Page 26 of Velvet Chains
It’s taken the team of stylists over two hours to transform me, to turn plain old Laura into this vision of bridal perfection.
Two hours of poking and prodding, of having my hair twisted into an elegant updo, my face painted with cosmetics more expensive than my entire wardrobe.
Two hours of sitting in this opulent suite, alone with my thoughts, wondering where my new husband had disappeared to.
Damnit, Laura, he’s not your real husband. Not in any way that matters.
I keep scolding myself silently as I try to push away the traitorous thoughts that keep drifting to Victor.
He made it abundantly clear that this marriage is nothing more than a business arrangement, a means to an end. He doesn’t care about me, doesn’t want anything from me beyond my signature on a piece of paper and my body in his bed.
But here I am, as my new identity.
Primping for my wedding reception in a five-star hotel that costs more per night than I used to make in a month. It’s surreal. Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life, someone else’s fairytale.
Except this is no fairytale.
The tight band constricting my chest, the anger simmering in my veins, are a stark reminder of that. Victor’s cruel words echo in my mind, taunting me.
“I have no shortage of willing women to satisfy my needs.”
I close my eyes against the sting of tears, refusing to let them fall. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to me.
Fuck Laur, get a fucking grip.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I smooth my hands over the delicate fabric of my gown and square my shoulders. If he wants a picture-perfect wife for the cameras, that’s exactly what I’ll give him. I’ll smile and simper and play my role to perfection. But behind closed doors? He can go to hell.
A knock at the door startles me out of my bitter thoughts. “Mrs. Morozov?” a muffled voice calls. “It’s time.”
Mrs. Morozov.
The name feels foreign to me, an ill-fitting costume I’ve been forced into. But it’s mine now, for better or for worse.
Casting one last glance at my reflection, I lift my chin and slip on the mask of a blissful bride. It’s showtime.
I open the door, expecting to see one of the hotel staff, but instead, I’m greeted by Yuri. He is especially handsome today. His dark hair is neatly styled, and he wears a perfectly tailored suit that accentuates his lean, muscular frame. But what really catches my attention is little Eli standing next to him, grinning up at me with excitement.
“Tetya Laura, you look like a princess!” Eli chirps, running toward me and hugging my leg.
Laughing, I crouch down to her level, smoothing a hand over her hair. “And you, my darling Eli, are the most adorable little fairy in all the land! Thank you for the compliment.”
Eli beams, twirling in her fluffy pink dress. “Do you think Dyadya Victor will think I’m pretty, too?”
“Sweetheart, he would be blind not to see how beautiful you are, inside and out.” I tap her nose playfully, eliciting a giggle.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough chatter, little missy,” Yuri interjects, his tone teasing but edged with a hint of impatience. “We’re on a tight schedule here.”
I glance up at him, our eyes meeting briefly as I straighten. Memories flicker through my mind—catching glimpses of Yuri at the dinner, standing solemnly beside his mother at the wedding ceremony. But we’ve never actually spoken beyond basic pleasantries.
“Tetya?” I ask softly, testing the foreign word on my tongue as my gaze darts between him and Eli.
Yuri clears his throat, extending a hand toward me. “It means ‘aunt’ in Russian. We haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Yuri, Eli’s older brother and Victor’s nephew. Our mother sent us to escort you to the reception hall.”
Aunt. The word echoes in my mind, a sudden reminder of my new role in this unfamiliar family. It feels strange, surreal.
I swallow, forcing a smile to my lips despite the guilt churning in my gut.
Taking his hand, I shake it firmly. His grip is strong, his skin warm. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Yuri. Thank you for the escort.”
