Page 82 of Silken Chains
His gray eyes, normally hard and distant, warm up a bit. He steps in, not like he’s marching to battle, but like he wants to actually talk. Head tilted, he looks more human, less ice. Weird how there’s suddenly this vibe between us.
“Papa liked to shower her with gifts, but she hardly wore them,” he reveals, managing a brief, soft smile as he looks at the collection. For a moment, he appears more human, less the mafia jerk I was dragged here to marry.
“But… why? What…?”
He stops in front of me.
I have to tilt my head up just to meet his eyes. My lips are shivering, and it’s not from the cold or fear but from the undeniable, crazy desire zapping between us, strong enough to rival any fictional tale I’ve scoffed at before. Is this the universe’s way of saying “never say never?”
“Choose something for our wedding.” His words snap me back to reality, and he gives me this nod.
I shoot him a wide-eyed stare, totally blindsided by his offer.
“Anything?” I squeak out.
“Yes,”
Hold on, Luar.
This has got to be a trap. He’s probably got cameras ready to catch me pocketing a diamond the size of a golf ball.
My jaw clenches as I struggle to control my emotions. “I… I don’t want it,” I choke out.
But then my eyes are drawn to something, something that catches the light and glitters like shards of glass. My gaze locks onto the necklace hanging by the mirror—elegant curves and shimmering silver making everything around it pale in comparison. And there, dangling from a delicate chain is a teardrop-shaped diamond that seems to hold me captive. It’s not just the size or sparkle that captivates me, but the sheer effortless beauty of it all—simple yet mesmerizing.
“I don’t need any of this,” I say, firm despite the teardrop necklace catching my eye. I force my attention back to Victor, serious.
His eyebrows shoot up like he’s genuinely surprised. “Interesting. Why?”
He steps closer, his presence commanding. Instinctively, I take a half-step back, not ready to bridge the gap just yet.
“Most women would kill to have any piece of this beauty.”
“Well, I’m not most women,” I fire back, my hands finding their way to my hips in defiance.
“You’ll look bare without jewelry at our wedding,” he observes coolly. As if we’re debating if the Earth is round or flat instead of this forced marriage.
“Our… wedding?” A mocking laugh escapes me. “Bare or not, I didn’t choose this.”
When he doesn’t answer, irritation flares up inside me like a brushfire.
“You forced me into this marriage, remember?” My eyebrows knit together in a fierce glare.
“You signed the contract willingly,” he counters, picking up a large green emerald and brushing off the invisible dust before he puts it back into a glass casing.
“Oh, right, because threatening my best friend is just your twisted version of courtship,” I snap, my arms crossed tightly.
He moves in, and suddenly I’m hit with his scent—like danger had a one-night stand with a men’s cologne ad. It’s so overtly masculine that my ovaries are doing somersaults.
“Yes, I did,” he admits without a hint of regret. “And I’m not sorry.”
Right when I’m ready to explode, he drops this bombshell on me.
“I need you to marry me so Papa can get his surgery,” he admits, brushing away a strand of hair falling in my face with a surprising gentleness.
“Excuse me, what now?” The fight in me starts to fizzle out, confusion taking over.
He hesitates, a rare break in his usually unflappable demeanor. “The old man had a stroke,” he finally says, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. “Stubborn bastard won’t get the help he needs unless I’m tied down.”
