Chapter 2 Aliara

Aliara

I expected the devil to wear blood. Not cashmere.

When I walked into the Vexler penthouse, I didn't knock. The guards didn't stop me. They didn't need to. I wasn't a threat-not to them. Not yet.

But the moment my heels clicked across the obsidian marble floor, I could feel him watching. Even before I saw him, I felt him. That chill in the air. That shift in pressure. The way it suddenly felt like I was being hunted.

Nikolai Vexler stood by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a glass of something too expensive for its own good. The city glowed behind him, all sharp lines and cruel light, like the skyline itself had been designed to bleed.

He didn't turn around.

"You're late," he said.

I stayed by the door. "I wasn't aware I worked for you."

"You don't," he said. "Not yet."

Now he turned.

And it took everything in me not to step back.

I'd seen him before-on screens, in photos, on grainy security footage. But nothing captured the force of him. Nikolai was carved from shadow and steel. Jet-black suit, not a wrinkle in sight. Tie undone just enough to make it look intentional. Stubble across a razor-edged jaw. And those eyes-gray, glacial, lethal.

He looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to undress me or strangle me.

Maybe both.

"You've changed," he said. His voice was low, slow. Deceptively calm. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"I didn't come here to be recognized."

"No. You came because you ran out of choices."

He walked closer, the distance between us shrinking fast.

"Ten years ago, your father cost me five men. Two warehouses. And the rights to half the docks. Now he's dead, and you crawl back to my city wearing his name like it still means something."

His voice was a blade. Meant to cut. But I didn't flinch.

"Don't confuse crawling with returning," I said.

"You think this is some kind of negotiation?"

"No," I said softly. "This is war."

He stopped in front of me, too close, too calm.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I am."

"I should have you killed."

"You won't."

He smiled-slow, cold, terrifying. "Why not?"

I reached into my clutch and pulled out the only thing keeping me alive.

A black envelope. Heavy. Sealed with wax. His crest carved into it.

He took it, brows arching just slightly before he slit it open.

Then silence.

He read the letter once. Twice. Folded it slowly.

And laughed.

Low. Deep. Dangerous.

"You really are your father's daughter."

"I'm nothing like him."

"That's the problem," he muttered. Then, louder, "You know what this says?"

I nodded. "It says we're getting married."

He laughed again, but this time there was no humor in it.

"It says you belong to me."

"No," I said. "It says I belong to your world. Not to you."

He stepped closer, until our bodies nearly touched.

"You'll belong to me the moment you sign the contract," he said. "The moment you say 'I do.' The moment I slide a ring on that finger and a hand down your throat."

My breath hitched.

His hand moved-slowly, deliberately-to my jaw. He tilted it up, just a little.

"You think I want this?" he murmured. "You think I want you?"

"No," I whispered. "I think you hate that you still do."

His fingers tightened.

And then his mouth was on mine.

Hard. Possessive. Punishing.

He kissed like a man who wanted to erase the past with teeth and tongue. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't tender. It was war.

I should've shoved him away.

Instead, I kissed him back.

I bit his lower lip. He groaned.

His hands slid down my body, gripping my hips like he had the right. Like he owned me already. I gasped as his mouth left mine and trailed down my neck, hot and unrelenting.

"You want me to stop?" he asked against my skin.

Yes.

No.

Fuck.

I shoved him back, breathing hard. My dress clung to me like a second skin. My pulse was a drum.

He smirked. Wiped his mouth like I'd been nothing more than a distraction.

"You'll wear white," he said, turning his back on me.

"You'll wear a target," I snapped.

He paused in the doorway. "Three days, Aliara. That's all you have left of your freedom."

Then he disappeared into the shadows.

I didn't move.

I couldn't.

Three days until I married the man who ruined everything.

Three days until I destroyed him from the inside out.

Nikolai

I should've slit her throat the moment she stepped into my building.

Instead, I kissed her.

Fucking weakness.

Aliara Navarro was supposed to be dead. Buried with her traitor father. But instead, she stood in my penthouse like she owned the place, eyes burning like she hadn't already lost.

And I hated that I still wanted her.

Not just her body. That would've been manageable.

It was the memory of her. Her laughter before the blood. The way she used to challenge me, even when we were kids playing at war across rival families' fences. She was always fire. Untouchable. Wild.

Now she was poison.

And I was drinking anyway.

"You're insane for letting her walk in," Lukas growled beside me, pacing as I poured whiskey.

"She's mine now," I said.

"You think a marriage will stop the Bratva from watching you bleed?"

"No. But it'll buy me time. And if she steps out of line..." I drained the glass. "I'll bury her like I should've ten years ago."

"You kissed her."

I didn't answer.

Because I couldn't lie.

Aliara

Three days.

That was how long I had to become a bride.

To fake purity in front of wolves in tuxedos and pretend the Vexlers weren't already carving me open.

I stayed in the apartment Nikolai assigned me-fifty floors above street level, with glass walls and locks on every door that clicked ominously when I moved.

I wasn't a guest.

I was a hostage with designer sheets.

"You'll be fitted tomorrow," a woman told me. Her name was Emilia-some kind of personal assistant-slash-witch in heels. "He wants it custom. Tight. No cleavage."

"Afraid his men will get jealous?"

She didn't smile. "He doesn't like what he can't control."

I stared at my reflection. At the girl who'd once been Aliara Navarro-wild, free, a daughter of rebellion. Now I looked like a stranger in silk and secrets.

He wanted a bride?

He'd get a queen.

And then I'd crush him.

Nikolai

I watched her from the balcony of my office, hidden behind one-way glass.

She didn't know I was there.

She sat in a white dress, legs crossed, chin tilted toward the skyline like she owned it.

God, she was beautiful.

And so fucking dangerous.

"She's playing you," Lukas said behind me.

"I know."

"Then why are you letting her get close?"

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't have one.

Except... I wanted her close.

I wanted to see what would happen when fire met fire.

I wanted to burn.

Aliara

I slipped out at midnight.

One guard. That's all he left at my door. I smiled at him, whispered a fake story about needing air, and slid a blade between his ribs.

Silent. Quick. Merciful.

I dragged his body into the hallway closet and wiped my hands on my dress.

Then I headed for the west wing.

Nikolai's private office.

I needed proof. Documents. Names. Anything I could use to gut his empire from the inside. My father's secrets were only part of the story.

What I needed was his.

The office door was locked.

I picked it in under two minutes.

Inside, it was cleaner than I expected. Cold. Sleek. No dust, no clutter.

Except... there. A drawer. Locked twice over. I cracked it open.

Inside-files. Ledgers. Photographs.

And then-

A picture of me.

Younger. Smiling. Laughing. A knife in my hand during one of those old underground family sparring nights. I couldn't have been older than seventeen.

I stared at it.

Why the hell would he keep this?

My fingers trembled.

Then I heard it.

Click.

I turned.

Nikolai stood in the doorway, gun pointed at my chest.

His expression wasn't surprised.

It was betrayed.

"You're not very good at being quiet," he said.

I held up the picture. "You kept this?"

He didn't lower the gun.

"Why?" I asked again. "Why keep this if you hate me?"

He walked toward me. Slowly. Each step echoing through the silence.

"I don't hate you, Aliara."

His voice was low, quiet.

"I hate what you turned me into."

The gun dropped.

But his eyes didn't soften.

Not even when he whispered, "I loved you once."

My heart stopped.

Then restarted in rage.

"And I burned for you," I whispered. "Until all I wanted was your ash."

He was inches from me now.

Breathing hard.

"You still want me," he said.

"I want to end you."

He grabbed my wrist.

And kissed me again.

Harder this time.

Wilder.

His hands slid under my dress. My nails clawed at his back.

I hated him. I hated how he tasted like control. I hated how my body responded anyway.

"You'll be the death of me," he growled against my mouth.

"No," I whispered, pulling him closer. "You'll be mine first."