Page 4 of Viripotent

I hate this shit, acting like an idiot heiress just to get everyone to stay away from my life. Mother moves closer, locking onto her target as she circles Vlad’s mother. Like recognizes like as they enter their own false niceties, complementing each other’s awful wardrobe.The seam of my mother’s dress is pulled taut over her ass from having it altered to bring attention to it or because she refuses to accept that she needs a bigger size. Who even knows what goes on inside her twisted mind? I gave up attempting to understand her when I was a teenager.

I’ve never given thought to where Vlad came from, but I can’t stop comparing his features to his parents. He’s violentlike his father and manages to hide it in a well-tailored suit, and his wolf-like eyes are from his mother. The rest of his features are an equal mix, hair that changes depth depending on the light, andcoarse stubble that shadows his jaw.He’s handsome, brutally so, to match his personality.

He never speaks directly to me in front of other people. I’m an ornament at his side, making Grandfather think everything will be fine. The arrogant bastard had the audacity to demand I sleep with someone the first time he spoke to me. As though I’m a pair of shoes that need breaking in.

Stupid twat.

It’s spiteful and self-sabotaging not doing it. We both know the only way out for me is to give him an heir, and the thought of him touching me should not be exciting. Physically, Vlad is more than appealing. Everything else is fucking rotten, and no amount of cologne will cover the stench.

Dariya instructs everyone to take their seats, and her stern face fills me with strength. She’s the real head of the house, not the men with guns but the woman with a rolling pin who commands everyone. Vlad doesn’t move from my side as Pavel’s creepy eyes rake over my body. My stomach churns as he moves closer and takes the seat beside where I was previously sitting. Without missing a step, Vlad changes our positions and pulls his earlier chair out for me, becoming a physical barrier. He can probably feel the sins coming from his right and wants to soak them up.

Staring ahead blankly, I don’t have to try to look disinterested overhearing the other guests comparing their wealth. A hand lands on my thigh, pulling my attention down. It’s big and has those veins that make me want to trace them with my tongue. The gentleman facade doesn’t stretch to his scarred knuckles and inked hands. The violence they cause can’t be hidden. I turn to the owner of the limb. He’s not looking atme. He’s in conversation with Grandfather and sits back against his seat as Pavel stares at me. He quickly snaps his eyes forward, seeing the claim on my thigh, and I don’t brush Vlad away, allowing the protection it affords.

Everything runs like clockwork under Dariya’s watchful eye, and I force myself to move my food around the plate. I can feel my mother watching, counting how much I’m eating. She’s a twat and didn’t raise me, and I refuse to give her ammunition to be able to strike up a conversation. If anything passes my lips, food, or words, it invites her into an aspect of my life.

Vlad doesn’t move his hand off my thigh. It’s strange, as he never touches me. We’ve been having these dinners for years. Not once has he touched me. I’ve heard the rumors of what he does, and Grandfather reluctantly gave me the option to turn down the engagement when he told me who it would be with. But I’ve been bred for this, literally. My eyes automatically find my father, and resentment builds higher, knowing if he wasn’t such an incompetent piece of shit, I wouldn’t have to be a pawn in some controlling prick’s battle for power. The only thing getting me through it is the clause that we’ll be divorced. It’s uncommon for Vory to allow their wives a divorce—it’s usually easier to beat them into submission or kill them.

Our parents leave after dinner, choosing to continue their wealth game over drinks in the lounge. The devil comes out as soon as we’re alone. Leaning closer to me, Vlad’s eyes are fixed on Pavel’s retreating back, and his question has acid burning my throat.

“Did you choose him because of your daddy issues?”

Smiling sweetly so the onlookers can’t discern our conversation, I stroke his bicep to stop from choking him. My voice is low, and he leans into it automatically. “Do you hate everyone because of your mommy issues?”

There’s no anger staring back at me. He’s proud, the weird fuck. He laughs lightly before opening his mouth to spit another insult when my mother appears on our periphery. He goes into false protective mode. Her usual way of speaking hasn’t changed, posing an order as a question as she looks me up and down, mentally tearing me down.

“Will you be staying with the Vartanovs while they visit?” she doesn’t give me time to answer before she issues her threat, “Or will you be accompanying Pavel?”

I can’t speak, there’s no right answer, and I fucking hate this bitch. Seeing that she’s done what she came to do, my mother attempts to leave as Vlad drops his mask of civility and leans into her.

“Your insinuation is incredibly disrespectful. I’m sure you meant no harm, and the alcohol has loosened your tongue. It would be a shame if something happened to my future mother-in-law, and she missed her only child’s wedding.”

The loose threat has her paling, and he pulls back, picking up the respectable image again.

“Inessa will be staying at my home until the wedding. She will be preparing it to become our home.”

Dismissing her, he sips from his tumbler as the heels clicking fade away. The asshole can’t just change his mind after years. I’m not supposed to live with him until six weeks before the wedding and after the engagement is announced.

There’s too much calm as I study his features, like the ocean right before violent waves crash against the shore. He’s a conceited prick and always makes statements about etiquette while having none himself. My observation has my tongue loosening, not caring about how he’ll erupt.

“You care so much about other people’s manners, yet you send me twelve yellow roses.”

In the five years I’ve been forced to entertain this asshole, he’s never sent me any other arrangement. Sending an even number is bad enough, but having that exact flower is worse. A symbol of sadness and eventual loss given evenly like a funeral.

Circling the tumbler with his middle finger in a repetition of three clockwise then anticlockwise, he looks at me from the corner of his eyes. The smirk is annoying as fuck, matching his arrogant voice.

“It would be rude of me to let you have an illusion of what marriage will look like.”

Hopefully the funeral will be his, and I can live my life however I want.

“Do you always talk like you’re in a Shakespearean play?”

He raises a brow at my question, and his lips lift on both sides. Jesus, he does know how to smile instead of giving annoying half-smirks. Those wolf eyes fill with humor, and he taps it away as he bounces his finger three times on the table.

“Say your goodbyes. I’ll send Dima and Vitali to pick up your things in the morning.”

If I had to marry a Vartanov, they could have agreed with the lesser evils and picked one of his brothers. At least they’re closer to being human than the eldest brother beside me. He may be unknowingly saving me, but I won’t show any gratitude. He’s still an obnoxious pig who would sell his own mother to fulfill his dark desires.

A Vartanov’slife is a life of luxury when I always think of Vlad haunting a cemetery. He’d make a home out of the crypt and float around the grounds, but this is all normal and actually resembles a home. Valentin steps into the hallway as we walk inwith his parents still parking, and his face falls when Vlad informs him of their presence.

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