Page 3 of Shatter Me

The camera flashes, capturing this moment—Sofia radiant, Nikolai possessive, Erik vigilant, Alexi amused, and Dmitri... I feel his hand brush my lower back, too deliberately to be accidental.

I resist the urge to step away. After all, isn’t this what I warned Sofia about? The Ivanovs don’t just collect art—they collect people. And now, watching Dmitri’s reflection in the massive, gilded mirror across the room, I realize I might have caught the attention of the most dangerous collector.

2

DMITRI

Iwatch her from across the crowded ballroom of the Plaza. Natasha Blackwood embodies both old-money grace and sharp edges. She’s wearing vintage Chanel. A navy-column dress skims her figure effortlessly, creating a sleek silhouette that exudes sophistication. Its fabric softly hugs her curves, falling to ankle length with a modest train that adds a touch of drama.

My brother and his new bride command most of the attention, as they should since this is their first event as a married couple back in Boston. Sofia glows with the particular radiance of a well-loved woman. At the same time, Nikolai keeps her close with his usual possessive grace. But my focus remains on Natasha, who navigates the crowd with practiced ease.

“Your obsession is showing, brother.” Alexi slides into the seat beside me, drink in hand. “The poor girl looks ready to bolt whenever you enter her orbit.”

I trace the rim of my whiskey glass. “She’s smarter than most. Self-preservation instincts.”

“And yet here she is, trapped at our table for the evening.” Alexi’s grin holds a hint of warning. “Try not to terrify her completely.”

The seating arrangements weren’t accidental—I made sure of that days ago. Natasha approaches our table with the careful steps of prey, aware of the predator’s gaze. The deep red of her lipstick catches the light as she forces a polite smile.

“Mr. Ivanov.” Her voice carries that delicious hint of wariness.

“Dmitri, please.” I stand, pulling out her chair directly across from mine.

She settles into her chair with practiced grace.

“I hear you’ve been warning Sofia about us.” I take a slow sip of whiskey. “Not very supportive of your best friend’s new family.”

“Someone has to look out for her interests.” Natasha flags down a passing waiter, snagging a glass of champagne. “Since she seems determined to surround herself with wolves.”

“Wolves? How unoriginal. I expected better metaphors from a museum curator.”

“Fine. How about predatory collectors with too much money and questionable ethics?” Her green eyes sparkle. “Better?”

I lean forward, enjoying how she tenses. “Much. Though you appear comfortable among predators yourself tonight.”

“Only because running would be unseemly. Besides, this dress cost too much to sprint in.”

“It suits you. Vintage Chanel, late 60s?” I watch her surprise register. “I know my designers.”

“Of course you do. Let me guess—you probably know the exact auction where it was last sold, too?”

“London, 2019. You got a deal.” I smile as her eyes narrow. “I make it my business to know things, Ms. Blackwood.”

“How terrifying.” She takes a deliberate sip of champagne. “Do you look into everyone at your parties, or am I special?”

"What do you think?"

“I think you need better hobbies than stalking your brother’s wife’s best friend.”

“But you are proving so entertaining.” I catch her gaze. “You’re not nearly as unaffected as you pretend to be.”

“And you’re not nearly as intimidating as you think.” She sets down her glass with a sharp click. “Though, points for effort.”

I watch with amusement as Natasha turns deliberately to Erik to her right, who’s been silently observing the room with his usual tactical awareness.

“So Erik, Sofia mentioned you have medical training? Where did you train?”

My brother gives her a brief glance before returning to scanning the crowd.

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