Page 92 of Twisted Vows

I see him.

A different man. Watching her.

His hand moves subtly over her drink.

Something inside me goes razor-sharp.

And then—

I step into frame.

The footage is grainy, but I recognize myself immediately. The cut of my suit. The cold, unreadable expression on my face. The way Imove—like I already own the room and command it.

I watch as my younger self reaches out. Fingers closing over her wrist just as she lifts the glass.

Ari whirls, irritated. My lips move, saying something low and firm. The tension in her shoulders tightens. Then releases.

The man who spiked the drink? He’s gone. Slipped into the crowd, no doubt realizing he made the wrong fucking choice.

My grip on the desk tightens. I let the footage play. Let myselfwatch.

The conversation between us is brief. Tense. But there’s something there. A flicker of intrigue.

A moment of possibility, crushed under the weight of duty.

Because at the end of it, I let her go.

She disappears into the crowd. I stay behind, already moving on, already consumed with the nextimportantthing.

I close the laptop and Grigory watches me carefully. “Did you know?”

“No.” My voice is steady. Controlled. “I don’t remember her.”

Not like this. Not from that night.

Grigory tilts his head. “But she was yours even then.”

I exhale slowly, my gaze shifting to the window, to the sprawling estate beyond it. Ari is out there now. Maybe in the gardens. Maybe on the training mats, cursing at Anton for blocking her footwork. Maybe in the sunlit warmth of the library, absorbed in one of her books, absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair the way she always does.

Should I tell her?

I could call her in here right now. Show her the footage. Watch the realization dawn in her dark eyes. Listen to her sharp wit fire back at me—so you’ve been obsessed with me longer than I thought?

But I don’t.

Not yet.

Because something about this moment ismine.

A secret onlyIget to carry.

A memory of the night I could have had her—long before I knew who she was. Before she knew me.

A night I let slip through my fingers.

I lean back in my chair, the weight of it settling deep in my chest.

Fate isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself.

It’s quiet.

A hand stopping a drink. A moment almost forgotten. A glance, a touch, a decision not to act.

And then one day, you wake up, and you realize—you were always going to be hers.

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