and turns her head so I can see her profile. “I knew he’d sold me off. I knew I was just a bargaining chip to him. But I thought…” Her jaw tightens before she shakes her head, her face falling. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. Yesterday proved what I actually am to him. Nothing.”
This is what I wanted—for her to understand that her family doesn’t care about her, that she’s alone, that she has no one.
But watching her hurt, watching her realize the depths of her father’s betrayal, doesn’t feel like victory. It feels… it feels really fucking sad.
“You’re not nothing,” I hear myself say.
She turns to look at me. “Huh?”
“You’re not nothing,” I repeat. God, what the fuck am I saying? “Your father’s a coward. That’s on him, not you.”
We stare at each other across the desk. Something shifts in the air between us, some indefinable change I can’t quite name. It’s not forgiveness. God, it’s not even close to that. But maybe it’s the beginning of something. Understanding? Truce?
Alliance?
“Thank you,” she says softly, tucking some hair behind her ear. “For yesterday. For saving me. I don’t think I said that before.”
I can feel my ears burning. God, this is so fucking embarrassing. “You don’t need to thank me,” I say gruffly. I don’t like the way this conversation is going.
“Yes, I do.” She stands, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. “It’s probably the only decent thing you’ve done for me since we got married. I should acknowledge it since it probably won’t ever happen again.”
Goddamn, she knows how to cut a man down. Her words should make me angry, but instead, they make me feel something uncomfortably close to shame.
“Vera—”
“I should go,” she interrupts. “Let you get back to work. Unless you need anything else?”
Yes, she should leave and end this conversation before it gets any more complicated than it already is. But I find myself saying, “No more hostile dinners.”
She blinks. “Come again?”
“The dinners. The ones where I…” I stop, not sure how to finish that sentence. Where I verbally abused her? Where I used every weapon in my arsenal to make her miserable? “They’re done. No more.”
She looks confused but also, a little hopeful. “Why?”
“Because they’re not helping anyone.” Because watching her flinch at my words every night is making me feel like a monster.
Because somewhere between yesterday and today, I realized I don’t want to be her tormentor anymore.
“We’ll still eat together,” I clarify. “But civilly. Like two people who are trying to solve a problem together instead of enemies.”
She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I don’t understand you.”
“Join the club,” I mutter.
Vera shakes her head. “First you’re cruel. Then you save my life. Then you accuse me of trying to kill us both. Then you ask for my help. Now you’re being…” She searches for the word. “Almost nice? I can’t keep up with what version of you I’m supposed to be dealing with.”
“Yeah, well.” I lean back in my chair, suddenly exhausted. “I can’t keep up either. So we’re even.”
The corner of her mouth twitches into almost a smile. “This is very confusing.”
“Welcome to my world,” I say dryly.
This time, she does smile. It’s small, tentative, like she’s not sure she's allowed. But it’s a real smile and it transforms her face by softening the worry lines and bringing light to her eyes.
Beautiful. She has such a beautiful smile.
“I should go,” she says again.
I blink, trying to pull together my wandering thoughts. “Roman will drive you back to the estate. I’ll be home for dinner. Seven o’clock.”
She nods and heads for the door. But she pauses with her hand on the handle, looking back at me. “Dimitri?”
I look up at her. “Yeah?”
She hesitates, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “Are we... okay? Not okay-okay, obviously. But are we going to be able to do this? Work together? Without you hating me the entire time?”
I consider the question carefully, because it’s not simple. Nothing about this situation is simple. Do I hate her? I thought I did. I wanted to. But watching her sit across from me just now, seeing the determination beneath the exhaustion, hearing the hurt when she talked about her father...
“I don’t hate you,” I say finally. And it’s true. I’m not sure when it stopped being true, but somewhere along the way, the hate burned out, leaving only... this. Whatever the fuck this is. “I don’t know what we are to each other. But hate isn’t it. Not anymore.”
She takes this in, her expression unreadable, but then she nods. “Okay. I’ll see you at dinner.”
She leaves, and I’m alone in my office again. But this time, the solitude feels different. It’s less like isolation and more like a pause. A moment to breathe before diving back into the chaos.
I pull up the security footage again. I watch myself cover her body, protect her and risk my own life without hesitation.
That’s not how you protect an enemy.
That’s not how you treat a hostage.
That's how you protect someone you...
No. I’m not going there. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But as I watch her leave the building on the security feed, walking to the car where Roman waits, I realize something fundamental has shifted.
She’s not just an Ashford anymore. Not just insurance or revenge or a means to an end.
She’s Vera. My wife. My responsibility. And maybe—maybe—my ally in figuring out whatever fresh hell we’ve found ourselves in.
I don’t know what that means for us. I don’t have the slightest clue where we go from here or if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life by starting to see her as something other than the enemy.
But watching her disappear into the car, I realize I’m going to protect her.
From whoever tried to kill us yesterday.
From her own family if necessary.
From myself and my own destructive impulses.
From anything and anyone that tries to hurt her.
Because somewhere between yesterday and today, between watching her almost die and seeing her smile for the first time, she became mine in a way that has nothing to do with marriage certificates or peace treaties.
And I protect what’s mine.
Even if I’m only just beginning to understand what that means.