Page 1 of Beautiful Beast

Chapter

One

ANYA

Ilook into the face of the devil, and he smiles back at me.

My high heels clack on the cold stone floor. The gauzy fabric of my wedding dress swishes around my legs. My hands clench a bouquet. The comforting scent of the flowers does nothing for me right now, not when I’m signing my life away to a bad man.

My legs tremble, but fortunately, my dress hides that fact. I don’t wanthimto see me afraid. To show fear is to show weakness. At least, that’s what my father taught me.

He’s holding my arm at this very moment, practically forcing me to walk down the aisle. Sergei Belov, the great Bratva man, is my father. From the downturned lines around his lips to the creases between his eyebrows, you can tell he’s a stern man who never smiles. He only ever frowns. No one is good enough for him. Not me. Not my sister, Nadia. Even my mother wasn’t good enough for him.

She’s dead now, so I guess she’s spared his wrath.

I haven’t been spared anything. Not my sanity, not my body, and not my freedom.

Because I’m being forced into an arranged marriage I did not sign up for.

The air in the large, grand old gothic church is freezing. Goosebumps appear on my arms. I think whoever controls the temperature did this on purpose. I think that the man I’m about to marry wants me to be cold.

He wants me to be uncomfortable.

The church is eerily quiet, despite the guests. I barely know any of these people. Either they are friends of my father or friends of my soon-to-be husband.

The only pair of eyes I recognize are my sister’s. Nadia looks at me with so much pity and fear that it makes me stumble. I’m not sure I can do this. Once I marryhim, I won’t live with my sister. I’m not even sure how much I’ll be able to see her again.

Some of the guests murmur as they watch me righten myself. Now is not the time to fall flat on my face. I can’t lethimsee that version of me: the scared little girl.

My father tightens his hold on my arm. “Get your act together,” he says quietly so only I can hear. It only reminds me of how alone I am at this moment. No comforting words from my father. No warmth. No love.

Only cold calculation.

I nod subtly. It’s enough for him, and we resume walking.

My soon to be husband’s smile deepens into something dangerous. He caught a moment of weakness from me. What does that mean? Will he hurt me for it?

I don’t know much about my future husband, but what I do know isn’t good. I’ve heard horror stories about him. He’s like the boogeyman of the Bratva world, which says a lot because most men within the Bratva do bad things. I know my father has done bad things.

So, the fact thatheis seen as the boogeyman, the man I’m going to marry, is a frightening thought.

The music swells as I get closer to the end of the aisle. A live orchestra is present, playing the usual wedding march song. Nothing but for the best for this wedding.

Even though I didn’t ask for this wedding.

I don’t want this wedding.

It’s not that I’m afraid of marriage. I’ve been taught from a young age to expect marriage, and I knew this day was coming. But I’d hoped I would marry a kind, gentle man. Honestly, I had hoped I would marry an idiot I could control so I could be in charge.

But the man I’m about to marry is not an idiot. He’s not someone I can control.

I don’t think I’ll get the chance to be in charge, which makes me blood boil.

I’m powerless to stop this as my feet get closer and closer to him. Every clack of my heels is like a ringing death omen in my ears. Clack, clack, clack. Death, death, death.

I might sound dramatic but I’ve heard stories about my future husband. He could very well kill me if he wanted to.

This marriage is for political gain. Alliances. A tried and true method to grow power. Most of the women in this church had arranged marriages so their husbands could become more powerful.

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