Page 28 of Velvet Chains
“TWELVE.”
“Eleven.”
“Ten.”
My stomach lurches as Eli counts each passing floor, nerves and anticipation warring within me.
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
“Seven.”
“Six.”
The elevator dings and slows to a stop, the doors sliding open.
I freeze, and my breath catches in my throat.
Because there, standing right in front of me, is none other than my new husband.
What the hell?
We were just together a few hours ago, and now he’s here, looking like he stepped out of a goddamn magazine shoot?
And he does. Even with the bruises and cuts marring his chiseled face, he’s still unfairly gorgeous in his tailored black tuxedo, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders and trim waist in all the right ways. His dark hair is slicked back, and those steely gray eyes are fixed on me, raw and unfiltered with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
“Wife…” he greets me, his voice low and smooth. “You look… acceptable.”
I bristle at the backhanded compliment, even as a traitorous part of me thrills at his attention.
Acceptable? I’ll show you acceptable, you arrogant prick.
But I paste on a smile, determined not to let him get under my skin. “Thank you, husband. You clean up well yourself.”
He grunts, offering me his arm. I hesitate for a moment before taking it, feeling the hard muscles beneath the expensive fabric.
“Thank you, Yuri, malyshka, for escorting the bride down safely,” Victor says, giving his little niece a cute fist bump and a nod to Yuri. They both fall into step behind us as we make our way down the hall.
The sound of music and chatter grows louder with each step.
Victor nods to the two suited guards stationed on either side of the ornate double doors. Moving in perfect synchronicity, they reach out and grasp the golden handles, pulling the doors open with a flourish.
The sight takes my breath away—soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, flowers spilling from every surface. The air is thick with the mingled scents of perfume and gourmet food. It’s like stepping into a fantasy world, a glimpse into how the other half lives.
But as Victor leads me to the sweetheart table, I feel hundreds of eyes following our every move, judging, appraising, looking for cracks to exploit. This isn’t just a wedding reception—it’s a performance, a power play.
Victor pulls out my chair, ever the gentleman in public. But I can feel the tension radiating off him, barely contained beneath his polished veneer. His hand grazes the small of my back as I sit, making me flinch away from his touch.
Leaning in close, he murmurs in my ear, “Smile, wife. The wolves are watching.”
I look around the room, my pulse racing as I catch people openly gawking at us. Some look curious; others are straight-up sizing us up like pieces of meat. It’s a fucking circus of designer dresses and tailored suits, with jewelry flashing and guns bulging under jackets.
Politicians rub elbows with mafia bosses, celebrities with cartel leaders.
Bodyguards lurk in every corner, watchful and wary.
And the man beside me, my new husband? He’s the most dangerous predator in the room.
