Chapter 15
Emerald
The room was offensively beautiful for somewhere I was technically being held hostage.
Tall windows framed endless gray skies while rain dragged slowly down the glass in soft streaks.
Expensive furniture sat untouched around me like something ripped straight out of one of Roman’s pretentious architecture magazines.
Dark wood. Cream fabrics. Gold accents. Very rich psychopath chic.
I sat curled against the edge of the massive bed wearing clothes I definitely hadn’t packed myself while trying to decide which option was worse. Escape or stay. Honestly, both sounded terrible.
If I ran, Malrik would kill Nikolai. No. Worse. He’d make sure I knew about it first. That part had become painfully obvious during dinner.
Malrik didn’t threaten people because he was emotional.
He threatened them because he understood exactly where to slide the knife to make it hurt the most. Unfortunately for me, apparently that weak spot had dark hair, terrifying eyes, and a habit of looking at me like he wanted to ruin my life and kiss me at the same time.
Disgusting.
Actually, embarrassing for me, really.
I dragged both hands over my face before falling back against the headboard with a groan. This entire situation somehow kept getting worse the longer I thought about it.
Nikolai was alive. That thought alone replayed through my head over and over like my brain had become obsessed with it. Alive. Not bleeding out in the rain. Not dead somewhere because of me. Not another body added to the endless graveyard this family seemed determined to build. Alive.
The relief had hit so hard downstairs I almost hated myself for it.
Unfortunately, the bigger problem arrived right after.
Legitimate heir. I stared blankly toward the ceiling.
Even thinking the words made my stomach flip violently.
Malrik had said it so casually too. Like he hadn’t just detonated the single thing standing between me and a complete psychological breakdown.
Legitimate heir. Meaning Roman was Alexander Deveraux’s children, and I wasn’t. Meaning the horrifying spiral I’d been trapped in since finding out Lucien had slept with my mother had been for nothing. Although, this had good news, Nikolai and I weren’t related.
I squeezed my eyes shut. That should have made me feel better. Instead, it somehow made everything infinitely more dangerous. Now every thought I’d been trying to bury came crawling back without restraint.
The way Nikolai touched me. The way his voice dropped when he was angry. The way he watched me like I belonged to him long before either of us were willing to admit it aloud.
I pressed the heels of my hands harder against my eyes.
This was sick. Actually, sick. Somewhere between being kidnapped, lied to, emotionally destroyed, and nearly shot at yesterday, I’d apparently developed feelings for a homicidal man with severe control issues.
Roman was going to absolutely lose his mind.
The thought should have been funny. However, I knew Roman wouldn’t just disapprove, Roman would kill him.
I couldn’t stop looking at the door after that.
It was pathetic, honestly. Every sound outside the room pulled my attention instantly.
Footsteps. Voices somewhere farther down the hallway.
The faint sound of movement beyond the walls.
Every single time my brain reacted before logic could catch up.
Nikolai? And every single time disappointment followed right after.
I hated that. Hated that somehow in the middle of this absolute psychological disaster, my brain had apparently decided Nikolai Voss was now associated with safety. Actual insanity.
A knock sounded suddenly against the bedroom door before it opened without waiting for permission. A woman stepped inside carrying several garment bags while two other staff members followed behind her balancing boxes and what looked concerningly like flower samples.
I blinked at them. “…why are there roses in my hostage situation?”
The older woman offered me a polite smile that looked deeply exhausted already.
“Mr. Drax requested we begin preparations immediately.”
I stared at her. Then the garment bags. Then the flowers. Then back at her again.
“…for what?”
“For the wedding ceremony, Miss Deveraux.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Not because anything about this situation was funny, but because apparently my life had become so deeply unhinged that forced marriage arrangements were now being discussed like brunch plans. Absolutely incredible.
I slid off the bed slowly before walking toward the nearest garment bag. The zipper opened smoothly beneath my fingers before white fabric spilled into view. I physically recoiled.
“Oh, that’s horrifying.”
The younger staff member blinked rapidly. “Miss? ”
“It looks haunted.”
The older woman stepped forward carefully. “Mr. Drax selected them personally.”
“That explains why they look emotionally oppressive.”
The younger girl turned suspiciously toward the wall like she was trying not to laugh. Someone here had survival instincts.
I shoved the dress back into the bag before glancing toward the flowers next.
“And roses are lazy.”
“They’re imported.”
“They still look depressing.”
The older woman gave me the exhausted expression of somebody already regretting their career path.
“Mr. Drax requested your cooperation.”
“Well, that feels optimistic, considering I haven’t officially gave him an answer.”
I wandered farther into the room while my thoughts spiraled violently beneath the sarcasm.
Okay. Think. Malrik wanted this wedding quickly.
Which meant I needed leverage. Right now the only thing I had left was the fact he needed my participation badly enough to stage this entire psychotic performance instead of simply dragging me to an altar unconscious.
So, fine. If he wanted cooperation? He could earn it.
I turned back toward the women. “Well, nobody actually has my answer yet.”
The older woman hesitated. “Your answer?”
“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “The very important part where I agree before everyone starts aggressively buying centerpieces.”
None of them corrected me. Which meant Malrik actually cared whether I said yes. Not legally obviously. Men like him didn’t care about legality. But psychologically? He wanted submission, compliance, willingness. Which honestly made this feel significantly more disturbing.
The older woman recovered first. “Mr. Drax expects your answer soon.”
“Hm.” I looked thoughtfully toward the dress bags again. “Maybe.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Maybe?”
“Well, if he wants an answer, then I need things first.”
The younger girl finally looked confused enough to speak. “Things? ”
“Yes.” I gestured dramatically around the room. “Do these look like the wedding choices of someone prepared to commit emotionally?”
Neither of them answered. Correct response honestly. I walked toward the flowers again before picking one of the roses free.
“I want orchids.”
“You hate orchids.”
I pointed immediately. “That information feels invasive.”
The younger girl looked dangerously close to laughing again.
“I also want new dresses. Better ones.”
“We can arrange that.”
“And jewelry.”
“There’s already jewelry selected.”
“ I haven’t selected it.”
The older woman slowly pulled out a small notebook.
“She’s taking notes,” I whispered.
“What else would you require before giving your answer? ”
I kept my expression neutral while relief quietly slid through me. If they were negotiating, that meant I still had time. Maybe not much, but enough to breathe. Enough to hope. Enough for Nikolai not to disappear.
“I want imported candles,” I continued casually. “And a different cake.”
“There’s already a tasting prepared tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll decide tomorrow.”
The older woman wrote that down too.
“And I’m not getting married in this house.”
That made her pause. “Mr. Drax specifically requested the estate.”
“Well then Mr. Drax can specifically deal with disappointment.”
The younger girl outright choked trying not to laugh this time.
If I became difficult enough maybe Malrik would eventually decide murdering me sounded less exhausting.
Unfortunately, beneath all the sarcasm sat the real truth.
Every demand bought me another day. And right now? Another day was everything.
The older woman continued writing while I paced slowly across the room pretending, I wasn’t seconds away from a complete psychological collapse. I deserved an award for commitment to the performance alone. Because on the outside? I looked dramatic, annoyed, and maybe even slightly entertained.
Inside? Everything felt unstable. Every second inside this estate carried this awful underlying pressure like the walls themselves were counting down toward something irreversible.
Marriage. The word still didn’t feel real in my head. Not to Malrik. Not while every thought in my brain somehow kept circling back toward someone else entirely. Which was becoming deeply inconvenient emotionally.
The older woman looked up from her notes carefully. “Would you like to review venue options as well?”
I blinked at her. “Venue options?”
“Yes.”
“You people really committed to the kidnapping wedding aesthetic, huh?”
Silence…right. Nobody here joked except me apparently.
I walked toward the windows instead, staring out at the rain dragging across the estate grounds below. Guards moved through the property in dark uniforms while expensive black vehicles lined the long circular driveway beneath the storm.
Too many guards. Too many exits covered. Running would be stupid. That settled heavily in my stomach because if escape had actually felt possible, I probably would’ve tried already. I stayed, waiting. For what exactly? Roman? Nikolai? A miracle? Therapy? Unclear.
“Miss Deveraux?”