Chapter 7 – Dimitri #2
I want to break his jaw and swallow the teeth.
“Who are you,” I ask, voice low, “and why have you been following my wife?”
He straightens. “I’m sorry we haven’t been introduced. Vivian told me to come in today. My name is Kyle. I’ve been Vivian’s bodyguard for years.”
I relax.
Only a fraction.
Barely noticeable.
He hesitates before adding, “Is it okay if I end this conversation? Miss Laurent wants a drink.”
“Mrs. Rusnak,” I correct sharply.
His eyes widen. He nods. “Pardon my manners, Mr. Rusnak.”
I turn away from him, dismissing him without another word. From the corner of my eye, I watch him order a strawberry mocktail, then walk back to Vivian.
She smiles up at him.
Touches his arm.
Laughs like he’s the one who owns her.
She’s very generous with those little touches.
Interesting.
She’s never done that to me—not once—except for that performance at the door when she pressed herself against me for show, for spite, for war.
I narrow my eyes in her direction, jealousy curdling into something darker.
Wait—no. No. It can’t be jealousy.
I don’t get jealous. I cause jealousy.
If I stay here another second, she’ll piss me off beyond repair.
But I don’t move.
I just stand there like an idiot with a god complex, watching her break away from Sienna and Elara, glide through the room, talking, laughing, glowing. Every guest hangs on her every word. She’s magnetic tonight—confident, untouchable, radiant.
And the whole time?
I watch her.
She’s breathtaking.
Annoyingly so.
“Dimitri.”
I turn and find Elara standing beside me. She looks…unimpressed. Which is ironic, considering I once helped save her life. We’ve always been cordial. Respectful. She’s Roman’s wife, and Roman is the brother I trust to handle a war with me.
But now?
Her loyalty has clearly shifted.
Fine. I don’t need her to like me.
“Hi, Elara.”
She glances at Vivian across the room—Vivian is mid-conversation, smiling at some woman like she didn’t start a war in my penthouse—and Elara’s jaw tightens before she turns back to me.
“Vivian is innocent,” she says quietly. “Her only crime is being born into the Laurent family. She’s kind, Dimitri.
She volunteers at shelters. Gives half her closet to charity.
She rescues animals, for God’s sake. She doesn’t deserve to be used as a pawn in whatever vengeance you’re trying to exact. ”
I laugh. A cold, amused sound.
“Did I ever tell you I intend to use Vivian as a pawn?”
Elara’s eyes narrow. “Why else would you pay that kind of money to marry her?”
I shrug lazily. “Maybe because she’s gorgeous. I like gorgeous women.”
Elara doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. “Dimitri, please—”
“Elara,” I cut in, voice low with finality, “with all due respect, drop it.”
Her nostrils flare. She looks at me like she wants to argue, but she also knows I don’t bluff. I don’t bend. And I won’t start with Vivian Laurent.
“Whatever you’re doing,” she says, voice softening into something that almost sounds like a warning, “be sure you can survive the consequences.”
I lift my drink in a mock toast. “I always do.”
She shakes her head and walks away.
I turn back toward Vivian—my wife—and find her laughing at something someone said.
And the jealousy comes back like a match struck in a dry forest.
No.
Not jealousy.
Possession.
Worse.
Soon, the party starts to thin. By midnight, Vivian walks the last guests—Sienna and Elara—to the door.
I remain at the empty bar, pretending to sip the drink I’m not even tasting, just waiting for a moment to get her alone. She probably knows I’m waiting. She keeps dragging out her goodbye with her friends, laughing too loudly, hugging too long, like she’s stalling.
Or maybe she’s waiting for Kyle to return so she won’t have to be alone with me.
But Kyle isn’t returning anytime soon. I made sure of that. Sylvester is downstairs keeping him occupied for as long as I give the word.
Eventually, Vivian runs out of excuses. She lets her friends step into the elevator, waves them off with a bright smile that flickers the second the doors slide shut.
I move.
Before she can turn around, before she can even take a breath, I’m on her—closing the distance in three strides and pinning her back against the wall. Her gasp hits my throat. My hands cage her in. Her eyes spark wide, furious and breathless at the same time.
Exactly what I came for.
“You look beautiful tonight.” I lower my mouth to her jaw, tracing the line of it with my teeth.
She gasps, her hands pushing weakly against my chest. “Let me go, Dimitri.”
“Who did you dress up for?” I murmur against her skin as I drag my lips down her neck. “Was it me?”
“Of course not!”
“That hurts.” I grab her face, my fingers firm on her cheeks as I angle her head up. I lean in, fast, stopping just before my mouth touches hers. Her eyes go wide—caught, cornered—but she doesn’t pull away. She just goes very, very still.
“You want to play the perfect wife?” I whisper, my breath brushing her lips. “Why don’t you play it for me, hmm?”
I touch her hand to her breast and squeeze slightly. She arches her back and releases a breath into my mouth.
“Dimitri, please….” The smallest crack in her voice gives her away.
And it only makes me want her more.
“Don’t.” My voice drops even lower, the kind of quiet that slices deeper than shouting. “Don’t play games you’re an amateur in.”
Her breath catches, her fingers trembling against my chest.
I let my thumb drag slowly across her lower lip—not gently, just enough to remind her who’s in control. “Don’t test me again, Vivian. You won’t like how I answer.”
For a moment, we’re frozen there: her pinned to the wall, me hovering over her like a storm I’m barely holding back. Then I release her face, step back, and the air between us snaps like a broken wire.
I turn and storm off, not trusting myself to look at her again.
Not trusting myself to leave if I do.