Misha was nowhere in sight. For some reason, that unsettled me more than seeing him.
I needed him to be visible. Containable. Predictable.
Instead, he lurked — somewhere in the shadows.
Waiting.
Thirty minutes of ceremony passed. Papa had arranged for a “first dance” to celebrate the engagement.
This is not a wedding yet, but it’s close enough to make my stomach churn.
Yuri grinned, leading me onto the floor with an overconfident swagger that made me want to stab him with my own heel.
The crowd circled around us, clapping politely.
I let him spin me, let him press too close.
“You’re beautiful tonight,” Yuri whispered, too close, spinning me across the floor.
I smiled, mechanical and practiced.
“You used to say that like I was a person,” I said, voice flat. “Now it sounds like you’re describing a purchase.”
His fingers dug into my waist, hard enough to bruise.
My stomach twisted. We had been something once. Not love. Not quite lust. Something messy in between.
But this? This was a transaction. And I’d never agreed to be sold.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear. “Two weeks, and I’ll own every inch of you.”
My gut churned. I pulled back just enough to keep breathing.
Yuri’s hand slipped lower, fingers digging where they shouldn’t.
Before I could react—
Another man cut in.
Not Misha. Someone else.
Older, taller, broader, reeking of whiskey and power.
A senator’s son, if I remembered right. Ties to my father’s cartel. A man who thought every woman in the room was for sale.
“Mind if I steal her for a moment?” he said, not even looking at Yuri.
Yuri laughed and shoved me forward like a gift.
“By all means.”
The man’s hand closed around my wrist, iron-tight.
He led me toward a darker corner of the ballroom where the lights thinned and the guards looked the other way.
“You’re prettier up close,” he said, voice thick with drink. “What’s a girl like you doing with a bastard like Yuri?”
I tried to pull away.