Chapter 5 – Noelle
It’s been an hour since Niko left, and I can’t stop staring at the ring on my finger.
The diamond catches the light in a way that makes it look alive, like fire trapped in crystal.
I trace it with my thumb, and something inside me stirs.
It’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever imagined.
Magical. Rich. I can feel a flicker of disbelief—how did this become my reality?
I’m in love with it. Not the man—just the ring. But even that thought makes my heart hammer in my chest.
The sudden click of the lock makes me jump. I sit up quickly, thinking it’s Niko. But it’s not him. It’s Demyan, calm and unreadable, flanked by three silent staff members. They’re wheeling in racks of wedding dresses, each one spilling fabric that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread.
I gasp and slide off the bed, my eyes wide, my gaze hovering over the flowing silks and satins. My pulse spikes with something I don’t name yet—excitement, fear, maybe a mix of both.
They don’t speak. Not a word. They roll the racks into the center of the room, arranging them with mechanical precision, then turn and leave without so much as a glance.
The lock clicks behind them, sealing me in again with the dresses and the ring and the dizzying reality of what’s about to happen.
I take a deep breath and step closer to the nearest rack. My fingers brush the fabrics, smooth and cool under my fingertips, and I try to imagine myself in each gown, imagining the day that is now inevitable. My stomach twists with nerves and something darker—anticipation I can’t quite control.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. And yet, I can feel him everywhere—the echo of Niko’s presence lingering in the air, in the lock, in the weight of the ring.
I inhale and remind myself: I chose this. Somehow.
It’s past midnight, and I know I need to start getting ready soon, but I can’t bring myself to choose a dress. I can’t tell myself out loud that I’m about to marry a stranger. A stranger who happens to be my ex’s Bratva boss—and mine too. My chest tightens just thinking about it.
I pace the room, running my hands over the racks again and again, hesitating over each gown. Satin, silk, lace—everything feels heavy, like it carries the weight of the life I’m about to step into.
Finally, almost by accident, I pick one and lay it carefully on the bed.
It’s soft and pale, the kind of dress that seems to catch the light even in the dark.
I let myself collapse next to it, forcing myself to close my eyes, even just for a few minutes.
If I don’t rest, I’ll have dark circles under my eyes come wedding time, and that’s the last thing I need.
The silence of the estate presses in around me. The dresses, the ring, the thought of him—it all hums in my head like a warning. And yet, exhaustion overtakes fear, and I let sleep try to claim me.
I don’t know how long I sleep, but when I wake, sunlight filters through the shut window, bright and harsh. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and freeze. On the table beside me are bathing supplies and a set of pajamas that weren’t there before. Someone’s been in the room while I slept. My skin crawls.
Was it Niko?
I grab the supplies and hurry into the bathroom. The shower is quick, the water scalding my skin awake, and I slip into the pajamas, smooth and unfamiliar against me. As I walk back to the bed, a small, desperate part of me whispers the impossible thought:
Please, let him call the whole thing off. Let me go.
But I know it’s a silly dream. The dresses on the rack—and the one I finally laid on the bed—are a stark reminder of what’s coming. My prison silk. My chains disguised as lace.
The sudden click of the lock makes me jolt upright, heart racing. Niko. God, how will I face him like this? The pajamas cling to me in a way I hate. The long sleeves hide my scars, but the fabric pulls too close, outlining every curve I’d rather disappear. I fold my arms across my chest, bracing.
The door swings open.
I’m stunned into silence. It isn’t Niko.
It’s Violet. And Sasha.
They stop in the doorway, their eyes sweeping over me, wide with confusion and something else—pity, maybe. I can’t breathe for a second, my throat tightening as their gazes dart to the racks of dresses, to the bed, to the ring glittering on my hand.
“Noelle!”
They both rush toward me, arms wrapping around me at once, and for the first time since I was kidnapped from the clinic, I feel something warm, something safe. My eyes sting. I didn’t know how badly I needed this until now.
They start talking at the same time—What happened?
How did you end up here? Are you okay?—their voices tripping over each other.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as I tell them everything.
About Anton’s betrayal, about Niko finding me, about the impossible choice I was given. About how I agreed.
When I’m done, silence sits heavy in the room, and I can barely lift my head. “Did I do the right thing?” My voice breaks, so small I hardly recognize it as mine. My fingers twist together, the ring flashing like a cruel reminder. “Tell me I didn’t just ruin my life.”
Violet takes my hand, her eyes steady, voice calm. “Noelle…in this world, you didn’t really have much of a choice. You did what you had to do. And that’s the right thing.”
She gives me a small smile. “Now, I’m not saying he’s right to do this to you, but it’s better than death. And I’m still talking to Kaz, trying to see if he can get Niko to change his mind. He keeps saying it’s out of his hands, but I’ll keep on. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Vi.”
Her words don’t take the weight away, but they shift it. Just enough that I can breathe again.
Sasha lets out a long breath and shakes her head.
“I’m shocked, honestly. I could never have expected this—you marrying a Bratva boss.
” Her lips twist as she looks at me. “I was about to leave for work when these tattooed men broke into the house and dragged me out without a word. It wasn’t until I got here that they explained. ”
I manage a laugh, dry and shaky. “I’m so sorry.”
I glance between them and say, “This is my friend, Violet. Violet, Sasha—my friend and roommate.”
They smile at each other and exchange a nod. “We met downstairs,” Sasha says. “I was so confused, and she was kind enough to explain that these kinds of things are…normal here.”
The three of us laugh, and for a second, it feels like the world isn’t closing in. Only these two could make me laugh in a situation like this.
“I work at an underground Bratva clinic,” I admit, the words slipping out easier than I expect. “Not at a factory. I guess I can share the truth now. I didn’t tell you earlier because I had to protect you.”
Sasha groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Can I go back to not knowing? This is…overwhelming. I don’t know how you do it.”
Violet gasps, her eyes widening. “That explains so much. No wonder you were so secretive about your job. And when I first told you about Kaz, you asked which mafia he’s in. I was so confused about how you knew so much.”
I know more than enough, but this isn’t the time to open that door. Not yet.
Sasha shakes her head like she’s trying to dislodge the thought, then her eyes catch on the dresses. “These are beautiful.” She lifts the one I’d laid across the bed, the fabric spilling between her fingers. “Did you pick this one?”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says, smiling softly. “Come on, let us help you get dressed. Thankfully, I had my travel bag with me when I was taken from home—there’s a makeup bag in there. Come on.”
I stand sluggishly, my legs heavy, my body moving on autopilot.
Violet takes the dress from Sasha and helps me step into it, her hands gentle but firm as she fastens the back.
Sasha sets out her little arsenal of brushes and powders on the vanity, muttering to herself like she’s preparing for battle.
“This feels surreal,” Sasha says as she dusts foundation onto my skin. “Like…this morning, I was supposed to be on a flight to Rome. Now I’m here, doing mafia bridal makeup. My supervisor is going to flip when I don’t check in.”
Violet laughs. “Text them later, say you had a…family emergency?”
“Yeah, except if I say family emergency one more time, he’s going to assume I’m living in a soap opera,” Sasha shoots back, making me chuckle despite myself.
I watch them in the mirror—Sasha leaning in close, tongue between her teeth in concentration, Violet carefully arranging the lace of my sleeves. For a moment, it almost feels normal. Like two friends helping me get ready for a night out instead of…this.
A knock on the door shatters the illusion.
It creaks open, and Demyan steps in, his frame filling the doorway, his expression unreadable as always. His eyes flick over me once, taking in the dress, the makeup, the veil draped at Violet’s elbow. Then he says simply, “It’s time. Niko is waiting for you in the church.”
My stomach plummets, all the air leaving my lungs at once.
Violet squeezes my hand, her smile brave, meant to steady me. “We’ll be right there with you.”
Sasha nods, brushing the last bit of powder from her fingers. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
They go ahead, slipping past Demyan into the hall, their voices a soft murmur as they walk ahead.
I linger for a heartbeat, staring at my reflection one last time. The bride in the mirror looks nothing like me—she’s polished, composed, draped in lace and expectation. But her eyes give her away. They’re wide, too bright, a caged animal’s eyes.
I press my lips together and follow. My heels click softly against the corridor floor as I trail after Violet and Sasha, Demyan’s silent shadow behind me. Each step feels heavier than the last, pulling me closer to the church where Niko waits—closer to the moment there’s no turning back.
We reach the church, and I step inside, my pulse pounding in my ears.
The space is quiet, almost hollow, with only a handful of people seated in the pews.
Still, the décor catches me off guard—soft white flowers, candles flickering in gold holders, an aisle lined with petals.
It looks…real. Like a wedding that was planned, not forced.
Niko must have gone out of his way for this.
My throat tightens.
I start down the aisle alone, every step echoing. I keep my gaze fixed on the flowers, on the altar rail, on anything except the man waiting for me at the end. But I feel him all the same—tall, sharp-edged, unmovable.
The priest’s voice cuts into the silence, steady and solemn, as the ceremony begins.
I steal a glance at Niko, and my chest stutters. He looks impossibly handsome in his suit, the candlelight catching on the angles of his face, his dark eyes steady on me. It’s unfair, how effortlessly he commands the moment, while I can barely keep my knees from trembling.
The vows blur together, the words spoken on instinct, like I’m watching myself from far away. Rings are exchanged—cold metal against my skin, binding me to him.
“And now,” the officiant declares, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”
I brace myself, heart hammering as Niko leans in. The kiss is small, soft, barely more than a brush of his lips against mine. A peck. And yet…it sparks something low and unsettling, a heat that lingers. To my horror, it leaves me wanting more.
I pull back quickly, breathing hard, my thoughts a jumble. But relief swells through me all the same. It’s done. It’s official. I am finally, irrevocably, Niko’s wife. And for the first time in weeks, I feel the faintest flicker of safety.
I turn with Niko as the priest gestures for us to face the few people present.
In the pew, my eyes find Violet and Sasha. They’re watching me, both of them trying to look brave for my sake. I lift my hand in a small wave, and when they return it, a sting burns at the back of my eyes. For a second, I almost forget where I am, what this means. For a second, I just feel seen.
Niko’s hand closes around mine—warm and steady. The grip is firm, like a promise. If I didn’t know better, if I let myself forget everything, I’d think we were in love.
The thought rattles me, and I suck in a sharp breath, forcing my lips into a smile. A bride’s smile. A survivor’s smile. I’ve always found a way through, always fought my way out of the corners life shoved me into. This moment won’t be any different.
So I square my shoulders, lace my fingers tighter with Niko’s, and step forward. If the world wants to test me again, let it. I’m ready.