Chapter 5 – Dimitri
The wedding happens exactly three days later.
Because I said so.
Because Vivian tried to slap me in the garage at the art gala and ran away.
Because I want to prove to her that no matter how far she runs, she can never run far enough.
The ceremony is a spectacle. White roses climb the walls, crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, and the press swarms like flies hungry for a story: “Union of Two Great Dynasties!” The headlines will scream it, and the world will know who controls the Laurent legacy now.
Vivian stands beside me in a pale-gold gown. She looks beautiful, untouchable…remote. Her hand is stiff in mine, each finger pressed reluctantly against mine like a silent protest. The air around her is tense, fragrant with expensive perfume and unspoken defiance. I savor it.
The host’s voice drones over the vows, but I only hear her breath, the slight hitch when she swallows, the tiny shiver I can feel even through the stiffness of her posture. My pulse quickens—not with love, not with warmth—but with anticipation. I’ve waited a year for this moment.
All my brothers are here, dressed in black, successfully hiding their shock at this union.
They didn’t know I was getting married until yesterday.
Until today, they thought it was a joke.
Their wives sit like statues beside them, polite, poised, mirroring the shock on their husbands’ faces.
Elara looks very upset, and naturally, Roman, her husband, mirrors her mood.
Typical.
Vivian’s friend, Sienna Roth, is there too. She looks ready to intervene, to comfort her, maybe even to make a scene. But she won’t. She knows better. They all do.
I glance down at Vivian. All through the ceremony, her hatred is a living thing. Sharp. Bright. Delicious.
Vivian doesn’t even try to hide it—her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed, her posture rigid like she’s resisting the urge to stab me with the nearest crystal centerpiece. And God, it thrills me.
The more she fights, the more I want her submission.
The more she hates me, the sweeter the victory will be when she finally breaks.
When the priest announces us husband and wife, I lean down, brushing my mouth near her ear, close enough that she goes perfectly still.
“Now you belong to me,” I murmur, my voice low, meant for her alone. “And I will make sure the world sees what happens when a Laurent crosses a Rusnak.”
Her eyes widen, a tremor running through her—not fear exactly, not yet. Confusion.
Real confusion.
“What have I done to cross you?” she whispers back, stunned.
For a heartbeat, I pause.
Does she truly not know?
Does she really have no idea how far back this goes?
Or is she pretending, trying to play innocent the way all Laurents do?
I stare into those green eyes, searching.
Nothing.
No recognition.
No guilt.
Just the pure, bewildered outrage of a woman being dragged into a war she didn’t know she started.
I ignore her question.
Of course I do.
Instead, I slide a hand to her waist, pull her just slightly closer, and kiss her.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Not for show.
A claiming.
And when I pull back, she looks like she might set me on fire right there at the altar. Perfect.
We head to the reception next, and I finally let go of her hand when Elara swoops in like a furious little hurricane wrapped in couture. She pulls Vivian away with a frown sharp enough to cut glass.
I watch them from across the room—Vivian, Elara, and Sienna huddled together. Three society darlings whispering like they’re plotting my immediate death. I can practically hear Vivian’s voice from here, dramatic as ever: He’s Satan’s kin. He dragged me to hell and married me there.
Funny.
I haven’t even done anything to her.
Yet.
My brothers try getting my attention too—Lev with his curious stare, Niko with suspicion written all over his face.
Kaz looks amused. Roman is as upset as Elara.
Adrian is calmly surveying the situation.
Lukin, the Pakhan, hasn’t said anything for now.
Though he’s looking at me like he has a lot to say.
They want answers. They want explanations. They want to know why I, of all people, walked into a marriage trap I usually burn other men alive for falling into.
I avoid them like the plague.
I didn’t do all this for a family meeting.
If they knew the truth—that I orchestrated this union to settle a debt soaked in blood, old as the stable incident only she remembers….
If they knew I used Vivian Laurent as the perfect scapegoat in a revenge she doesn’t even understand yet….
There would be chaos.
Questions.
Maybe even a lecture.
But regret? No.
Right now, nothing and no one can make me regret this.
Marrying Vivian Laurent is one of my best ideas yet.
And soon…they’ll understand exactly why.
When the reception ends, the crowd thins—one cluster of socialites after another drifting out like fading perfume—and I lift a hand and signal to Vivian.
She sees it.
And she doesn’t move at first.
Then, with a frown carved deep enough to show exactly how she feels about being summoned by her brand-new husband, she slowly breaks away from Elara and Sienna.
“It’s time to leave,” I say when she reaches me. “Say your goodbyes.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse you….”
I tilt my head, amused. “Do you want me to drag you across the field and into the car?”
She goes still. Then she gives me a glare so sharp it could gut a man. Unfortunately for her, I’m not a man—I’m a Rusnak. And nothing she throws at me hurts.
She turns back to her friends. Whatever she tells them makes all three of them look up and glare at me like a trio of vengeful angels.
I flash them a slow, unbothered smile.
Vivian hugs them tightly—Sienna whispering something fierce into her ear, Elara gripping her like she’s sending her into battle.
Then she returns to me.
Silent.
Stiff.
Radiating fury like a perfume.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We say our goodbyes to the remaining guests and head toward the waiting car.
I’m taking her to my penthouse—her new home—for the night.
She probably doesn’t know that yet, because she sits stiff beside me like a marble statue carved out of outrage and designers.
She likely thinks I’m carting her off somewhere to consummate our marriage.
A reasonable assumption. A wrong one.
Though…I can’t pretend the thought didn’t cross my mind.
Vivian Laurent is gorgeous. Painfully so.
And ever since that day in the Monaco stables—her body pressed against mine, her breath catching, her eyes wide and furious—I’ve thought about her more than I should.
I’ve imagined the softness of her skin.
The way she fits against me.
Yes, I’ve even finished myself off to the memory of her—more than a few times. But not tonight. Not yet. Revenge tastes better slow.
The car pulls into the private garage beneath my building. Vivian looks around as if the walls themselves might swallow her. I step out first, then gesture for her.
She hesitates, then exits the car with the elegance of someone pretending not to be terrified.
We walk to the private elevator—only accessible with my keycard.
The doors slide open.
We step inside.
She stands rigid in the corner, arms folded tightly, chin raised like she’s preparing for execution.
The silence stretches.
The elevator climbs.
And for the first time tonight, I can feel her breathing harder than I am. When the doors slide open to my penthouse floor, I step aside and nod toward the hall.
“Out.”
My voice is quiet, but it lands like a blow. She flinches, then walks forward on shaky legs.
“Your things are already in your room,” I add, watching the way her shoulders tense. “First door on the right.”
She steps into the hallway, dazed, like she’s not sure how she got here. Then she turns back to me.
“You’re…you’re not coming in?” she asks, eyes wide, voice small but trembling at the edges—like she’s afraid of the answer and daring me to give it anyway.
I shake my head once.
Her throat works. “So what do you want from me?”
I let the answer settle heavily between us.
“I don’t need your body,” I say, each word deliberate, controlled, cruel. “I only need you to wear my name while I dismantle your family piece by piece.”
Her lips part. Confusion. Hurt. Then fear.
And then—slowly—anger.
“Why?” she whispers. “Why are you doing this?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t even blink.
She deserves the truth, but she’s not ready for it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. I press the button to close the elevator doors.
As the gap narrows, I catch the flicker in her eyes—tears she refuses to let fall, fury she refuses to hide.
She looks at me like a challenge.
Like a spark begging for gasoline.
Fine.
If she wants a war, I’ll give her one.
The doors seal shut, cutting her from my view, but not from my mind.
And in the darkness of the descending elevator, I already know one thing with absolute certainty:
She’s going to fight me. Hard. And God help both of us—I want her to.
My phone beeps as the elevator takes me down. The sound slices through the silence, sharp enough to drag me out of my thoughts. I pull the phone from my pocket.
A text from Lukin.
We need to talk.
Followed by an address. It’s Lev’s house.
Great. I know why Lukin is calling a meeting. I’d rather not, but when the Pakhan calls, you answer. Even if he’s your brother.
The elevator opens into the underground garage. My mind keeps drifting back to Vivian’s face in that last second—the tears she refused to shed, the anger she didn’t bother to hide. I shove it away and slide into my car.
The engine roars to life. I drive.
The city blurs past in streaks of light. I’m not really seeing any of it. All I see is Lukin’s text. Lev’s house. I know all of them will be waiting in that room. That combination only happens when someone is either dead…or about to be.
When I pull up to Lev’s place, the gate opens immediately. They’re expecting me.
Sasha opens the front door before I can knock. She’s barefoot, still wearing the dress she had on at the reception, her hair tied up messily like she’s starting to wind down for the night.
“Dimitri, hi,” she says, stepping aside. “How’s Vivian holding up? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Where are they?”
“They’re in the study.”
Something tightens in my chest.
I nod and step inside. The house is warm, quiet, unsettlingly still. I can hear low voices from deeper inside—Lev’s controlled tone and Lukin’s dark rumble. Kaz laughs.
I make my way down the hallway, every step heavier than the last, and pause with my hand on the study door.
Whatever waits for me on the other side…I have a feeling Vivian’s name is about to come up in a way I won’t like.
I step fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind me. The faint scent of expensive liquor hits me, but it’s nothing new. I already know how this will go.
Kaz grins, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Well, if it isn’t the leading man.”
I smirk, letting it roll off me like water. “I’d have thought you all knew better than to summon me on my wedding night.”
Roman scoffs, leaning back in his chair, his glass half-empty.
“Cut the bullshit,” he says, voice low but edged. “Elara knows the truth about your wedding to Vivian. She told me everything.”
I raise an eyebrow, pretending to consider the magnitude of his words. “And I assume you’ve told everyone else?”
“Why not?” Roman leans forward, voice sharper now. “It’s unfair. You bought a wife via auction, Dimitri!”
I tilt my head, letting the words settle. There’s a rhythm to this room—the tension, the unspoken rule that no Rusnak hides anything for long.
“I don’t see the unfair part,” I say, voice ice-cold but calm. “She was offered. I merely…made sure the price was right.”
Lukin leans forward from his seat, amber eyes narrowed. “The price isn’t the point. You treated her like an item. She is not a commodity, Dimitri. She’s—”
“Not a commodity?” I cut him off, letting the sarcasm drip. “Lukin, let’s be honest. The Laurent girl came with a name, an empire, a reputation…and a weakness. I didn’t create that. Her father did.”
A tense silence falls across the room. My brothers’ eyes flick between one another. Niko shakes his head, taking a slow sip from his glass. Adrian doesn’t bother hiding his frustration.
“I know this is all about revenge for you, Dimitri, but the girl is innocent,” Adrian says.
I arch an eyebrow, letting the words sink in. Innocent. Right. As if that matters.
“Okay,” I say slowly, my voice measured. “Are you all suddenly paragons of morality? Adrian, remind me—how did you marry Jennie again?” I glance around the room, letting the question linger like smoke. “In fact, all of you married your wives the same way. Do I need to run through the list?”
Roman scoffs but doesn’t answer immediately. I turn to him. “Roman, wasn’t your story with Elara similar to mine? You tried before she became your wife, and I was there to—what?—congratulate you? Don’t piss me off.”
“You know what the difference is,” Roman says, his voice sharp. “We realized we had something for these women before they became our wives. It was only a matter of time. Do you feel the same for Vivian?”
I let the question hang between us like a blade. My brothers shift, the tension thick enough to taste. Kaz suppresses a grin. Lev rubs his temple. Niko watches me like I’m about to detonate. Adrian’s jaw ticks, his frustration clear.
I lean back in my chair, eyes narrowed, and let out a slow, lazy exhale. “Do I feel the same for Vivian?” I repeat, my tone deliberately casual, almost mocking. “No.”
Roman’s eyes narrow, but I don’t flinch.
“No,” I say again, firmer this time. “Because this isn’t a love story. This isn’t some Rusnak fairytale where the man falls first, and the woman softens him. There’s nothing to fall for.”
Adrian lets out a sharp breath. “So you openly admit you’re punishing a girl who did nothing to you?”
I stiffen, just a flicker of heat crossing my face—small, quick, gone before they can name it.
Kaz leans forward, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “Ah. So she did do something.”
I fix him with a glare, warning sharp as a knife. “Careful, Kaz. Keep your mouth shut unless you want your teeth knocked in.”
He laughs. I shift my gaze back to the room, letting the tension settle. “She’s a Laurent,” I say finally, voice low and cold. “That’s sin enough.” I rise from the chair. “Now, pardon me, I have to return home to my new wife.”
I leave the room without a backward glance.