Chapter 15 – Sasha
Lev’s hand rests firmly on the small of my back as we walk into the reception. The touch is light, but it feels like a brand—possessive, grounding, inescapable. I don’t want to escape. Here, I feel safe.
The room stills for a moment, then erupts into polite applause and murmurs.
I keep my chin up, my hands steady, even though my pulse is a mess.
The pink dress clings to me like a second skin, soft and feminine against the sharp cut of Lev’s black suit.
It feels deliberate—like he wanted me to look delicate beside him.
Eyes follow us everywhere. Some are warm and admiring. Others are sharp, assessing, like they’re trying to figure out what I’m made of and how easily I’ll break.
Breathe, I remind myself. Smile when you need to. Don’t flinch. Don’t fumble.
Noelle’s voice echoes in my head, calm and steady from the hours she spent helping me get ready. You belong here, Sasha. Don’t let them see you doubt it.
So I straighten my shoulders, paint on a soft smile, and pretend that I’ve always belonged in a world of crystal chandeliers, men with guns under their jackets, and women who know how to survive them.
We make our way to the platform together, hand in hand, moving through the sea of people and noise. The music is soft but charged, and the air smells like champagne and roses. Cameras flash, glasses clink, laughter rises and fades.
When we finally sit, Lev doesn’t take his eyes off me. He leans close, his breath warm against my ear.
“You’re doing okay,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl meant only for me. “You’re a queen, Sasha. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
The words slip under my skin like silk and fire. I turn my head slightly, enough to meet his gaze. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing worth seeing in the entire room.
My pulse races. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want to smile. But I do.
I glance away, biting back a grin, but it’s useless—the corners of my lips curve up on their own. There’s something intoxicating about the way he says it. Not as flattery, but as fact. As though it’s already written in his world that I’m his queen and no one else can touch me.
I catch a few people staring—powerful men with their wives beside them, whispering behind champagne glasses—but I don’t care. For the first time tonight, I actually feel…steady.
Lev’s words echo in my head, anchoring me.
You’re a queen.
I lift my chin a little higher. I can do this. I can survive this world. And maybe, just maybe, I can rule it too. Beside him.
Several minutes later, as the celebration swells around us, I spot Noelle across the room, standing near one of the champagne towers, her hair catching the soft light.
She waves when our eyes meet—small, quick, but full of warmth.
Relief floods through me, and I can’t help the genuine smile that spreads across my face as I wave back.
For a second, it feels normal—like she’s the one constant thread between the life I used to have and the one I’ve somehow stepped into.
Then the music shifts. The crowd quiets. Mikhail announces the first dance, and all eyes turn toward us.
Lev stands, offering me his hand. There’s something commanding about the way he does it—confident, expectant, but patient. Like he already knows I’ll take it.
And I do.
His fingers curl around mine, steady and sure, guiding me down the short steps to the dance floor. The lights dim, and the soft, low hum of a classical piece fills the space. He pulls me close, one hand firm at my waist, the other holding my hand against his chest.
We begin to move—slow, graceful, almost rehearsed, though we’ve never practiced this.
For a moment, everything else fades. The murmurs. The stares. Even the fear. It’s just us, and the quiet rhythm of the music between us.
Lev lowers his head, his breath grazing my temple. “You were made for this,” he whispers.
I tilt my head up, meeting his gaze. “For dancing?”
“For being mine.”
My heart stutters, and before I can respond, he spins me gently, his hand never leaving my waist, his control absolute. When he draws me back in, I feel his heartbeat under my palm—steady, strong, dangerous.
And I realize that for all my resistance…I’ve never felt more alive than I do in his arms.
Soon, others begin to join the dance floor.
One couple at first—then another—and within moments, the air fills with motion and soft laughter. The tension eases as people spin and sway around us, and the spotlight that once felt like a noose finally loosens.
Lev’s grip softens, though his hand never leaves my waist. “See?” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear. “You’re not the only one on display now.”
I smile faintly, grateful for the reprieve. “Good. I was starting to feel like the entertainment.”
He chuckles, deep and quiet, and leans down just enough for his lips to brush the edge of my ear. “You still are.”
I roll my eyes, but the sound that escapes me is closer to a laugh than I’d like to admit. Around us, the orchestra swells, and the chandelier lights scatter gold across the polished floor.
Noelle dances nearby with Niko, and when she catches my gaze again, she grins, mouthing something that looks like you’ve got this.
And for the first time all day, I actually believe her.
Lev twirls me once more, his hand steady and sure, and when he draws me back in, our movements fall perfectly in sync.
I’m about to tease him—something flirty and light, the kind of thing that would make that dangerous smirk of his appear—when Mikhail suddenly materializes beside us. His expression kills the music in my chest.
“Lev,” he says quietly, voice sharp beneath the polite tone. “You need to come with me.”
Lev’s body goes rigid. I feel it instantly through his hand on my back. His eyes narrow. “Can’t you see I’m dancing with my wife?”
Mikhail doesn’t flinch. “I’m sorry. It’s urgent.”
For a second, the space between them crackles with unspoken words, a tension that doesn’t belong at a wedding reception. I can see the muscle ticking in Lev’s jaw, the way his control strains against whatever instinct is telling him to stay.
I touch his chest lightly, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay,” I say. “Go.”
He glances down at me, and though he tries to hide it, there’s that edge of worry again. “Don’t stray too far from me.”
“I won’t.” I make my tone easy, teasing, even though I can tell he’s not in the mood. “I’ll be at the bar. Getting a drink—or two.”
“Just one. Don’t drink too much.”
“I won’t.”
He nods stiffly, presses a fleeting kiss to my temple, and follows Mikhail out of my sight.
The moment they’re gone, the music seems louder, the lights too bright. I exhale, straighten my shoulders, and make my way toward the bar—heels clicking against the marble, heart oddly restless in my chest.
At the bar, I order a glass of champagne—something light to calm the noise still buzzing in my head. The bartender nods and moves off, leaving me alone for a moment amid the clinking glasses and murmured conversations.
I rest my hand on the counter, exhaling slowly, when a soft, lilting voice cuts through the sound around me.
“Hi Sasha,” she says.
I turn, and my breath catches for just a second. The woman standing beside me is striking—sleek black hair that falls straight down her back, flawless porcelain skin, and a confidence that seems effortless. Her lips are painted a muted rose, and her almond-shaped eyes glimmer with polite curiosity.
She extends a delicate hand, her smile both warm and assessing. “Elara Chang,” she says smoothly. “Congratulations on your wedding. I’ve been admiring your dress all evening. It’s absolutely breathtaking—I had to come over and tell you in person.”
Her tone is friendly, and being a good judge of people, I find myself relaxing at her smile.
I manage a gracious smile and take her hand. “Thank you,” I say, putting just enough lightness into my voice. “You’re very kind. Your dress is splendid as well.”
Elara’s smile widens, catlike. “I swear,” she says, glancing toward the sprawling flower arch across the room, “the Rusnaks must’ve bought out every rose in Europe for this.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “I mentioned one time that I like roses. Just one time.”
Elara leans closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Men like your husband don’t do simple.”
“You’re not wrong.” That draws a genuine laugh out of me, light and unexpected. “You know my husband?”
She nods, swirling the ice in her glass. “Kinda. We’re sort of friends. If you can call it that.”
Her tone is vague—too vague. It doesn’t explain anything. I make a mental note to ask Lev about it later.
My drink arrives, the glass cool against my palm. “Would you like one?” I ask, gesturing toward the bartender.
Elara tilts her head, smile still lingering. “Sure. Thanks.”
I turn back to the bartender. “Another of whatever I’m having.”
As he mixes, I glance at her again.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” I say after a moment, curiosity edging into my voice. “Or heard your name, which is surprising—you seem like such a cool person.”
Elara laughs softly, the sound low and smooth.
“That’s because I’m not really in this world.
Not by choice, anyway.” She sighs. “My father’s a businessman with…
global reach. Let’s put it that way. He’s powerful, but not exactly clean.
That’s how I got dragged into this mess.
Appearances, alliances, the occasional party where everyone’s pretending to like each other.
” She gestures loosely toward the room. “This circus.”
I nod, a small, knowing smile forming. “I get it. I was thrust into it too—suddenly and completely. It’s…exhausting. I used to be a flight attendant.”
Her brows lift slightly, interest flickering in her gaze. “Really? That sounds like a life of freedom.”
“It was,” I say, a faint wistfulness tugging at my words. “A different kind of chaos. But at least it was mine.”