Page 15 of Savage Obsession

The grand hall buzzes with quiet tension as the most powerful leaders of the GreekEllinikiand the Russian Bratva gather under one gilded roof. Their whispers mix with the faint hum of classical music playing in the background, but my focus is elsewhere. I stand near the altar, dressed in a tailored black suit that fits like a second skin. I keep my face impassive, my hands clasped behind my back, but inside, a storm brews.

This is it. The day of my wedding to Yelena Makarov—the Bratva princess and my strategic bride.

The double doors at the far end of the hall creak open, and the soft murmur of voices fades into silence. All eyes turn toward the entrance. My heart, which I’d convinced myself couldn’t be affected by this charade, stutters against my ribs.

And then I see her.

Yelena glides into the room, flanked by her brother, Viktor. She’s a vision in white. The wedding dress hugs her figure in all the right places, accentuating her petite frame and every graceful curve. The lace detailing catches the light, making her look ethereal. Her raven-black hair is swept into an elegant updo, leaving her electric blue eyes fully exposed. Those eyes—sharp and piercing—lock onto mine, and for a fleeting second, I forget to breathe.

The first time I saw her at that bar, she had captivated me. Her confidence, her wit, the way she walked like she owned the damn place—I couldn’t take my eyes off her. But this? This is a different level of beauty altogether. She’s no longer just the alluring woman who haunted my nights; she’s a goddess. And it takes everything in me not to stride across the room, pick her up, and carry her to the nearest bed.

I clench my jaw, forcing my face to remain neutral. I remind myself of why I’m here—why this is happening. This is about power, alliances, and securing my leadership in my organization. I can’t let my body’s reaction to her—the heat pooling in my gut, the way my pulse races—get in the way of logic.

But my body has other plans. Every step she takes toward me tightens the knot in my stomach. Her perfume reaches me before she does—a subtle floral scent that makes my head swim.

As if my internal struggle weren’t bad enough, Leon leans in close and whispers, his voice laced with amusement. “Now that is a sight to behold. She’s absolutely stunning. Shame her husband isn’t at liberty to… appreciate and do justice to this beauty.”

My teeth grind together, and I’m seconds away from losing it. Leon’s leering tone towards Yelena hits a nerve I didn’t know existed. I don’t look at him, don’t even acknowledge his words, but the tension in my shoulders betrays my rising anger. I know if I dare see the smirk on his face, I’ll end up breaking his nose before the ceremony starts.

"Shut up." I grit out without looking at him.

Leon chuckles softly, clearly entertained by my reaction. “Easy, cousin,” he mutters. “Just an observation.”

I’d like to observe my fist meeting his jaw, but I bite back the urge. This is not the time.

Yelena reaches the altar, her every movement calculated and regal. Viktor steps back, his protective stance lingering as his eyes dart between us. I can feel the weight of his gaze, his silent warning. If I mess this up, there will be hell to pay.

Yelena takes her place beside me, and I force myself to look at her. For a moment, I falter. Up close, she’s even more breathtaking. Her lashes are long, framing those electric blue eyes that seem to pierce straight through me. Her lips are painted in a soft pink, and they curve into a polite, almost detached smile.

I try to smile back, but it feels foreign. My lips pull into something stiff and awkward, more of a grimace than anything resembling warmth. Her brow arches slightly, a flicker of amusement flashing across her face before she quickly schools her expression. Rolling her eyes at me.

“Smooth,” she whispers under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

Yelena

Today is the day. My wedding day. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the two suitcases and several boxes stacked neatly by the door. All my belongings, my entire life, packed and ready to be shipped to Philadelphia. It feels surreal, but not in the fairy-tale sense. This isn’t the wedding day little girls dreamof. There’s no magic, no romance. This is a business transaction dressed up in white lace and a black tux.

Aithan called last week. The memory plays in my mind as I glance at the phone lying on my vanity. His voice had been steady, almost indifferent, when he asked if I needed help to arrange my relocation. There had been no warmth, no personal touch—just efficiency, the same as every other call we’ve had since this arrangement was finalized. I’d declined, of course. I told him I’d handle everything myself, and I meant it. If he thought I’d depend on him before I even set foot in his home, he’s sorely mistaken.

I let out a slow breath, my lips curling into a faint smile as I recall that phone call. Was this really the same Aithan who had made love to me so passionately, the man who’d left me breathless and undone in a way I’d never experienced before? It feels like a lifetime ago. Now he’s so cold and distant. But if he thinks he can keep me at arm’s length and control this marriage on his terms, he’s got another thing coming. I’ve already decided I’ll match his energy. Cold for cold, fire for fire. I refuse to swoon at his feet, no matter how infuriatingly handsome he is. Or how badly my body betrays me by remembering the feel of him.

A sharp knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. Scarlett and Alina burst in without waiting for an invitation, their energy filling the room. Scarlett’s eyes sparkle with mischief, while Alina, my twin, carries a smirk that mirrors my own.

“Still not dressed?” Alina teases, her gaze landing on the white garment bag hanging on the back of the door. “You’re going to make the Bratva and theEllinikiwait on you? Bold move, sister.”

I roll my eyes. “I have plenty of time. Besides, they can wait. It’s not like this is for my benefit.”

Scarlett laughs, pulling the garment bag down and unzipping it to reveal the dress. “Oh, but this day is also for your benefit, Yelena. You’re going to join their family, and you will do so boldly.”

The dress is simple, yet stunning. A white, form-fitting gown with a plunging V-neckline and intricate lace that trails down the cathedral-length train. The corset bodice is designed to flatter, accentuating my waist and leaving no room for doubt that I am every bit the woman capable of holding her own in a marriage like this. As I slip into the dress, Scarlett and Alina fuss over me, adjusting the train and securing the final details. When I turn to face the mirror, I can’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. I look powerful. Regal. Untouchable.

“Perfect,” Scarlett says, her voice soft. “You look perfect.”

I nod, straightening my shoulders. “Good. Let’s get this over with.”

The ceremony begins, and I step into the grand hall. The weight of fifty pairs of eyes falls on me, but I don’t falter. Viktor walks beside me, his hand resting lightly on my arm, a silent but sure show of support. The Bratva men nod at me as I pass, their expressions a mixture of respect and caution. They know what this marriage means. They know what I’m sacrificing to secure this alliance.

I keep my face neutral, my steps deliberate. This isn’t a moment for emotions. This is strategy, plain and simple.

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