Page 8 of Velvet Chains
They clearly don’t want me as the bride.
I peer around; everywhere there’s the glint of gold and the flash of tattoos, a sea of wealth and power and danger.
My father’s grip on my arm tightens, his fingers biting into my skin. “Keep walking,” he mutters, his voice low and threatening.
I swallow hard, blinking back the tears that burn behind my eyes. This can’t be happening. This can’t be my life.
My father releases my arm and steps aside, leaving me standing alone at the altar. My eyes dart around frantically, searching for Ksenia, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, my gaze lands on little Eli, sitting in the front row. She waves her small hands at me, a bright smile on her innocent face. She’s too young to understand the darkness that surrounds her.
I force myself to smile back, to put on a brave face for her sake. What can I possibly say to an eight-year-old about a forced marriage?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Oh God. What am I going to do?
A priest steps forward, a bible clutched in his wrinkled hands. He’s an old man with a long white beard and heavy brows that almost obscure his eyes. The moment I see him, I know there’s no escape.
This is really happening.
The wedding march fades away, replaced by a hushed murmur from the crowd. Everyone is whispering, wondering where Victor is. I tune out their words, my mind racing.
Where is he? Is he even alive?
The thought sends a fresh wave of nausea crashing over me, and I sway on my feet.
He’s dead.
Victor is dead.
I try to draw in a breath, but my chest is too tight. My head spins, and the world around me blurs. Dimly, I hear Eli’s voice rise above the din. “Help her, Dyadya!”
Large hands grab me, holding me upright. I blink, trying to clear my vision, and find myself staring into a familiar face.
It’s him. It’s Victor.
His left eye is swollen shut, his lip split and bleeding. Fresh bruises bloom across his cheekbones, a mottled canvas of purple and black. But he’s here. He’s alive.
“Victor…” I choke out, tears welling in my eyes.
“Little firecracker, too happy to see me?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.
Using his good eye, he winks at me.
God, how is this man still so fucking hot with a beat-up face?
“You… you’re alive,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers. “I thought… I thought you were dead.”
“Dead? No, little firecracker, I’m not that easy to kill,” Victor growls, his good eye blazing with intensity. Sweat drips down his battered face, but he doesn’t flinch.“They tried their best, but I’m still here. I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it.”
I tilt my head up and look at him.
Promise.
The word echoes in my mind, a bitter reminder of all the broken vows I’ve encountered. No man has ever kept their promises to me. Not my father, not Dave, the stranger in my life who claimed to love me. But as I stare into Victor’s one good eye, I see something different. A flicker of sincerity, a glimmer of determination.
I want to believe him, but the cynical part of me hesitates.
How can I trust him after everything that’s happened?
