Page 107 of Jewel of the Assassin
Anton cuts me off, “He will have the finest care once he’s in shackles, I assure you, moya nevesta. But first…you and I have unfinished business.”
I feel Roman’s gaze burning into me even as they drag him away.
Don’t do this,his eyes say.
I have to,mine answer.
I hold my husband’s gaze as long as I possibly can…until he slips into shadow, his groans and curses fading.
Anton offers me his hand. I don’t take it, but I follow him, each step feeling like a door closing behind me. He tugs me toward the sweeping staircase. It feels like a scaffold.
At the top of the stairs, Anton touches my elbow and leans closer, his breath brushing my temple. “I think we should start where you and my dear brother have made yourselves…comfortable.”
My stomach drops.
Our bedroom.
I followhim inside as slowly as possible.
Roman’s scent hits me first—leather, vetiver, the faint spice of his aftershave. The bed is still rumpled from when we’d tangled in each other before the world collapsed.
Anton steps inside like he owns the place, flexing his wrist until a sleek embedded chip glows. A blue projection blooms above his skin, scrolling with encrypted text. “Is he there?” A pause. “Good,” he says, calm as a man placing a dinner order.
He crooks a finger to me, showing me the display in the dungeon, the medic treating the bullet wound. Yes, he knew I’d agree to nothing unless I saw proof.
The display vanishes. He shrugs off his coat, draping it over Roman’s on the leather chair—the one where Roman reads late at night, sipping vodka, admiring me as I undress for the night. Anton’s fingers flick open the top buttons of his shirt before sitting.
“Center ofthe room.”
I move, my bare feet silent on the carpet.
“Strip,” he says.
I stay still. “No.”
His smile is cold. He stiffens, sharpening his eyes in a warning. “We’ll start with your dress. Undo the first button.”
My fingers fumble.
“Look at me while you do it.”
I lift my chin with a grimace. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears.
“Slower,” he drawls. “Smile. And seduce. I expect a worthy performance,wife.”
Yes, a worthy performance. That’s all this is to him. All I am to him. And I have to put on a show, for the sake of all the lives counting on me.
The first button slips free. Then the second. His gaze doesn’t blink, doesn’t shift.
“Slide the fabric off your shoulders. Let it fall.”
It pools at my feet. My body hums with rage and shame. Only my lacy bra and thong.
“Now the rest,” he murmurs. “Thumbs under the straps. Lower them…slowly. Good. Let them go.”
I obey. The last of my clothes falls. My fists curl at my sides.
And then—a memory knifes through me. Sasha, in the library, both of us drunk on vodka. How he said I’d be Anton’s queen. I’d laughed bitterly because I knew I would be just a trophy queen.
