Page 98 of Inked Athena

I know why he’s going to say it.

That doesn’t stop it from scaring the ever-loving fuck out of me.

His voice rebounds around the room, poised and graceful. “Colleagues. Friends. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

His palm claims my shoulder, and I lean into his touch, drawing strength from his warmth. From his certainty.

“Many of you have wondered why I’ve been spending so much time in Scotland.” Knowing chuckles ripple through the crowd. These people think they understand everything. They don’t know half of what we’ve survived to get here. “The answer is sitting right here.”

The box he withdraws isn’t the one that held my ring. This one is longer, heavier with promise and threat.

“I won’t banter or belabor the point. I’m a man of few words, so here is what matters: Nova and I are engaged to be married.” His words drop like depth charges into the pristine social waters. “And in about six months, we’re expecting our first child.”

Reaction explodes around us—gasps, whispers, the scrape of chairs as people lean forward for a better view of my belly. But I’m transfixed by Sam’s hands as he opens the box. By the way candlelight ignites the rubies and diamonds within.

“May I?” he murmurs.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

The necklace settles against my throat—heavy, cold, then warming to my skin. Sam’s fingers brush my neck as he fastens the clasp, and suddenly, I understand. This isn’t just jewelry. This is a statement. A warning. A promise written in precious stones.

I am his now. His to protect. His to cherish.

And God help anyone who tries to come between us.

The rubies at my throat pulse with each breath, like droplets of blood marking my transformation. One accessory, and suddenly I’m worthy of these people’s attention.

Amazing how quickly money and power can change people’s attitudes. An hour ago, Nela was cutting me with her eyes. Now, as appetizers hit the table, she’s cooing over my “perfect” bone structure and how the necklace suits me “as if it were made for you, darling.”

I suppose that’s the point.

Annika touches my arm as she passes. “Welcome to the family, sister.” Her voice drops. “We’ll have to get together soon. There’s so much to discuss.”

I’m not naive enough to think she means wedding colors.

The men treat me differently, too. Now, they include me in their conversations, testing my knowledge of business and world events. I hold my own—thank God for all those nights discussing Sam’s work over dinner. When I make a particularly sharp observation about market trends in Eastern Europe, Josef’s eyebrows shoot up.

“She has a brain behind that pretty face,” he tells Sam, like I’m not sitting right here.

Sam’s smile is shark-like. “She haseverythingbehind that pretty face.”

My hand drifts to my stomach, where our baby grows, blissfully unaware of the political theater playing out around us. These people can dress up their power plays in Chanel and champagne, but underneath, it’s all fangs and territory markers.

Through second and third courses, I relax. By dessert, I can breathe. But as coffee begins to make the rounds, Paige passes behind my chair and clears her throat softly.

I turn to see her face—which has been full of laughter since the moment she arrived—looking strangely stricken. I don’t know her well at all, but all my alarm bells are going off.

“We need to talk,” she mumbles. “As soon as possible.”

“That would be lovely,” I say, both because it seems like the right response and because she seems like a genuinely kind soul in a room full of hyenas and trained killers.

Her French-manicured nails dig into my arm. “No, you don’t understand. We need totalk. About Leonid.”

My stomach lurches. “Sam’s father?”

“He’s...” She glances around, then leans closer. The scent of her expensive perfume makes my head spin. “Listen, when he comes—and he will come—don’t let him...” She trails off as the door to the dining room creaks open.

“Speaking of the devil,” someone mutters.

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