Page 91 of Twisted Vows

Not the kind that drains you. Not the kind that weakens. But the kind that forges something unbreakable.

Ari and I push each other, challenge each other,testeach other in ways I never expected. Some days, it feels like we’re still circling, still figuring out the shape of what we are. Other days, I wake up with her tangled in my sheets, my name on her lips, and I wonder how I ever lived without her.

It should terrify me.

It doesn’t.

It only becomes easier by the day.

Not because the war is over. Not because we’ve secured the alliance.

But because Ichooseher. And she, despite all logic,choosesme.

And that choice? It is the only thing in my world that feels absolute.

I roll my shoulders, shifting my focus back to the work in front of me.

Grigory is standing at the far side of my office, his laptop open as he leans against the heavy wooden desk. Sunlightstreams in from the tall windows, painting the space in sharp, golden light. The quiet hum of the estate settles around us—security murmuring over comms, the faint scent of espresso still lingering from my morning meeting.

But I can feel it. That particularenergyGrigory gets when he’s found something.

He’s too still. Too measured. His fingers hover over the laptop trackpad, hesitating before he speaks.

I exhale through my nose. “If you have something to say, say it.”

His sharp gray eyes lift to mine. “You ever believe in fate, brother?”

I arch a brow, already impatient. “If I say no, will it stop you from whatever this is?”

Grigory smirks. “Not a chance.”

I motion for him to continue, and he turns the laptop toward me.

“I was refining my facial recognition software,” he says. “Using known faces in the family to help train the AI. Testing it on old footage from our security archives. And I found something interesting.”

I don’t move. Don’t react.

But there’s a flicker of curiosity now.

Grigory taps a few keys, pulling up grainy black-and-white footage. The timestamp in the corner readsBoston. Eight years ago.

A club. One of ours.

The overhead camera catches the crowded space, the bodies moving under flashing lights. The angle shifts, and then—

Her.

Ari.

Younger. Reckless. Eyes flashing with defiance, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder as she leans against a bar, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

My pulse slows. Not out of shock—out ofsomething else.

Recognition.

I don’t remember that night. But my body does.

She’s talking to a man. Laughing. And then—

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