Page 100 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Because I have spent my entire life planning operations like this. The only difference is that this time, we're working to save lives rather than take them." His grip tightens. "Trust me,zvyozdochka. Can you do that?"

I meet his steady gaze and nod slowly. "I trust you."

His lips capture mine, soft yet insistent. The tight knot of anxiety in my chest begins to loosen as I lose myself in his kiss. When we finally break apart, I'm breathing heavily, my earlier tears forgotten.

"Remember something,zvyozdochka." Vadim's thumb traces my lower lip. "You're going into war. Your makeup, your dress, all of your jewelry—they're not just for show. They're your armor."

"And you?" I whisper, unable to resist touching his face. "Are you my knight?"

The smile that spreads across his face takes my breath away. It transforms his entire countenance, reaching his storm-gray eyes and making them sparkle. I've never seen him look so unguarded, so genuinely happy.

Before I can process this new side of him, he's kissing me again. This time it's deeper, hungrier. My hands fist in his shirt as heatpools low in my belly. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I moan, pressing closer.

But just as my fingers start working on his buttons, Vadim pulls back. Both of us are panting.

"There will be time for this after," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "Right now, we need to focus."

Despite the protest of every nerve ending in my body, I nod. "You're right."

When I return to the main cabin, the stylists descend on me again with fresh products. "We'll need to start over," one says, dabbing at my tear-stained face with gentle strokes. "But don't worry, we have plenty of time."

I close my eyes and let them work, focusing on keeping my breathing steady. The methodical touches of brushes and sponges help calm my racing thoughts.

"There," the lead stylist announces after what feels like hours. "Now for the dress."

Irina appears with the garment bag, her movements precise as she helps me step into the flowing white fabric. The material whispers against my skin as she works each button with careful fingers.

"Hold still," she mutters, adjusting the hidden compartment as she shoves the decoy bible inside. "Everything must lay perfectly."

I catch Vadim watching from his seat, his stormy eyes intense.

"Isn't it bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?" I tease, trying to keep my voice light despite the weight of what we're about to do.

"I make my own luck," he replies with that dangerous half-smile that makes my heart skip. Then his expression softens. "Besides, some traditions are worth breaking."

Irina clicks her tongue as she fusses with the train. "The beading here needs one final adjustment." Her fingers work quickly, securing something I can't see. "Now it's perfect."

I turn to face Vadim fully, letting him see the final result. His sharp intake of breath sends warmth flooding through me despite my nerves.

"You look beautiful." He stands and crosses to me, his voice dropping low. "Like everything I never knew I wanted."

The fadinglights of Paris twinkle below us as our plane begins its descent through the pre-dawn sky. My stomach does a nervous flip that has nothing to do with the change in altitude. Vadim's hand tightens around mine, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in slow, soothing strokes.

"Remember to breathe,zvyozdochka," he murmurs.

I inhale deeply, focusing on the steady warmth of his touch. The weight of Mom’s necklace against my throat grounds me further—a reminder of everything we're fighting for. Of all the other daughters and mothers Kirsan has torn apart.

Through the window, I watch the Eiffel Tower growing larger, its jutting structure piercing the brightening sky. In just a few hours, I'll be walking down the aisle of Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. Not as the blushing bride I once imagined, but as someone stronger. Someone who can help make a difference.

Vadim's promise echoes in my mind:I will keep you safe. Trust me.

And I do trust him, I realize. Despite everything—how we met, why we're here—I trust him with my life. The thought should terrify me, but instead it fills me with a strange sense of calm. His presence beside me is steady as a heartbeat, as certain as gravity.

The plane banks slightly, and I curl my fingers tighter around his. He responds by lifting our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my skin that sends warmth spreading through my entire body.

"One minute," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "We can do this."

His gray eyes meet mine, full of that quiet intensity that never fails to make my breath catch.

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