Chapter 8 —Lev
The engagement was public knowledge in no time. The press release was out, and her name was tied to mine in every major business and society column. It was all over the internet, all over the news—making the headlines and drawing unnecessary attention to myself.
Our engagement was what everyone talked about, especially in my world. Everyone had an opinion on the matter; to some, it was a good thing, a strategic union between two powerful families.
However, to others—Robert’s creditors—it was bad for business. His affiliation with the Tarasovs had now made him untouchable. They’d have to tread with caution, knowing that the man was in my fold now, under my covering.
Fighting him would be fighting me, and that would be a very terrible move on their part. At the right time, they’d find a way to settle this without violence. But for now, with this engagement, the Jensen family was off limits.
This wasn’t because I gave a shit about them; it was all part of my plan to keep Robert in line. And his daughter, too. The man was already indebted to me in more ways than one. Phase one complete.
Tonight was our official meeting since the engagement, and I paid for the whole restaurant just to have dinner with her. Undisturbed.
The table between us was polished to a shine that reflected the warm glow of the chandelier overhead. White linens, a bottle of red wine, crystal glasses, and two plates of high-quality meals decorated the table.
I sat across from her, watching her eat in silence, her mouth moving gracefully. Her eyes—those fiery blue eyes—were fixed on her plate as her manicured fingers wrapped tightly around her cutlery.
She had barely said anything since we arrived, and I was okay with that. At least she knew who she belonged to now. She knew her place.
Despite all her attempts at masking her fury and disdain, I could see right through her—could read her like an open book. If she had the chance, she’d jab that fork in her hand straight into my neck and watch me bleed to death.
With that much hatred oozing from her, I could only imagine the number of times she’d killed me in her head just tonight already.
It was satisfying to watch her struggle to stay composed, even though all she wanted was to scream at me. My lips curled into a faint grin as I chewed softly, savoring the delicious flavor that had erupted on my tongue.
It wasn’t just her pain and struggle that I was satisfied with. No. I’d be damned if I didn’t acknowledge how gorgeous she looked tonight. For a woman who clearly loathed me with every fiber of her being, she sure took her time to look good for me.
Her spaghetti-strapped black dress, dark as the night itself, hugged her in all the right places. The skin above her cleavage was so enticing that it kept drawing my eyes every now and then.
She wore light makeup that blended seamlessly with her skin tone. And her honey-blonde hair fell in effortless waves over her shoulders. The scent of her perfume was intoxicating, mingling with the aroma of the food on our table.
The atmosphere was peaceful, just as I had imagined when I reserved the whole restaurant to dine with her. The faint clinking of cutlery broke the silence that stretched between us. It was calm, yes. But something else was missing. I wasn’t sure what.
I dabbed my mouth with a napkin, then reached for the half-empty glass of red wine in front of me. I drained it and reclined in my chair, eyes fixed on her.
To shake the table a little, I decided to break the silence. “How’s the food?” I asked, not because I cared about her response, but because I wanted to get under her skin.
She paused, chewing gently, fingers tightening around her fork and knife. Ravyn glanced up at me, her blue eyes burning with anger and resentment.
My words had triggered her. Good. I loved that.
“I’ve had better,” she finally answered, her tone dry and flat.
My lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “Hate me all you want; it won’t change anything. You belong to me now.”
She locked her jaw, eyes squinting with furrowed brows as her face contorted into a gorgeous frown.
Her expression darkened, her nose flared, and she glared at me.
“On paper, yes,” she replied, her voice low and venomous.
“But in here…you have no strings on me.” The slight pause came when she tapped her finger on her temple.
I let out a soft scoff. “Your father is alive and well. Your family business is out of the gutter. You should be thanking me.”
“A ‘thank you’ won’t be enough; it won’t cut it,” she began, holding my gaze. “Would you like me to also grovel at your feet, kiss your shoes, and bow my head in reverence?” The sarcasm in her tone couldn’t be any more glaring.
Her words and the disdainful manner in which she spoke them struck me like a knife to the chest. My eyes squinted ever so slightly; however, I wouldn’t let her see how much her response got to me.
She didn’t stop there. No. Ravyn continued with the same low, sarcastic tone. “But by all means, thank you, Lev Tarasov, for saving my family name. Thank you for being such a generous human being.” She stressed the word ‘generous.’ “Happy now?”
I should be pissed; I should react. But no. I knew better. Ravyn Jensen was messing with me—she was trying to get under my skin, and I refused to play her game.
A self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, and I poured myself some more wine. I raised the glass and replied, as calm as I always was, “You’re welcome.”
After my equally sarcastic reply, I sipped from my glass and watched her return to her meal.
As irritating as she was, I couldn’t help but be drawn to her intelligence, fearlessness, and stubbornness. Ravyn was confident even in danger; she was a fire with no filter. However, beneath her bravado, there was a tender vulnerability, one she concealed with wit and sarcasm.
When the dinner ended, the press was already waiting outside. The moment we stepped into the open, a wall of cameras and voices rose, questions flying in the air. I squinted at the camera flashes in my face, my hand finding Ravyn’s waist—firm and unyielding as I pulled her to my side.
She didn’t resist; instead, she played the role of a happy fiancée—smiling and waving. To the watching world, we were such a great couple, and a lot of gullible people would look up to us as role models.
Idiots.
The photograph would show nothing but elegance and charm, especially with Ravyn’s outstanding performance as a happy fiancée. Her mask of composure, her smile, and the fitted dress that accentuated her figure were enough to fool anyone.
Hand in hand, we walked toward the car waiting across the building. I opened the backseat for her, and she got inside. After closing the door behind her, I murmured some polite answers to the press and then walked over to the side and got in.
“Drive,” I ordered the driver.
He started the engine and drove away immediately.
In the backseat of the vehicle, we took off the masks—the smiley faces and the politeness. She sat by the window with her arms crossed, keeping a reasonable distance from me.
“That was a good show you put on out there,” I said without looking at her. “And you will continue like that regardless of how you feel about me. Understood?” I glanced at her.
She looked at me, brows furrowing, clearly displeased by my tone. “And if I don’t?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Test me and you’ll find out.” The lack of emotion in my tone unsettled her more than she’d ever admit.
Ravyn swallowed hard but said nothing; instead, she looked away, a hint of fear flickering in her gaze.
Every step of the upcoming wedding preparations would run on my schedule. Not hers. She’d have no say in it whatsoever. It was my plan, and it would play out my way. I didn’t give two shits about flowers or colors; all I cared about was control, and this would be my stage.
Her resistance was still intact for now, although I could already see the cracks forming. I didn’t need her submission yet. I just needed the stubborn little devil to understand that every move she made from now on would be inside the cage I built.