Page 96 of Inked Athena

The housekeeper pats my shoulder and shuffles out, closing the door behind her without another word. Sam crosses to me in three long strides, his hand sliding beneath my hair to cup my neck.

“You look...” He swallows hard.

“Like I belong in your world?”

“Like you own it.” His thumb traces my jaw. “Which is what we need to discuss.”

I turn to face him fully. “The great Samuil Litvinov needs to discuss something? Alert the media.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what we need to talk about. The media. The attention. All of it.”

“Sam—”

“Listen to me,zaychik.” He crouches before me, taking my hands in his. “Tonight isn’t just about announcing our engagement. It’s about protection. When you’re publicly mine, certain rules come into play. My enemies will think twice.”

“And your friends?”

“Will kiss your feet or answer to me.” His eyes harden. “But they’ll test you first. Watch you. Judge how you handle the pressure.”

I squeeze his fingers. “No pressure at all then.”

“You’re carrying my child. Wearing my ring. About to become my wife.” He rises, pulling me with him. “You can handle anything.”

His certainty wraps around me like armor, and I lift my chin. If he believes in me, what choice do I have but to believe in myself?

The party guests flood into our great hall like vultures circling fresh meat. I stand at the top of the stone staircase, gripping the banister, and take a deep breath of cold Scottish air.

You’ve got this, I tell myself.You survived a cop father with a God complex. You can handle a few rich assholes.

My emerald silk dress whispers against the stairs as I descend, each step measured and careful. The weight of my engagement ring anchors me, a constant reminder of why I’m doing this.

For Sam. For our baby. For us.

Below, a cluster of people mill around drinking champagne and downing caviar. Designer suits, couture gowns, and enough diamonds to feed a small country—these are Sam’s people now.

Which means they need to become my people.

“Nova.” Samuil appears at the bottom of the stairs like a knight in shining Brioni. His hand extends upward, steady and sure. When our fingers touch, warmth floods through me despite the arctic mask he wears for his guests.

Part of me wants to beg him to kick everyone out, bar the doors, and just look at me likethatfor a long time. Why do we need these other people? We have each other, after all. Right? Isn’t that enough?

But the look in his eyes from upstairs is still seared into my retinas. That control that hides a deep, primal desperation. The thought of losing me.

I can relate. The merest inkling of ever being alone again makes my heart swan-dive into my stomach acid.

Sam pumps my hand to drag me back to the present moment. “May I present Nela and Josef Dvorak?”

The couple standing at the foot of the stairs oozes old money and older judgment. Nela’s scarlet lips curve into something adjacent to a smile while her eyes dissect every inch of me.

“So this is the woman who’s captured our Samuilka’s heart,” she remarks in a posh croon.

OurSamuilka? My spine stiffens. I didn’t realize Sam came with communal ownership rights.

Josef’s gaze sweeps the tapestries hanging on the walls. “The castle is... quaint. Do you plan to modernize?”

Sam’s thumb traces my knuckles—a silent reminder that these people’s opinions mean nothing.

“Actually,” I say, channeling my inner queen, “we love it exactly as it is.”

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