Blonde waves cascade down her back, her fair skin dotted with freckles that make her look younger than she is. She's always looked like that to me, whether she was seventeen or twenty-three.
Her green eyes have never lost their fire—especially when she glares at me. It's almost amusing, how this fierce little kitten is always on edge whenever I tease her. And honestly, I don't even know why I do it. Maybe I just want to see something other than that icy silence, that stone-cold act like I'm her sworn enemy.
I can't help but smirk after one of my usual jabs, watching as her eyes narrow, like she wants to devour me whole.
How cute. And how much it pains me.
I shift my gaze from her to the glass of rich wine in my hand. She's still so young, so full of life. She doesn't need to get caught up in my world if she becomes my wife.
I know she has her own dreams. Sokolov has already chained her down enough, and the thought of trapping her further—of seeing her take the Romanov name—twists my stomach into knots.
Because as much as I feel trapped, I can't stand the idea of ruining her life, the way I ruined Jane's.
Jane chose to marry me, at least we loved each other back then. But with Anastasia?
I'd only destroy her. Make her miserable.
She never chose this. She never chose me. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't care.
I care. Damn it, I care. I'm not as heartless as people think. They don't know me, not really. Business and personal life—those are two different worlds.
And this is where I'm weak.
"Do you know how dirty that sounds?" she whispered, her voice low with the kind of fear that comes from knowing our father could overhear, though they were already lost in their own conversation.
I raised a brow, giving her a brief glance but not turning fully toward her like before.
"I was just asking," I replied, keeping my tone casual.
"You seriously don't get what I mean when I say 'fuck you' like I swear on you?" she hissed, eyes narrowing, as if trying to make me understand without saying too much.
I chuckled under my breath, leaning back slightly, amused by her frustration. "I get what you mean," I said, keeping my voice just as low. "But I can't help it if you always take everything the wrong way."
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't back down. "You don't just say things like that, not to me. Not ever. What if they hear you?" Her eyes flicked nervously toward our parents, still oblivious to the tension simmering between us.
"Relax," I muttered, leaning closer so only she could hear. "They won't. And even if they did, do you really think they'd care? We're not kids anymore."
Her eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and something else I couldn't quite place. "That's exactly the problem," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "We're not kids anymore, and you still act like this... like you can just—"
"Tease you?" I interrupted, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Like I always have?"
"Like you own me," she snapped, eyes flashing, her face inches from mine. "You think you can say whatever you want because you know I won't fight back, but it's not a game anymore. I'm not some toy you can play with, not some little girl you can control."
Her words stung more than I'd like to admit, but I kept my expression neutral. "I never said you were."
"Then stop acting like it," she shot back, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with enough venom to make me flinch.
I leaned back, trying to regain my composure, mind racing as I tried to figure out what exactly it was that she hated about me so much. But damn, she already seemed to despise me more than enough.
Was it the arranged marriage? If that's what's eating at her, I get it. I hate the terms too. But not her. Never her. So why does it feel so personal?
I didn't have time to ask, though, because right then our fathers wrapped up their conversation, signaling the end of dinner. The tension between us hung heavy, but I knew we had to slip back into our roles—just like always.
The walk out of the Sokolov main building felt like I could physically sense Anastasia's glare burning into my back. If looks could kill, I'd be kissing the pavement right now. Thank God she didn't take the extra step.
After shaking hands with Ivan, I glanced over at Anastasia, standing beside her mother with a sulk plastered on her face. The second she caught me looking, she rolled her eyes, her frown deepening.
I swear, if she weren't a woman—my future wife no less—I'd probably have shot her by now.
I reached out to touch her hand, feeling the tension coil in her slender fingers as her palm immediately grew clammy under my touch.
"It's nice to meet you again," I said smoothly, the words feeling strangely formal after six long years. "I hope our union will bring peace." My voice was calm, deliberate—exactly the kind of tone that pissed her off.
Leaning down, I kissed the back of her hand, making her mother beam with pride and her father nod in approval.
But not her. Damn, Anastasia. At least pretend. Smile, just for show.
But she didn't. Instead, she gave me nothing but an icy, "I hope so," before pulling her hand back like my touch repulsed her.
I straightened up, biting back a sigh. Of course, it was too much to expect any warmth from her, even for appearances.
Her mother kept the conversation flowing with my father, talking about plans for the wedding, the future, all the things Anastasia clearly wanted nothing to do with. I could feel her impatience simmering beside me.
As we walked toward the cars, I leaned in just enough to speak so only she could hear. "You don't have to like this, but at least try not to look like you'd rather jump off a cliff."
She shot me a sideways glare, her jaw clenched tight. "Why pretend? It's not like anyone here cares how I feel about this."
"That's where you're wrong," I replied, keeping my voice calm. "I care. And if you keep acting like this, you're going to make this whole thing a lot harder than it has to be. For both of us."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't say anything else. Just kept her eyes forward, seething silently.
I shook my head. This was going to be one hell of a marriage.
We reached the sleek Mercedes-Benz S-Class, its armored exterior a stark contrast to the tension still hanging in the air. As I settled into the back seat, my father slipped in beside me, the driver closing the door with a muted thud.
The interior was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the engine as we pulled away from the Sokolov estate. Felix glanced at me, his expression thoughtful.
"So, how is she for you now?" he asked, his tone casual but carrying a weight of genuine curiosity.
I leaned back, looking out the window as the cityscape began to blur past. "Seems like she's determined to make this as difficult as possible," I said, trying to keep my tone light despite the frustration I felt.
My father nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You knew it wouldn't be easy. The Sokolov family doesn't exactly play nice. But you're getting married for more than just personal reasons."
"I know," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "But it's hard to stay positive when she acts like she'd rather be anywhere else."
"Give it time," my father advised, his gaze steady. "Sometimes it takes a while for people to adjust. And remember, you both have a role to play. If you show her a bit of understanding, she might just come around."
I nodded, but the knot in my stomach didn't loosen. Understanding seemed like a distant hope when all I got in return was cold indifference.
"Focus on your responsibilities," he said curtly, dismissing further discussion. "The rest will follow."
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
As the car approached the Romanov estate, the grandeur of the mansion came into view. The estate sprawled across several acres, a testament to old-world opulence and modern luxury.
The mansion itself was an imposing structure, with classical columns and expansive, intricately designed facades that spoke of both history and wealth. Its towering presence was framed by lush gardens and manicured lawns that seemed to stretch endlessly.
The driveway wound through the estate, flanked by ornate iron gates and sculpted hedges. As we drew closer, the headlights illuminated the grand entrance—a set of massive double doors, framed by ornate stone carvings and flanked by elegant, flickering lanterns.
Beyond the gates, the yard was dotted with elegant fountains and well-tended flower beds, adding a touch of vibrant color to the green expanse. The estate's expansive grounds were a visual feast, showcasing the opulence of the Romanov family's legacy.
The car finally came to a stop at the foot of the grand staircase leading up to the entrance. As the door opened, the grandeur of the estate was matched only by the cold reception that awaited inside.
As I stepped out of the car and adjusted my suit, preparing to enter the Romanov estate, I was reminded of the family's grand but insular world. The mansion loomed before me, a symbol of our power and unity—despite our mafia ties, family loyalty was sacred.
"Alexei," Felix's voice cut through the air, stopping me in my tracks. "Get over it soon, Son."
I knew exactly what he meant—Jane. His words were a sharp reminder of the wound that never quite healed. I didn't turn around, my anger simmering beneath the surface. Jane was gone, but she was far from forgotten. The thought of moving on was anathema to me.
As I entered the mansion, the maids greeted me with bows, their movements precise and respectful. I removed my outer suit and handed it to one of them, trying to shake off the tension that Felix's comment had stirred up.
My younger brother's voice rang out, cutting through my thoughts. "Not in a good mood, Alex?"
Viktor, the second son of my father and late mother, shared a resemblance with me, though his curly dark blonde hair was a nod to our mother's side. His casual tone was a contrast to the heaviness I felt.
"No, never," I replied, my tone clipped. It made him chuckle.
"Got a peek at your new wife then?" he teased, though his question was edged with curiosity.
"She's not my wife yet," I shot back, the word "wife" still feeling like a raw nerve. The title was one Jane had held and would always hold in my heart.
Viktor raised a hand in a placating gesture. "Whoa, easy, big bro."
I strode up the grand staircase, Viktor trailing behind like an annoying shadow. "What, Viktor?" I snapped, my patience wearing thin.
"You know, you have to get over it," he said, his tone both sympathetic and irritatingly casual.
Oh, so now he's the second person to tell me this, after my father. Why was everyone so obsessed with my grieving?
"I will," I muttered, stopping abruptly to face him. My height towered over Viktor, who was just a couple of inches shorter. "I will, damn it, Viktor, but not on your schedule. I'll figure it out in my own time. It doesn't mean I'm just going to forget Jane!"
My temper flared, and I saw Viktor's eyes narrow in response.
"You're being emotional," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.
"Hell yes, I am!" I shot back, my anger barely contained.
Viktor seemed poised to say more, but my sharp glare cut him off. He clenched his fists, struggling to find the right words.
"I hate seeing you this... this," he gestured awkwardly, unable to articulate the depth of his frustration. "Vulnerable, you know," he finally breathed out.
I bit down on my inner lip so hard I tasted blood, a low groan escaping me. "I know."
"Look," Viktor said, stepping closer and gripping my shoulder with a firm hand. "I know it's hard, but it's been five years. I... just, you need to move on, Alex. Please. You know we all love you. Me, Father, our little sister, Inessa."
His words, though well-meaning, felt like another weight pressing down on me. I nodded curtly, not trusting myself to speak without letting my emotions overwhelm me.
"And you know our mother would cry to see you like this, you know her," Viktor continued, his voice laden with concern.
The mention of our mother struck a raw nerve, shattering the fragile wall I'd built around my emotions. I pictured her vividly—the warmth of her embrace, her unwavering support, and the gentle way she held our family together. She had been a cornerstone in my life, alongside Inessa, and her absence felt like a gaping wound.
If she hadn't been taken from us by our enemies, I knew she'd be here now, wrapping me in one of her comforting hugs, soothing the ache in my heart. The thought of her pain at seeing me like this, so broken and lost, made my chest tighten. The weight of her memory and the realization of her absence only deepened my sorrow.
I stood there, Viktor's hand still on my shoulder, the image of our mother's sorrowful eyes cutting through me. The ache in my chest felt almost unbearable. I could almost hear her gentle voice, reminding me of the strength she always believed I had.
Viktor's grip tightened slightly. "Alex, I know it's hard. But you have to remember what she would want for you. Jane too wouldn't want to see you like this, stuck in the past. She'd want you to move forward, to live."
His words, though comforting, felt like a heavy truth. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. "I just… I don't know how to let go. How to move on without her."
Viktor's eyes softened. "It's not about forgetting her, Alex. It's about finding a way to honor her memory by living your life, not letting it be consumed by grief. We're here for you, every step of the way."
I nodded slowly, the resolve in his words mingling with the pain in my heart. I had to find a way to move forward, not just for myself but for the memory of the people I loved and lost.