Page 72 of Sinful Games

"Valeria, please, if she wakes u?—"

"Don’t worry, I won’t tell her. Do you know when you’ll be back?"

Before I could answer, a loud banging echoed through the room, and Drayi’s impatient voice cut through the air. "Caia, hurry the fuck up!"

I sighed. "I don’t know. But I’ll text you, okay?"

Valeria nodded, concern etched on her face. "Just… be safe, Caia. I can’t lose you too."

Before leaving, I quickly slipped into my black Louboutin heels, the signature red soles clicking against the floor. I draped my black long fur coat over my arm, savoring its softness against my skin.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and opened the door, ready to face whatever awaited me on the other side.

“Mankiev’s not gonna be happy.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t care. It’s my damn wedding; I’ll dress how I want.”

Drayi chuckled as he parked in front of Igor’s Manor. The entrance was already lined with an array of fancy cars—a matte black Range Rover, a shiny red Lamborghini, two white Bentleys, a black Maserati, and, of course, my father’s black Mercedes.

“The epitome of subtlety,” I muttered sarcastically.

As my nerves kicked in, my lungs tightened, and my throat felt like it was on fire. The reality of the situation hit me again—I was gettingmarried.

The urge to bolt surged within me. The idea of running through the snow-covered woods, freezing or not, seemed infinitely more appealing than enduring the day ahead. But just as that thought peaked, the car door swung open, and my father’s stern voice shattered my daydream.

“Hurry up, you’re late.”

Reluctantly, I stepped out, feeling his critical gaze sweep over me from head to toe. Instinctively, I pulled my coat tighter, hiding the rebellious dress beneath.

With a firm grip on my arm, he led me toward the imposing entrance of Igor’s Manor. Each step felt like a march toward my own execution.

“You’ve only got a few fucking words to say,” my father spat as we entered, and an old woman stepped forward to take our coats. “And you better make them convincing. The mayor of Moscow is here, and I’d hate for him to think I raised you wrong.”

Reluctantly, I shed my fur coat. It felt like I was discarding my last layer of protection, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. My father’s gaze dropped to my dark blood-red dress—a clear act of rebellion—before slowly meeting mine.

Like Queen Mary Stuart heading to her execution, I wore a red dress, fully aware it was all just a grotesque spectacle of our twisted fates.

Suddenly, my father raised his hand, and I braced myself for the inevitable, closing my eyes. But when I opened them, I saw Romaniev, his hand gripping my father’s arm, standing close and towering over him.

Whispers spread through the room. As I glanced around, I noticed Volk, Igor, Vlad, and an unfamiliar man at the end of the corridor, just outside the living room. They all held glasses of champagne, silently observing the scene.

“I see you’re wearing the dress I sent you, Caia,” Alexsei said. “I knew it would suit you perfectly.”

My father lowered his arm harshly, laughing embarrassingly. “Of course I knew this was fromyou, Romaniev. Sadly, my daughter doesn’t have… the best fashion sense.”

I shot Alexsei a confused glance.

Why is he lying?

He stepped closer. “I believe the priest is waiting for us.”

My father quickly moved to join the other men, warmly embracing the stranger I assumed was the mayor he’d mentioned. They headed back to the living room, their laughter echoing down the hall. I remained frozen, my gaze locked on the floor.

As the noise in the corridor faded, Alexsei closed the distance between us and gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

I jerked away from his hand.

“Cut the crap,” I snapped. “I have zero interest in marrying you and even less in being here. Just tell your priest I’m sick. And do me a favor—disappear from my life, you freaking snake!”

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