Chapter 4 – Vivian
I storm out of the gala so fast I’m barely aware of my own feet. My heart is pounding—violent, uneven, painful. My vision blurs, not from the lights or the cold night air, but from fear…and humiliation…and something I refuse to name.
No.
No.
No.
This can’t be happening.
Dimitri Rusnak?
Rusnak?!
The same man I’ve spent a year hating in secret—hating myself even more for remembering the way his hands felt on my skin…in the dark…in that damn stable in Monaco.
A Rusnak.
He’s a Rusnak.
Dwayne said the name so casually, like he wasn’t detonating a bomb right in front of me.
And then Dimitri looked at me with that infuriating, knowing smirk and said—
Welcome to the family, ma chère.
I choke on a breath.
Impossible.
This is impossible.
I still don’t know who I’m supposed to marry—my father refused to tell me—but it cannot be a Rusnak. Father would never. Never. Even drowning in debt, he’d rather let the family burn than hand me over to a Bratva dynasty.
The Rusnaks are barbarians. Criminals. The kind of men you warn your daughters to avoid like poison.
So why did Dimitri say—
My pulse spikes. I don’t think. I just move.
I head toward the garage, heels tapping against the marble, each step sounding like the countdown of a clock I can’t slow. I’m leaving. I don’t care if it’s dramatic or rude or scandalous. I can’t breathe in there. I can’t think.
I reach the garage doors and—
“Running from something, krasavitsa?”
I spin around so fast my hair whips my cheek.
He’s there.
Dimitri stands a few feet away, one hand shoved lazily into his pocket, the other curled into a fist like he’s barely holding himself back from…something.
His presence hits me like a collision: tall, broad, impossibly composed. A storm disguised in a suit.
“You tricked me.”
The words spill from me—cracked, uneven, too raw.
For the first time tonight, I don’t care about poise. Or elegance. Or the Laurent name.
He did this.
He ruined me once.
And now he’s here to ruin me again.
“Tricked you?” he echoes, like the word amuses him. “No, sweetheart, I saved you.”
My stomach twists.
Saved me?
“I bought what was offered.” His voice is calm. Too calm. Mocking. “Don’t pretend you’re not used to being a transaction.”
My breath stops.
His words hit harder than any slap could—cutting right into the place I hide from the world. The place where my dignity still tries to breathe.
Before I even register the movement, my hand flies.
A sharp, instinctive reaction—rage exploding through my palm.
But he’s faster.
His fingers wrap around my wrist mid-air, firm but not painful, and he pulls me closer with a single effortless tug. My chest brushes his. My breath tangles with his.
His voice drops, a low, dangerous whisper against my skin.
“You can hit me, Laurent. You can hate me.”
His grip tightens just enough that I feel the strength he’s holding back.
“But you’ll still wear my ring.”
A tremor goes down my spine. Not fear—something darker. Something I refuse to name.
I try to yank my hand back, but he doesn’t loosen his hold.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
“No.” His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts to my eyes with lethal intent. “You need to understand something, Vivian.”
He steps even closer, my back pressing lightly against the cool wall behind me.
“You weren’t chosen.” His lips curl in a cold, quiet smile. “You were claimed. By a Rusnak. By me.”
My pulse detonates.
My breath stutters.
My knees threaten to give out.
And all I can think—horrifyingly—is that this man is going to destroy my life….
“Let me go,” I hiss, my voice trembling with anger I can’t fully contain.
“Of course, my lady,” he says, mockingly polite, and finally releases my wrist.
I stumble back a step, catching myself against the garage wall, chest heaving. My fingers curl around the car door handle, knuckles white, heart hammering.
I slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind me, and grip the steering wheel like it could anchor me. I start the engine, tires squealing lightly as I pull off into the night, the city lights blurring past.
I’m furious. Furious at him, at my father, at myself. Furious at the world that treats women like property.
But beneath that anger, there’s something far worse. Something that churns low in my belly and curls like smoke around my spine. That burn. That want. That awful, inescapable memory from the stable. The same fire that burned in Monaco. That same ache that shouldn’t exist, yet refuses to die.
It’s alive.
And it’s waiting.
It’s always waiting.
Even now, as I drive into the night, trying to get my pulse to calm, I know one terrifying truth: I’m already inside the storm, and there’s no escaping Dimitri Rusnak.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
But I’ll be damned if I don’t put up a fight.
As soon as I arrive home, I burst into the foyer and sweep up the stairs, not stopping until I slam open my parents’ bedroom door.
My mom is at the vanity, her fingers brushing through her silver-blonde hair, which she rarely lets down.
She wears a silk skirt and blouse, scarf tied just so, designer slides on her feet.
My dad sits on the bed, flipping through a magazine with casual disinterest, the kind that drives me insane when I want him to see me.
They both look up.
“Vivian Laurent!” Mom snaps, the words clipped and sharp. “You don’t burst into people’s rooms without knocking!”
I don’t flinch. I stand there, chest heaving, hands gripping the edge of the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping me from lunging across the room.
“Don’t,” I warn, my voice low, dangerous. “I’m not in the mood for any of that. You’ve ruined my life! You’ve sold me to the devil!”
Mom freezes, her fingers still mid-air above her hair. Dad blinks, setting the magazine down like I’ve just dropped a bomb on the bed between us.
“You’ve gone too far, Vivian,” Mom says, her tone sharp with shock and offense. “This isn’t how ladies—”
“Ladies?” I cut her off, my voice rising, but measured enough to strike terror instead of provoke mockery. “Ladies don’t get auctioned off like livestock, Mother. And if you think I’m going to sit here quietly while you hand me over to a man I don’t even know—”
“Vivian!” Dad’s voice is sudden, sharp, trying to assert authority, but it lacks the confidence it used to have when I was a child. “You’re being dramatic. This is for your future. You’ll thank us one day. We’ve talked about this!”
“Okay.” I nod slowly, swallowing the scream clawing at my chest, fighting the tears burning behind my eyes. “Fine. Then tell me who I’m engaged to. Tell me.”
Dad’s jaw tightens. “Vivian,” he says again, more frustrated than firm. “You don’t need to know that yet.”
“Why?” I let out a broken, humorless laugh. “Why don’t I need to know the name of the man who’s going to own me?” My voice drops, brittle and sharp. “Because he’s a Rusnak?”
Both of them freeze.
Mom’s hand stills over her chair. Dad’s brows jerk up. Their eyes meet—quick, startled, guilty. It’s the smallest exchange, but it slices me clean open.
Confirmation.
My stomach plummets. My breath stutters. My heart cracks in a way I didn’t think was possible.
I take one step forward, then another, my anger rising like a tide.
“Is the man I’m set to marry Dimitri Rusnak?” I roar, the words tearing out of me.
Mom flinches—visibly—like the name itself slapped her. She’s never seen me like this. Then again, I’ve never been shoved into this hellish corner.
Their silence answers me.
Their silence damns them.
Their silence destroys the last fragile piece of hope I’d been clinging to. And in that moment, I feel something inside me break—and something else, something darker, begin to form in its place.
I stagger back a step, my hands clutching at the air like I can hold onto some shred of reality. “How…how could you wed me into the Bratva?” My voice is barely controlled, disbelief ripping through every word. “The Bratva, Father? Dimitri Rusnak?!”
My father shifts in his chair, unease flickering across his otherwise calm facade. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly caught between logic and fear.
Mom steps closer, her voice silk over steel, trying to soothe, to rationalize. “Vivian…listen. He—Dimitri—is the richest of all the contenders. He’s…the most desperate to have you. We had no choice.”
“No choice?” I spit the words, incredulous. “You could have—what? Chosen anyone else? Any other man? And you picked him?!”
Mom’s hands flutter briefly in that perfected, measured gesture she uses when she wants to be reasonable, maternal, untouchable all at once.
“You won’t be alone. Kyle is still going with you.
You can come see us anytime. You’ll have…
protection, and comfort. The life you’ve been groomed for isn’t gone. ”
I shake my head, fury and fear tangling inside me like snakes.
“Protection? Comfort? Do you hear yourselves? I’m supposed to be married to a man who—who could crush me without blinking!
” She reaches for my hand, but I yank it away.
“You think you’re helping me. But you’re selling me to a cage with bars I can’t even see yet! ”
Her face tightens, the perfect composure slipping just slightly. “Vivian, we’re doing this for you—for your survival. You don’t understand the stakes—”
“No! You don’t understand the stakes!” I shout back, my voice echoing through the room. “I’m a scapegoat. The Rusnak are Mafia, Mom! We’ve heard their stories. We know what they do. They’re evil.”
“What’s done is done, Vivian,” my father says, his tone tight but weary. “We also didn’t know until his signature was signed. He tricked us too. There’s nothing we can do but accept it. Okay? Just accept it and move on.”
“Move on?” I shake my head, disbelief and fury coiling in my chest like fire. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. How can you just…hand me over?”
I turn sharply, the room feeling smaller, suffocating, and storm out. My heels click harshly against the floor as I race up the stairs, through the foyer, and into the sanctuary of my room. I slam the door behind me, letting the lock click—a small, bitter comfort.
I slide down to the floor, back against the door, and inhale shakily. The world I thought I controlled has collapsed, and every piece of it now points toward Dimitri. And the thought makes my stomach twist with a mixture of fear, anger, and something I can’t yet name.
That night, I can’t sleep. I don’t even come close.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him—his mouth curved in that cruel, knowing way…his control, absolute and suffocating…the way he looked at me like I was both prey and punishment.
I toss. Turn. Kick the sheets off. Drag them back on. I stare at the ceiling until the shadows start to look like him too—broad shoulders, tall frame, the silhouette of a man who shouldn’t have this much power over my life…or my mind.
Why is he everywhere?
Why can’t I get rid of the burn he left in my body a year ago?
By 3 a.m., my pulse is still racing, my room feels too small, and my chest feels too tight.
I curl on my side, gripping the pillow, angry at myself for remembering his hands at the stable…angrier that some traitorous part of me still reacts to him.
I hate him.
I hate this.
And yet my heart won’t slow down.
Sleep never comes. Only the terrifying realization that Dimitri Rusnak isn’t done with me—not by a long shot.