Page 47 of Deceitful Vows

“I can’t give you what you want, so you can either let me go now, or after I tell anyone who will listen that your marriage isn’t worth the piece of paper authenticating it.” I nudge my head to the group of paparazzi attempting to barge past the security personnel keeping them out of the foyer. “Starting with them.”

My threat sounds legitimate since my throat is burning with anger. I’ve never felt more ashamed than I did when Andrik announced he was no longer getting an annulment. That shame isn’t one tenth of the anger I’m currently experiencing.

Not all of it centers around Andrik’s betrayal.

My sights are set on someone I’ve known far longer than him.

“That will make a lot of people angry.” Andrik walks around me until his suit-covered body shelters me from the numerous camera flashes bright enough to illuminate the walls of the elevator even with it being in the far back corner of Mikhail’s building. “Are you sure you’re ready for that level of animosity,????????”

My immediate nod shocks him, much less the honesty in my tone when I reply, “I was born ready for it.”

It isn’t time for coyness. Despite his best efforts, the smallest grin tugs on Andrik’s lips before he steps aside so I can walk out of his life without so much as a backward glance.

17

ANDRIK

My jaw throbs as manically as my cock when Zoya glides past a conglomerate as focused on the bottom line as the federation is. A handful of heads twist her way. They’re all male and will be dead by the end of the day if they don’t shift their focus off her ass before Konstantine scans their credentials into my database.

Once they’re on my radar, they’ll only be removed one way.

With a bullet.

Don’t misconstrue. I understand their instant fascination. Zoya has a body that should be worshiped for twenty-four hours of every day, but her defiance deserves an equal amount of attention yet seems forever overlooked.

I’ve always been good at reading people. Zoya’s story would have most men backing away with their hands held in the air.

It’s a pity for her I’m a stubborn fuck who always gets want he wants.

I want her, so I will have her.

No contest.

I just refuse for it to occur under the eyes of the puppeteers controlling my grandfather’s and father’s every move. They’re coming out of the woodwork faster than I could have imagined when I orchestrated my scheme, making me hopeful it won’t be as lengthy as first perceived.

Though I doubt anyone would see a lifetime commitment as a brief proceeding.

After slanting my head to hide my words from my father, who is approaching me as fast as Zoya is endeavoring to get away from me, I say, “She’s coming out the west entrance. Mikhail is hot on her tail.”

A conceited grin curls my top lip when I recall the cause of Mikhail’s slow chase. Since comms were back in operation, we knew who would enter the elevator on level sixty-three before the doors opened, but Mikhail refused to follow my ruse until I kicked him hard enough to give him a permanent limp.

Not even the full deeds of Brody’s could get him over the line during our rushed negotiations to find Zoya before anyone in our father’s crew.

I should be pleased I pulled the wool over Mikhail’s eyes as well as our father’s, but I’m not.

I am too tenacious to admit my worries center around Zoya also believing our meeting was solely about a payout for her silence, so I’ll blame it on knowing there’s currently more than one woman in Chelabini with my sperm inside her.

That’s fucked to even consider, and my mother would be mortified.

The remembrance places on my game face with barely a second to spare.

My father is at my side, signaling over a woman most men would hand over a fortune to bed.

Arabella has class, sophistication, and beauty. She just lacks the tenacity that makes Zoya such a firecracker. There’s no stubbornness to crack, no willfulness to bend. She was made to fit the mold instead of demanding its reproduction to ensure the perfect cast.

She’s boring, and I’m a prick who struggles to hide her deficiencies when she holds out her hand in offering as any gushing bride-to-be would when approaching their spouse. I stuff my hands into my pockets before shifting on my feet to face my father.

“What’s going on?” My tone speaks the words I can’t say with an audience.Why the fuck are you railroading me again?

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