Page 4 of Dark Prince

She nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “Well, make sure you enjoy your night. It's a big moment for both families.”

I thank her and move away, feeling like an actor in a play I never auditioned for. Each congratulations and smile feels like a mask over the reality of my situation. I am now Maura Ivanova, wife to a Bratva king. A wife who was blindsided into marrying her husband is still struggling to wrap her head around what just happened.

Despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me, I find my attention repeatedly drawn to Luk, as I’ve heard others call him. He moves through the crowd with an effortless grace, exuding a sense of power and control that seems to set him apart from everyone else. There's something about his presence, a kind of fearless aura that captivates and intimidates in equal measure.

My eyes drift to his hands, strong and commanding. There's a certain finality in their movements, and I have no doubt that they have been instruments of violence, tools in the brutal world he inhabits. It's a chilling thought, yet I can't seem to look away.

Near him, a small group of men and one woman who shares his imposing stature and sharp features catch my attention. Their resemblance to Luk is unmistakable—they must be his siblings.

Suddenly, Luk's gaze shifts in my direction, and our eyes meet for a fleeting moment. The intensity in his blue eyes is jarring, and I quickly avert my gaze, my cheeks warming slightly. I chastise myself internally; he's got me acting like a nervous teenager, flustered by a mere glance.

Before I can gather my thoughts, Sharon appears at my side, her expression one of thinly veiled irritation. "You're being a wallflower at your own damn wedding," she scolds, her voice low but sharp. “This is your night. Act like it.”

I can't help but scoff, the absurdity of the situation suddenly striking me. “My night?” I laugh bitterly. “You make it sound like this is the wedding I've dreamed about all my life, not something I was forced into without a moment's notice.”

Sharon's eyes narrow dangerously at my response, her voice icy. “In case you haven't figured it out yet, my dear, what you want is the lowest priority here. This is about more than just you.”

I open my mouth, a sharp retort on the tip of my tongue, ready to challenge her callous disregard for my life. But before I can utter a single word, the atmosphere shifts dramatically.

A man breaks through the crowd; his movements are swift, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. The room seems to freeze as he approaches, his focus locked on me. Sharon tries to question him, “Who the hell are you?” but he doesn't even acknowledge her. In one fluid motion, he draws a gun, his intention clear as he aims directly at me. The realization of what's about to happen hits me like a tidal wave, fear and disbelief coursing through me as the man prepares to fire.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the gun, its barrel a dark, ominous tunnel pointing straight at me. Time seems to slow down, and my heart is pounding in my ears. But before the man can pull the trigger, a blur of motion catches the corner of my eye.

A huge, imposing figure lunges forward, his movements a blend of speed and deadly precision. He grabs the assailant's wrist, twisting it with a force that produces a sickening crack. The gun slips from the attacker's grasp, but the man catches it effortlessly before it hits the floor, tucking it securely into the back of his waistband.

Only then do I dare to look up at him.

Luk, my husband, stands towering over the would-be assassin. His face is a mask of controlled fury, his blue eyes cold and hard. Without a word, he delivers a punishing strike to the man's face, sending him sprawling to the floor. Gasps sound from the crowd.

The attacker, dazed but not defeated, scrambles for a second weapon hidden at his ankle. But Luk is relentless, his rage obvious. He unleashes a barrage of blows, each one landing with a brutality that leaves the partygoers frozen in shock and horror.

Luk's fury is like a force of nature, unstoppable and fierce. The man beneath him stands no chance; each attempt to defend himself is met with an even more vicious response. Luk beats him to the edge of consciousness, the severity of the attack leaving the assailant barely clinging to life.

The room is silent, the previous merriment replaced by an invasive sense of dread and fear.

As I stand there, frozen in shock, two men quickly approach Luk, their expressions grim but controlled. They're the same men I noticed earlier, the ones who bear a striking resemblance to my husband.

“Enough, brother!” one of them commands, his voice firm as he and the other man pull Luk away from the brutalized assailant. “He's more useful to us alive than dead. We can get information out of him.”

Luk, still seething with barely contained rage, pauses and then nods tersely in agreement.

They lift the unconscious man with ease, carrying him out of the room as the crowd parts to let them through. Luk watches, his chest rising and falling with deep, slow breaths, his expression stony. The tension in the air is tangible, the violence having shattered the festive atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Sharon steps forward, trying to regain control over the situation that is quickly spiraling out of control. “Let the band play,” she orders sharply. “Everyone, please continue with the celebration.”

As the music starts up again, an awkward attempt to restore normalcy, my heart pounds against my ribcage, my eyes lingering on the small pools of blood on the floor that belong to the would-be assassin.

The world my father had always shielded me from now stares me in the face, raw and unfiltered. My mind races with the implications of what this means for my future, my safety, and the true nature of the man I've just married.

As the guests attempt to recapture the gala mood of the party as if nothing happened, my gaze remains locked on Luk. His hands are stained with blood, a startling contrast to his pale skin, and there's a smear of red on his face. The fight has disrupted his perfect composure; his hair, once slicked back meticulously, is now disheveled, with a few thick strands falling across his forehead, giving him the look of a wild man.

Luk pulls a handkerchief from his inner coat pocket and wipes the blood from his hands and face with an apathetic efficiency that speaks of his familiarity with such situations.

I know I shouldn't feel this way, but there's something undeniably compelling about Luk at that moment. He looks like a predator, a creature that has just defended its territory. The raw power and primal energy he exudes are strangely alluring, stirring something within me that I can't quite put my finger on.

More than that, the realization that he would have killed the man who threatened causes gooseflesh to erupt on my arms. Even if Luk sees me as nothing more than his property, his willingness to protect me at all costs is impressive. My heart races as our eyes meet; the intensity of his gaze captivates me.

Luk strides toward me, his expression unreadable but for a glint in his eyes that resembles hunger. I start to awkwardly stammer out a thank you, unsure of how else to respond to the violence he just unleashed to protect me. But he cuts me off, making it clear that gratitude is not what he's after.

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