Page 21 of Reign of Four

The one thing I want more than anything stays hidden in Liam’s pants.

I stare at it whenever he isn’t looking—imagining the weight of it in my palm, how smooth the sheath is, how sharp the blade. He fiddles with it absentmindedly, taking it out to swing it between his fingertips every half hour, but even with such a small gesture as that, I can tell he isn’t familiar with holding one in his hands.

When Mikhail taught me how to handle a knife, he told me that the blade is an extension of yourself—that it’s your willpower coming out to play. If you curve your palm around the handle and hold it like it’s only ever been yours, then it becomes precious . . . and something like that, you’ll never drop.

Or so he claims. During our practice, despite my attempts at making the knife feel like mine, he still disarmed me four out of five times. But watching Liam with a knife makes it clear that there’s a distinction between a man like Mikhail and a man like Liam: my boyfriend holds the knife like a lover, while my ex holds the knife like a tool.

I’m sure they view me in much the same way.

Cold hands grasp my shoulders from behind, and Liam steps into view of my vanity mirror. He rubs tight circles at the tension in my muscles, humming disapprovingly. “Whatever you’re frowning about, zhena, I’m sure I can fix.” He presses a gentle kiss to my cheek before gazing at our reflection. We look just as good as we did at our last public outing together, back in the before. His gaze lingers on my lips, taking in the matte burgundy blush that I know he likes.

If tonight is about manipulation, I’m striking first.

His mouth lingers against my skin. “Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

A million girls would swoon at such a declaration, but I can see it for what it is: another thinly veiled manipulation tactic. Behind Liam’s tender gaze lies a calculating cold that matches the frigidity of his fingers. He’s trying to figure out how to win me over.

I’ve already told him what I need. I think he’s stalling on pulling the trigger.

“Is tonight really necessary?” I fiddle with a garnet earring that won’t close. “I’ve already met your parents, and your brother Anton seems a little—” too fond of me—“abrasive.”

“Tonight isn’t only about my family.” Liam hooks a finger into a ringlet curl dangling over the back of my neck. “It’s about ours. A proper union.” The curl snags as he wraps his finger around it and tugs. “Much like how we’ll be united tonight. Were you going to tell me that your cycle ended, Valentina?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, proving his ire, but I’d feel it even without his words. His fingers burrow into my hair, pulling at each and every strand tucked inside the tight, criss-crossed row of bobby pins at the back.

My scalp stings even as my blood runs cold. My period ended this morning, way earlier than usual—damned stress fucking with my cycle—but I tried my best to fake it. I used a tampon despite not needing one, and I even dug my nails into my thigh to draw enough blood to leave a paper trail in the bathroom trash. Maybe he’s been digging through the trash or staring at my crotch while I sleep. I wouldn’t put either past him.

Either way, he knows.

I meet Liam’s gaze in the mirror. “No.” I have no intention of giving this man any more motivation to get me naked. Informing him of my shortly lived period would add fuel to the fire that I sorely want to avoid. But, to save face, I quickly add—“I wanted to surprise you after the party.”

Liam’s expression softens on a dime. He unwinds his fingers from my hair and massages my scalp. “And I’ve ruined the surprise. I’m sorry, darling.” He runs a hand through his blonde locks and takes a deep breath. “I’m under a lot of pressure, as you undoubtedly know.”

I try not to roll my eyes. It wouldn’t be stressful if he were equipped for the job.

His voice rumbles across my skin. “A little love from my wife tonight will ease a lot of tension . . . and I’ve been very patient.” Sliding his hand from my head to my shoulders, he resumes massaging my muscles, pressing tender kisses across my skin everywhere he touches.

I hold my breath as I apply the finishing touches to my makeup, careful to play the part of dutiful wife. To hide the way my skin crawls and my stomach churns every time he touches me.

Tonight. If I’m getting the fuck out of here, it has to be tonight.

“It’s been seven days,” Liam murmurs against the back of my neck, “and they haven’t come for you.”

I keep my expression as neutral as possible as his eyes flicker to mine. I’ve been counting so many things lately, but the days have been the hardest, each one signifying something I’m scared to admit?—

Either my men have failed to find me, or they decided I wasn’t worth the effort, after all.

“Was it worth it, Valentina?”

I snap my blush case shut. “Was what worth it?”

“Giving yourself to them.”

A rush of emotion swirls in my chest—all the longing and hope for a future with Andrei, Ezra, and Mikhail mixing with sorrow at their absence. Silence speaks louder than words, and the three of them have been nothing but silent for days. Their inaction proves that they don’t want me, after all, even when I was going to give them everything.

I picture myself in my wedding dress, and fresh heartache wraps its tendrils tight around my ribs. A blush blooms across my cheeks as embarrassment floods my system. I was going to let them use my body as they wanted, take my name as theirs, keep my throne, run my Bratva, run my life.

All because I thought I was in love. Pain lances through me, and I have to grit my teeth to keep tears at bay.

In the end, was it worth it?

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