Page 196 of Arrow

He stood suddenly, and the room fell silent as he tapped his glass with a knife, the crystal singing in the hush. All eyes turned to us—Virellis, Romanovs, and the neutral parties caught between our warring clans.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming tonight,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. “Especially those who had to check their weapons at the door.”

A ripple of tense laughter spread through the crowd. I scanned the faces—some amused, others calculating, a few openly hostile. My father remained in his corner, his expression carved from stone as he watched Arrow speak.

“Tomorrow, I marry Harlowe Virelli,” Arrow continued, his hand tightening possessively at my waist. “Many of you think this union is doomed. Some of you are actively betting on which one of us kills the other first.”

More laughter, less strained this time. I felt the weight of expectation pressing down on us—the daughter of Giovanni Virelli and the heir to the Romanov empire, standing together against all odds and common sense.

“I’ve heard the whispers,” Arrow said, his voice hardening slightly. “That this marriage is just business. A temporary ceasefire in a war that’s raged for generations.”

He turned to me then, his dark eyes locking with mine. Something shifted in his expression—a softening so subtle that I wondered if anyone else could notice it but me. He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles with an intimacy that felt more exposing than when he’d fucked me against the window at Erebus.

“What they don’t understand,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine, “is that this isn’t just business. This is inevitable.”

A hush fell over the room. Even my father seemed momentarily stunned by the raw conviction in Arrow’s voice. I felt my pulse quicken, my breath catching in my throat as he continued.

“Harlowe Virelli is the only woman in this city dangerous enough to stand beside me. The only one ruthless enough to match my darkness. Tomorrow, she becomes mine in name, but make no mistake—“ his grip tightened on my hand, “—I have belonged to her since the first time she held a knife to my throat.”

The confession hung in the air, electric and dangerous. This wasn’t part of the script. This wasn’t the cold, calculated speech I’d expected from Arrow Romanov. This was something else entirely—something that made my skin prickle with a sensation I couldn’t quite name.

“To my bride,” Arrow raised his glass, eyes still locked with mine. “May our enemies fear us both equally.”

Glasses raised throughout the room, the toast echoing off the walls. I felt dozens of eyes on me—assessing, recalculating, wondering what kind of power I held over the untouchable Arrow Romanov. My father’s expression was murderous, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The Romanovs looked equally unsettled, exchanging glances that spoke volumes about their discomfort with Arrow’s public declaration.

As the toast ended and conversation resumed, Arrow leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. “Let’s go. We’ve given them enough to talk about for one night.”

I nodded, suddenly eager to escape the scrutiny, the whispers, the calculating gazes following our every move. As we made our excuses to Atlas and Luna, she squeezed my hand one last time.

“Remember what I said,” she whispered. “Be strong enough to demand what you need.”

Arrow guided me through the crowd, his hand never leaving the small of my back. We were almost at the door when my father stepped into our path, his expression carefully neutral though his eyes burned with barely contained fury.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his voice deceptively pleasant. “The night’s barely begun.”

“We have an early morning,” Arrow replied smoothly. “Final arrangements for the ceremony.”

My father’s gaze slid to me, his eyes cold and assessing. “I’d like a word with my daughter before you go. Alone.”

Arrow’s hand tightened at my waist. “Anything you have to say to her, you can say in front of me.”

“It’s fine,” I said, placing my hand on Arrow’s chest. “Give me two minutes.”

Arrow hesitated, jaw tight as he assessed my father. I could feel the tension between them, a living thing crackling with violence barely contained beneath the surface of civility.

“Thirty seconds,” Arrow finally agreed, stepping back just enough to give us the illusion of privacy while remaining close enough to intervene if necessary. His eyes never left my father’s face, a predator watching his prey.

My father gripped my elbow and guided me a few steps away, his fingers digging into my skin with familiar cruelty. I refused to wince, meeting his gaze with the same defiance I’d perfected as a child.

“That little display was beneath you,” he hissed, voice low enough that only I could hear. “Throwing yourself at him like a common whore.”

“Is that what bothers you? That I’m enjoying what you forced on me?” I kept my smile in place, aware of the eyes watching us from across the room. “Or is it that your plan is already failing?”

His nostrils flared. “You think this is a game? That boy will destroy you the moment you outlive your usefulness.”

“Like you tried to destroy me?” I challenged. “At least he’s honest about his intentions.”

My father’s laugh was bitter. “Honest? You naive child. The Romanovs have never been honest a day in their lives. They killed your brother. They would have killed you too if they didn’t see a better use for you.”