Page 145 of Vendetta Crown

Cameras flashlike gunfire as Aurora walks the red carpet.

Her gown—a deep emerald that catches every light—flows around her as if she's moving underwater.

She smiles. She waves. She thanks everyone for coming.

You wouldn't know she was terrified unless you'd spent months studying every tiny expression of her face like I have.

I stand beside her, one hand at the small of her back, but this is her moment. The air feels electric with anticipation, and my skin prickles with awareness. Every suited man, every shadow in the periphery gets catalogued and assessed.

"Mrs. Dragunov, how does it feel to finally show the world what Kristofer Christensen did?" a reporter shouts.

Aurora's smile doesn't falter, but I feel her muscles tighten beneath my palm. "It's about justice. Not just for my family, but for everyone who's ever lived in fear from a stalker."

Her voice never wavers. She doesn't break.

"Mr. Dragunov, as a producer, how difficult was it to film your wife reliving her trauma?"

"Less difficult than watching her live with it," I answer, keeping my tone measured while scanning the crowd.

We move down the line, greeting each guest personally. Several pakhan wives embrace Aurora with tears in their eyes. Even Eleonora Voronin whispers something that makes Aurora's smile genuinely for the first time tonight.

When we reach a momentary lull, I guide her to a quiet alcove off the main entrance.

"Breathe," I whisper, cupping her face between my hands. "You're doing great."

Her eyes meet mine, pupils dilated with adrenaline. "There are so many cameras." She presses a protective hand over her growing belly. "It's overwhelming."

"I know." I stroke my thumb across her cheek. "But you're doing it. You're standing in the light where he can see you, and you're showing him you're not afraid."

"Truthfully speaking, I'm fucking terrified," she admits with a breathless laugh.

"Which makes you even braver." I press my forehead against hers. "I'm proud of you."

Aurora swallows hard. "Have we heard anything? About Semyon?"

"Nothing yet." I keep my voice low though we're alone. "But my sources confirm the Triads are mobilizing somewhere. They won't miss an opportunity this public."

She nods, that familiar determination hardening her features. "Then we'll be ready when they come."

"We will." I kiss her gently and reverently before guiding her back toward the lights, where our past and future collide.

Just then, a sleek black Lexus stops at the curb and its back door swings open.

A heavily tattooed man steps out slowly. His movement is deliberate and slow. Dragon tattoos writhe across his neck, disappearing beneath his impeccably tailored suit. His hair is slicked back, and there is a wicked scar across his face just below his left eye.

He extends both hands away from his body when he sees me, opening his palms to show that he has no weapons.

A gesture that he's here to talk, not to kill.

Not yet at least.

"Who is that?" Aurora whispers, pressing closer to my side.

"Haidan Sun," I answer quietly, keeping my gaze locked on him. "A Marshal of the Triads."

"Marshal?"

"The right-hand man to a Dragon Lord." I shift slightly, angling myself between Aurora and Sun. "If he's here in person, then his Dragon Lord must have something important to say to me."

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