"I didn't expect the Bratva's tech queen to be quite so... captivating," Lorenzo's voice dripped with irony as he observed Galina, who was absorbed in deciphering a web of encrypted data.
Galina's gaze remained fixed on her screens, her expression a...
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"Are you ready, my lady?" Viktor's voice carries a hint of both impatience and concern as he steps into my bedroom, his presence a grounding force amid my growing anxiety.
I cast one final, contemplative glance at my reflection in the mirror. The woman who gazes back at me is the epitome of grace and sophistication. Dressed in a sumptuous wine-red gown that clings to my curves with impeccable elegance, I look every bit the glamorous figure I was intended to be tonight. The statement earrings glitter under the room's soft lighting, adding an extra touch of opulence to my ensemble. My makeup, a bold combination of crimson lips and subtle smoky eyes, completes the look, with cat eyeliner accentuating the drama of the evening.
Yet, behind the façade of beauty and poise, I can't ignore the shadow of melancholy that darkens my eyes. The reflection reveals more than mere physical appearance; it betrays the turmoil I feel within. The sadness stems from the impending reality that I'll be bound to a man who remains a stranger to me. The desire for a union based on love feels increasingly distant, as I brace myself for a marriage born out of duty and familial obligation.
I am reminded that my allegiance lies with the Bratva, my true family. The Pakhan and the men under his command are my remaining kin. This union with Lorenzo is but a temporary arrangement, one that will persist only until I fulfill my mission or reach my deadline. For now, I must endure, hoping that the ceremony will pass without incident and that I can return to the solace of my own space.
A wave of fatigue washes over me. Sleep eluded me last night, and the only sustenance I've had is a modest intake of fruits. Stress and anxiety have dulled my appetite, leaving me with a gnawing emptiness. I am apprehensive about the engagement, desperate for it to conclude smoothly so that I might find peace and rest.
Despite my efforts to calm myself, tranquility remains elusive. My palms are clammy, adrenaline surges through my veins, and my head feels like it's being weighed down. The anticipation of what lies ahead has rendered my knees weak.
I settle into the dressing chair, drawing in deep breaths with deliberate intent.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The rhythm of my breathing is a lifeline, a desperate attempt to summon even a sliver of calm. Yet, it seems my efforts are in vain. I rest my elbows on the table, my palms cradling my aching head, and close my eyes, trying again.
Still, no reprieve comes.
The soft sound of movement behind me captures my attention, and soon a warm, reassuring hand rests gently on my bare shoulders. A jolt of fear and apprehension races through me. Am I already expected to face this ordeal?
My mind rebels against the idea of being unprepared. If I am honest, I doubt I will ever be fully ready for what lies ahead.
I turn to find Viktor standing there, his eyes reflecting a weariness that mirrors my own. The irony is not lost on me; while my exterior may convey a composed indifference, inside, I am in turmoil.
