The Devil in a Suit

The ballroom had emptied, leaving only the scent of roses and smoke in the air. I thought I could finally breathe, but when I turned, Adrian was there—leaning against the marble pillar like he owned not just the room, but the air inside my lungs.

“You don’t look happy, wife,” he drawled, the word rolling off his tongue like venom wrapped in silk.

I lifted my chin. “Maybe that’s because I’m not.”

His eyes, stormy gray and sharp enough to cut, flickered with amusement. He stepped closer, the sound of his polished shoes echoing in the silence. I felt the heat radiate from him before he even touched me.

“You should be,” he murmured. “Women would kill to stand where you are.”

I laughed bitterly. “Then maybe you should have married one of them.”

His hand shot out, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up. The gesture wasn’t gentle—it was a claim, a reminder of the cage I now lived in. His touch seared me, and though my body screamed at me to step back, I stood frozen, trapped between fear and a pull I couldn’t explain.

“I don’t take what I don’t want,” he whispered. “And make no mistake, I want you. But understand this—” his grip tightened ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, “—you belong to me now. Your smiles, your tears, your blood, your body. Mine.”

The words should have disgusted me, terrified me. Instead, my pulse betrayed me, hammering wildly, heat spreading down my spine. I hated the way my breath caught, the way my lips parted as though inviting him closer.

But before I could gather a retort, a commotion erupted outside the hall. Shouting. The unmistakable crack of a gunshot. My heart leapt to my throat.

Adrian’s hand dropped from my face, but not before I saw his expression change. In an instant, the dangerous seducer became the cold, ruthless heir of the Vasilevs. His jaw tightened, his gaze sharpened, and he reached inside his suit jacket. The metallic glint of a gun appeared in his hand as naturally as if it were an extension of his arm.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, voice like steel.

“I—what’s happening?” My voice trembled despite my attempt at control.

“Welcome to my world, sweetheart,” he said without looking at me, eyes fixed on the door. “This is what it means to marry the devil.”

The doors burst open, and masked men stormed in. My scream caught in my throat. Adrian raised his weapon, and before I could even blink, the ballroom lit up with the sharp, deafening crack of gunfire.

I clutched my gown, heart racing, as the man who had just claimed me with words now claimed the room with bullets—each shot precise, merciless, final.

And as I watched him move—lethal, graceful, beautiful in the most terrifying way—I realized something that shook me more than the blood staining the floor.

Adrian Vasilev wasn’t just my husband.

He was my fate.

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