Chapter Six
Mikhail’s POV
Isabella Moretti, my bride, walked towards me, not in white.
She walked through the path of roses wearing red.
Deep, burning red. Every head turned, but she didn't care.
Her heels hit the marble like bullets, each step surer than the last. The sun lit her dress, and the crystals along the lace caught the light like sparks.
White stood for purity and surrender, but she wore red, which signified fire, defiance, and war. I felt something twist in my chest, rage at first, then something else. That dangerous pull again, that same one I'd felt the night we first met.
Emilia's eyes darted toward me, waiting for a reaction.
My men whispered quietly, wondering if I'd lose control.
But I didn't, I just watched her. She didn't smile, didn't look around.
Her eyes stayed locked on mine, and I swear the whole world slowed down.
She looked beautiful, deadly beautiful. Her lips were painted the same red as her dress, and I could already feel the taste of danger in the air.
When she reached the front, she stopped right before me. For a second, we just stood there, breathing the same air, our eyes steady.
I leaned closer, my voice low. "You wore red."
"Hm-mm."
"Why?"
Her lips curved, not quite a smile. "Because white is for peace and we're not at peace, are we?"
The priest cleared his throat, reminding us there were people watching. But I didn't care, I couldn't stop staring.
She was fearless, and that was what drew me in and drove me insane. Every time I thought I had her figured out, she flipped the table. I couldn't tell if I wanted to punish her or protect her. Maybe both.
The ceremony started, the priest's voice fading in and out of my head.
My focus was on her, the small movements of her hands, and the rise and fall of her chest, the way she didn't tremble once.
She didn't fear, she didn't hesitate, she was confident in red silk.
She moved like she owned the air around her.
Everyone else faded, and it was just her eyes. Unmoving, sharp, cold enough to slice through everything I thought I controlled.
She didn't blink, didn't even look away. Not once. I'd faced guns and betrayal, but nothing ever made me feel this kind of tension. A kind of... pull. Like she was testing if I'd break first.
Viktor stood a few steps behind me. I could feel his stare burning holes in my back. He didn't need to say anything because I already knew what he was thinking.
Don't lose focus.
But I might be losing it already.
"Do you take this woman..." the priest said.
I barely moved my lips. "I do."
"I do,” she replied when the priest asked her the question I was too impatient to let him ask me.
Simple words, but it felt like we were exchanging something far more dangerous than vows.
The silence after that hung heavy, and even the air felt tight. My pulse was slow, deliberate, like waiting for a fight to start.
"Please, exchange the rings."
I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing cold metal. The ring felt heavier than it should. When I took her hand, her skin was warm, too warm. Her pulse didn't race.
"You're calm," I murmured, low enough for only her to hear.
Her eyes lifted to mine. "Should I be scared?"
I leaned closer, just an inch. "You should."
She smiled, small, soft, and dangerous. "Then maybe later."
I slid the ring onto her finger. The gold glinted under the sunlight, catching like a spark about to start a fire.
When she reached for mine, her fingers brushed my knuckles. No hesitation. No trembling. It was just a steady, controlled movement. She looked straight into my eyes as she said, "Now we're even."
The priest said something else, blessings, prayers, meaningless words, but none of it mattered.
Her gaze locked with mine. There was no love in her eyes, no fear either. Just a strange calm, the kind a soldier wore before pulling the trigger.
Everyone clapped softly when the priest announced it was done. But neither of us was smiling.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest prompted.
I didn't think, I just moved. My hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. Her body tensed for half a second, then stilled. The soldiers stood at the edges like shadows, but right now, I only saw her.
She looked straight into my eyes as if she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she'd planned it. So, I kissed her. Hard.
Her lips met mine without hesitation. No fear, no struggle, just heat and fire.
When I finally pulled back, she whispered, "Was that enough for your people?"
I blinked, stunned. "Enough?"
She tilted her head, her lips still curved. "You wanted a show, and I gave you one."
I almost laughed, not from amusement but disbelief. No one ever spoke to me like that. Not in public, not with that kind of calm power.
My hand still rested on her lower back. "Careful, Isabella. You might make me think you enjoy this."
She smiled again, the kind that cut deeper than any blade. "Maybe I do. Or maybe I'm just learning how to play your games."
For a woman who just surrendered, she looked far too victorious.
The ceremony was over, but I couldn't take my eyes off her.
She stood a few steps away, speaking quietly to Emilia. Her posture was perfect, and her face was calm, so calm that it drove me insane.
I wasn't used to calm, fear, trembling hands, downcast eyes, and obedience. But Isabella gave me none of that. She gave me silence and steel.
Viktor's voice cut through the crowd. "You're staring," he muttered.
I didn't deny it. "She's mine now."
He gave me a look, half warning, half pity. "Just remember why this marriage happened, Mikhail. It wasn't for lust."
I smirked, raising my glass. "Who said anything about lust?"
But even as I said it, I couldn't stop looking at her. The red of her dress was burned into my mind. That color belonged to power, to danger, and to blood. And she wore it like she knew it. Like she was daring me to react.
Emilia walked away, leaving her alone. I moved closer, step by step, until the sound of my shoes met the quiet rustle of her gown.
She didn't turn; she knew I was there. That was the worst part, she always knew.
"You're still watching me," she said softly, her back to me.
"I have every right to," I replied.
She turned then, her eyes locking with mine. "And what exactly are you watching for?"
"Answers."
"To what questions?"
"What kind of woman marries a monster willingly?"
Her lips curved. "Maybe the kind who doesn't fear monsters."
That hit harder than I wanted to admit. My jaw tightened. "Fear keeps people alive, Isabella."
"Or it keeps them small."
She looked down at my hand, then up at me. "Is this the part where you remind me I'm yours?"
"No," I said quietly. “It’s the part where I decide how to make you believe it."
Her eyes flickered, unreadable and dangerous. "Then I guess tonight's your chance."
I let her go. The faintest smirk touched my lips before she turned away, walking back toward the guests as if nothing had happened.
I finished my drink and watched her disappear into the crowd, red silk trailing behind her like smoke. She didn't look back, and I didn't know whether that was mercy or a warning.