Chapter 68

ALINA

The heavy doors creaked open with a groan, revealing the opulent bedroom on the other side. I stood at the threshold, rooted in place, staring at the gleaming marble floors and velvet-draped windows like they were part of a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

“Mrs. Dimitri,” one of the guards said flatly behind me, a subtle reminder—an order disguised as respect.

My jaw clenched at the name.

Mrs. Dimitri.

It tasted like ash.

Like surrender.

Like everything I had just given up with a single stroke of a pen.

I turned my head slightly, a razor-edged smile tugging at my lips.

“Call me that again,” I said, tilting my head with a sweet, twisted smile,

“and I’ll carve that smug little title out of your throat myself. Who knows? Might even frame your tongue as a wedding keepsake.”

I didn’t have the faintest clue how to do any of that.

But they didn’t need to know that.

I stepped inside, barely feeling the sting of their eyes as the door clicked shut behind me—final, cold, like the closing of a coffin.

I sagged against the door, breath shallow, eyes unfocused. I didn’t move. Just stood there, frozen, arms hanging heavy at my sides—as if if I stayed still long enough, the world might finally stop spinning.

How had it come to this?

Just days ago, my life was brutal but it was mine.

I hated my father—never took a cent from him.

Every meal, every flicker of light, every damn repair at the orphanage—I earned it all.

Scraped and fought for it.

Kissed the kids’ sleepy foreheads, pulled on worn-out boots, begged suppliers who stopped answering my calls.

And now… I was here.

A wife.

His wife.

The room was soaked in velvet and gold—a palace pretending to be a sanctuary.

But I knew better.

This was no sanctuary.

This was a cage wrapped in silk.

A cage built by a man, where monsters would look like angels in comparison.

I moved through it like a ghost, my reflection catching in the vanity mirror.

No vows had been spoken.

No music, no promises, no choice.

Just a pen shoved into my hand, a contract, and his cold voice telling me what I was now.

His.

A bitter laugh clawed at my throat, but it died before it escaped—hollow, broken.

Mrs. Dimitri.

The words tasted like poison, like rot beneath my skin. A title I never wanted, tied to a man I didn’t choose.

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat stayed lodged.

Those damn tears welled up, but I blinked them away, hard.

No. He wasn’t getting my tears.

He’d already stolen too much—my name, my freedom, my goddamn choice.

He would not take my tears.

He didn’t deserve them.

He didn’t deserve me.

Alexander might have dragged me into this nightmare, shoved that marriage contract into my hands—

But I’m not his.

Not my body.

Not my mind.

Not my soul.

He will never have me.

Mrs. Dimitri.

I wanted to rip that name from my skin, scrape it out of my mouth.

I slammed my hand down on the dresser—hard enough to sting, hard enough to remind me I was still alive—and glared at the reflection staring back at me from every glossy surface.

“You’re not his. You’re not his. You’re not his,”

I whispered, like if I said it enough, maybe the lie would become truth.

I drew in a breath that barely made it past my throat and pulled myself away from the mirror.

Every step sharp, every movement thick with a rage I didn’t know what to do with.

My eyes roamed the room—his room.

Ornate. Pristine. Soulless.

The vanity, the closet, the ridiculous chandelier hanging like a mocking crown—it made me want to scream.

Or smash something.

Maybe both.

This wasn’t my room.

This wasn’t my life.

And it sure as hell wasn’t my choice.

I clenched my fists so tight my nails bit into my palms.

The orphanage—the only place that still felt like home—was now a chess piece on his board.

And me?

I was trapped.

Alexander hadn’t even needed to twist my arm.

Just... show me where it would hurt most.

A sharp breeze slipped through the open balcony door, tugging me outside before I could stop myself.

Below, the city stretched out—bright, endless, and utterly unaware that somewhere above, a girl had just traded her freedom for the safety of those she loved.

The night air was cold and real against my skin, grounding me.

A single tear slipped down my cheek, and

I wiped it away quickly, scolding myself.

"Stop fucking crying!"

I leaned forward, eyes tracing the darkness below—no ledge, no escape, just a cold, endless drop.

He was right.

There was no way out.

Congratulations, Alina.

You’re no longer a free woman—you’re a prisoner, bound to a man who sees you as nothing more than possession.

I stayed out there until the city began to blur, not from tears but from how long I stared at it.

Trying to calm the noise in my head.

Then—I heard it.

The soft click of a door opening behind me.

I didn’t turn.

Let him come in.

Let him come, in his perfectly pressed suit, every inch the calculated monster the world feared, as if this—this—wasn’t the moment he’d tied a leash around my life with nothing more than a pen and a contract.

My jaw locked so tightly I thought I’d crack a molar.

Slow, sound of footsteps crossed the polished floor.

I didn’t turn.

He came to stand beside me at the balcony, his presence like a shadow—calm, watchful, immovable.

He looked down at the city below, the lights stretching like a net of gold and glass.

“Planning your escape already, wife?”

I didn’t answer.

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Long drop. But I imagine even you wouldn’t be dramatic enough to throw yourself off the balcony on our wedding night.”

Then he added, dry and flat,

“Besides, it would ruin the view.”

I turned to look at him slowly, expression blank, voice razor-edged.

“Don’t worry,” I said coolly.

“If I ever do jump, I’ll make sure you’re standing right underneath. That way, at least I’ll ruin something that actually deserves it.”

His lips twitched.

“Dramatic as always,” he murmured, letting out a low, humorless laugh.

“If you aim for me… you’d better not miss.”

His voice dropped, sharp as glass.

“Because I don’t give second chances.”

He leaned forward, each movement deliberate, suffocating.

“Make no mistake, Alina—if you fall, I’ll decide if it’s the end... or just the beginning of your pain.”

I didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the tremor that ran beneath my skin.

So I simply ignored him.

A sharp breeze cut through the night, and I wrapped my arms tight around myself, the chill gnawing at my skin—but it couldn’t dull the fire burning inside me.

He exhaled sharply.

“You’re shaking… Come inside,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying a strange tenderness beneath the sharp edge.

“It’s cold out here. I wouldn’t want my new wife to catch a cold.”

“How sweet. You didn’t flinch when you blackmailed me, or when you used innocent children as leverage—but now you’re worried I’ll get the sniffles? Touching.”

“That sharp tongue of yours Alina… always ready to bite. I like it. Keeps things interesting.”

He took off his jacket and placed it over my shoulders like he hadn’t just burned my entire life to the ground.

“Now that you’re officially mine,” he said, a small, almost cruel smile tugging at his lips,

“it’s my duty to keep you safe. No need to be freezing out here—if you want to brood, you can do it inside.”

I stiffened beneath his touch, heat flaring where the fabric brushed my skin.

A flicker of something—confusion, maybe—rising inside me.

Care?

From him?

“Save your ‘duty,’” I snapped.

“I’m not your possession to protect.”

But even as the words left my mouth, a part of me hated how warm the jacket felt against my skin.

“Possession? Damn right. The moment you signed that paper, I won. You became mine—body, mind, soul. Whether you like it or not, you belong to this world now, to me. And I swear, I’ll tear anyone apart who even thinks about touching you... not without me destroying them first. I don’t just want you—I need you. And I never, ever lose what’s mine.”

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. I shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor between us like something filthy.

“You don’t win by breaking someone,” I said, my voice low, trembling—but not with fear. Rage. Disgust.

“You think owning my body means you own me? That forcing my signature on a piece of paper gives you the right to me?”

I stepped forward, chest tight, breath shaking.

“You didn’t win, Alexander. You just bought silence. Submission. And one day… that leash you’re so proud of? It’s going to snap.”

For a beat, he said nothing.

The wind whipped between us, tugging at the hem of my dress, but he stood still—stone-carved and dangerous.

Then he stepped into my space, slow and deliberate, until I could feel the heat of him, smell the scent of expensive cologne and sin.

His hand rose—not rough, not cruel, but terrifying in its gentleness—as he brushed a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep, wife,” he murmured, voice like velvet wrapped around a blade.

“But I didn’t buy silence. I bought you. Every glare. Every breath. Every time you flinch when I’m close.”

He leaned in, his lips just brushing the shell of my ear.

“And if you think that fire in your eyes scares me… sweetheart, it only makes me hungrier.”

I stood my ground, refusing to look away.

“I may be forced to play your perfect little wife in this twisted game, but I will never play by your rules.”

“Fuck, you’re sexy when you try to act tough.”

His voice—low, amused, soaked in something dark and wicked—curled around me like smoke, thick and suffocating.

“It’s that fire in you,” he went on, stepping closer, his presence wrapping around me like a vice.

“The way you spit venom and glare like you’re not mine. Like you still have a choice.”

He paused behind me, his breath hot against the side of my neck.

“It drives me fucking insane, Alina. The fight in you... the way you look at me like you'd rather kill me than kiss me.”

He chuckled, low and raw.

“Every time you push back, every time you swear you hate me—it makes me want to tear the lies from your lips and fuck the truth out of you.”

His hand brushed my hip—possessive, unapologetic.

“You think I want obedience?” he whispered.

“No. I want you. Wild, furious, untamed. I want to ruin the fight in you slowly… because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His words hit me harder than I expected.

Not just the threat laced in desire, but the hunger.

The need.

My heart stuttered, tripping over itself as I stared at him, speechless.

I hated that I could feel the heat in his voice sliding under my skin.

I hated that for a split second… I forgot how to breathe.

I swallowed hard, blinking at him.

His words…

Or the part of me that almost believed them.

His gaze didn’t just rest on me. It devoured.

Slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to strip me bare without lifting a single finger.