Chapter 11 – Sasha
I blink awake to the soft glow of early morning spilling through the curtains.
As I slowly sit up, my eyes immediately find it—hanging there on the closet door like a silent accusation.
The wedding dress Lev picked for me. Of all the options he sent, I chose it.
Gold. Shimmering, perfect. Beautiful. Dangerous.
I leave the bed and approach the door slowly, my fingers grazing the fabric, tracing the intricate beading and the smooth weight.
My chest tightens, part anger, part awe.
I could burn it right now, throw it into the fireplace and reclaim some sense of control.
But I can’t shake the thought that the moment I step into it, I’ll be unstoppable.
Devastatingly beautiful. And in a way, that’s how I want to claim my power.
My reflection in the mirror catches me, and I flinch at the contradiction staring back. The girl who wants nothing to do with Lev, who swore she wouldn’t care, who hates how he makes her pulse skip…and yet, the girl who can already see the fire in his eyes when he sees her in this dress.
I let my fingers linger over the fabric a second longer, torn between the fury I feel and the shiver that runs down my spine. I hate that I’m even considering it. But a part of me—maybe the part that’s been chasing him since Milan—knows exactly what will happen when I wear it. And it terrifies me.
I leave the dress where it hangs, like it’s watching me, and retreat into the bathroom. The tile is cold under my feet, but the water hisses to life as I twist the knob all the way to hot. Steam rises fast, curling against the mirror, blurring my reflection. I step under the spray and let it burn.
It scalds my skin, but I welcome the sting. It’s the only thing that feels real right now—heat, pressure, the roar of water drowning out everything else. For a moment, I imagine it washing the Bratva off me, washing Lev off me, scrubbing my father’s signature from some cursed piece of paper.
When the water finally runs cooler, I step out and wrap myself in a towel, my hair dripping down my back, my skin flushed from the heat. I brush my teeth mechanically, eyes fixed on the fogged mirror, and when I emerge back into the room, the dress is still there, gold and unyielding.
A knock breaks the silence.
I pad to the door, fingers tightening on the towel at my chest, and pull it open. My eyes are flat, dead, like I’ve taught them to be. Whoever it is, they’re not getting anything from me. Not today. My freaking wedding day.
It’s Noelle, framed in the doorway like a sunbeam. She’s wearing a light, summery dress, soft fabric brushing her knees, a wide smile that could cut through steel.
“I couldn’t wait to celebrate with you,” Noelle says.
I can’t bring myself to match her happiness. I step aside, letting her in, my chest tight. “It’s…nothing special,” I mutter, but part of me wants to reach for her, to latch onto some normalcy before everything spirals into Bratva chaos.
Noelle doesn’t argue. She sets her bag down and strides over to the hanging gold dress, running her fingers over it with a knowing smile. “This is beautiful,” she says softly. “You’re going to look incredible. And I’m here to help you get there.”
I let her. I let her move around the room, pulling the dress from the closet and draping it carefully over the chair. She offers steady reassurance, murmuring little compliments as she adjusts the fabric, fusses over the folds, and smooths it against my shoulders when I reluctantly step into it.
Her presence is a balm I didn’t know I needed. I hate that I’m relieved by it, that her cheer and calm are the only things keeping me from losing it entirely in this moment.
“You look beautiful,” she gasps as the dress slides over my body. “I knew it!”
I trace the seams of the dress, letting my fingers linger over the shimmering fabric, and finally let out a shaky sigh. “I’m scared, Noelle,” I admit, my voice low, almost breaking.
She sighs and takes my hand. “Of marrying Lev?”
“Not of him…not exactly. But of what this—marrying him—means. It’s like the life I’ve known for so long isn’t mine anymore. And now I’m supposed to step into some new role I never asked for.”
Noelle steps closer, her hand brushing mine. “Hey…I know it feels overwhelming. But you’ll figure it out. You always do. And…everything will be all right eventually. I promise.”
She tilts her head, a thoughtful crease between her brows. “Have you talked to Lev about continuing your job? You still want to fly, right?”
I shake my head. “No…I texted my manager and took some time off, but I haven’t…I haven’t spoken to Lev about anything.” My chest tightens.
“You can bring it up,” Noelle says gently. “It’s your life too, Sasha. He might be controlling in some ways, but he’ll have to respect you in this.”
I swallow hard and nod. Slowly, almost instinctively, I lean into her, and she wraps me up in a tight hug. I close my eyes and let the warmth of her presence anchor me for a moment, letting her steady voice and gentle strength seep into my racing thoughts.
There’s a sharp knock on the door, and before I can dwell too much, a familiar head peeks into the room—Mikhail.
“The ceremony has started,” he says. “It’s best if you come out now.”
My first instinct is to roll my eyes, but then I catch the gentle expression in his eyes, the same calm patience he’s shown since I arrived. Even on the days when my temper flares and my words could cut glass, he just stands there quietly, letting me vent, letting me be me.
I feel a small warmth creep into my chest. He’s…nice. Really nice.
“Thanks, Mikhail,” I say softly, forcing a small smile. “We’re coming.”
He nods once, respectful, patient, then disappears back down the hall. I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and turn back to Noelle. “Ready?”
She squeezes my hand, and together we step toward the unknown waiting just outside the door.
Noelle guides me along the stone path, her hand steady on my elbow, and I let her lead me into the garden. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of roses and fresh-cut grass, and the sun is just beginning its climb, gilding everything in soft light.
I glance to the side, watching her join the few guests already seated. She looks calm, almost like she belongs here, and I can’t help the pang in my chest.
Then my eyes snap forward, and there he is. Lev.
He stands at the end of the aisle, his black suit crisp, immaculately tailored, the morning light catching the sharp line of his jaw. My chest tightens. I can’t look away. He’s impossibly handsome, every inch of him exuding control and power, the kind of man who commands a room without a word.
The decorations are understated but elegant—roses along the aisle, soft white ribbons, and a single golden arch framing him perfectly.
Only a handful of people are here. Most are Rusnaks.
I recognize a few familiar faces from when I arrived; their presence is commanding and dangerous.
Each one is clearly a Bratva member, and the weight of their eyes adds a tension I can feel pressing against my skin.
I try to remind myself that none of this is for show, that it’s not a glamorous wedding but a binding, a transaction steeped in old-world law. But I can’t. My gaze keeps returning to him, and my stomach twists in ways I refuse to name.
I take a deep breath and start walking toward him, each step measured, careful, though my heart pounds like it’s trying to escape my chest. The world narrows, and all I see is him—Lev, waiting, perfectly still, and far too dangerous to ever look away from.
I notice the bodyguards, standing like silent sentinels around the perimeter. Their eyes flick to me briefly, and I realize just how real this is. This isn’t some fantasy or rehearsal. This is my life now—and my eyes can’t leave him.
I reach him, and he doesn’t flinch or step back.
His face is unreadable, a mask I’ve spent too long trying to decipher, but his gaze never leaves mine.
It’s intense, almost possessive, and I can feel the subtle pull of it in my chest. He doesn’t blink.
He doesn’t look away. He simply stands there, steady and commanding, and the air between us hums with a quiet tension I can’t name.
The ceremony begins, voices low and rhythmic, the words rolling over me in Russian. I don’t understand a single thing, but I feel every syllable, heavy with history, obligation, and promises I didn’t choose but am about to live.
Lev slides his hand into mine. His fingers are warm, firm, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. His thumb brushes across my palm in slow, deliberate circles, subtle yet intimate, as if to remind me that I’m not alone in this—even if every part of me wants to resist.
I glance down at our intertwined hands, startled at how much that simple touch unsettles me. The warmth spreads like wildfire up my arm, through my chest, and I realize that even in the middle of this forced, transactional moment, I can’t escape the pull of him.
The officiant’s voice fades into the background as he lifts my hand and slides the ring onto my finger.
The metal is cold at first, but when it settles, it feels impossibly heavy, as if it carries all the weight of the vows we’ve just exchanged—vows I barely understand but somehow feel deep in my chest.
He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. His eyes search mine, intense and unyielding. Right before his lips touch mine, he murmurs, low and commanding, “You belong to me now, entirely.”
My heart hammers—not in fear, not in hesitation, but in something far more urgent. Need. Want. Desire. It claws at me from the inside, betraying all the anger and defiance I’ve tried to hold onto these past days.
When his lips finally brush against mine, it’s a shock, a slow-burning ignition that seems to set every nerve in my body alive. And for the first time since all of this began, I don’t fight it. I don’t pull away. I can’t. I want it, all of it, even if I can’t admit it yet.