Niki Vetrow:
The first time Iid eyes on her, she <b>was </b>covered in <b>mud</b>.
Literally.
It had been a <b>rainy </b>afternoon, the kind that turned the <b>sidewalks </b>into slippery traps and <b>made </b>the city smell like wet asphalt and impending headaches<b>. </b>I was leaving my favorite coffee shop, the one with floor–to–ceiling windows and the best caramel frappino in <b>the </b>entire damn city extra sugar, extra syrup, extra everything. I needed it that day. My father hade into town, and any time that man got within a ten–mile radius my blood pressure doubled.
I stepped out, <b>half</b>–lost in my thoughts, my drink in hand, when she collided into me.
No warning.
Just a sh of iling arms, flying hair, and a breathless, “Oh crap
The frappino exploded across my chest like a sugar bomb, soaking into my tailored cost. I stood there stunned, sticky, and now seething as she looked up at me from where she’d fallen on the wet pavement.
<b>“</b>Oh my god! What the hell, duden she barked, shielding a canvas bag like it held the holy grail.
I blinked, trying to process the audacity. “Excuse me? You’re the one who ran into me.
She gave <b>me </b>a look like I was the idiot. “Because you showed up out of nowhere?! And why the hell wasn’t your drink covered while you were walking?”
I scoffed. “BECAUSE I was drinking it
A ring horn interrupted us. She let our choked noise, scrambling to her feet. “Oh no<b>. </b>No, no. I’ll bete!”
And then she took off running after the departing bus, her canvas bag bouncing against her hip, her shoes squelching in the puddles.
She never even looked back. Not once. Not a single apology.
I stared after her, my tists clenched at my sides, a string of unspoken curses hanging off my tongue. I was soaked, irritable, and nowte for a meeting.
The next ume <b>I </b>saw her, she was in my father’s living room.
Three monthster.
I froze the second I walked in.
I expected her to recognize me immediately–to look away in embarrassment, to stammky out some awkward apology.
Instead, she greeted me like I was a total stranger.
“Hi there! I’m Elena” She extended <b>a </b>hand, all dimples and warmth. “You’re Dmitri’s brother, right? So nice to meet you!
She didn’t remember me!
MER
Not even a flicker of recognition in her moss–green eyes
I didn’t make her hand.
just stared at her, feeling incredulous
Her hair was down that <b>day</b>–long, thick, cascading in waves past her waist. It should’ve looked ridiculous, like something out of a fairy tale, but on her! It worked. She was tall, maybe <b>five</b>–seven or five–cight, and she held herself like she was on the verge of conquering the world, even as she amlled like we were already friends.
Those damn dimples
THIS was Dmitr’s girlfriend‘
<b>I </b>looked over at my very average little brother<b>, </b>whose unirk reminded me far too much of our father. That sime smuggline, the kind that made
you want to punch it right off.
1 didn’t hate Dmitri
I just hated what he represented.
The byproduct of a man I despised and the woman who wrecked our home. A walking reminder that loyalty was just a word people liked to say but
<b>never </b><b>meant</b>.
Men like my father, like Dmitri, they didn’t think twice before screwing over the women <b>who </b>loved them.
<b>And </b>maybe I could’ve turned out like them too, if I hadn’t grown up watching my mother drink herself to <b>death </b>over a man who never once loved her back<b>. </b>She wasn’t perfect–far from it. She was selfish, destructive, and unreliable.
I tried. God, I tried. Countless times I told her to leave him, begged her to get help, pleaded with her to <b>put </b>herself first. But she always repeated the same line like a mantra: “Family alwayses first.”
Yeah, well. It did.
And look where that got her.
One day when things had gotten too much, I tried to take her drugs away but sheshed out without thinking.
The scar <b>on </b>my back!
That wasn’t from some yground ident. That was from the <b>day </b>she snapped–high out of her mind–and shattered a bottle on the counter. The jagged ss tore into me before she even realized what she’d done. <b>Leaving </b>a long ugly and jagged looking scar on my body.
Which, even if <b>I </b>wanted <b>to</b>. I couldn’t forget.
I stopped interfering after that.
What the hell else was I supposed <b>to </b><b>do</b>!
<b>Did </b>I me her?
Maybe a linle or maybe a lot
But it never would’ve gotten that bad if my father hadn’t been a shiny man in the first ce. If he’d also put his family first.
I snapped out of the memory as my phone buzzed. The surgeon called to confirm <b>that </b>the bypass surgery had gone well, but they’ll monitor Beatrix overnight to be safe
Good. That meant she would be okay.
I stood by therge hospital windows, watching the sun bleed into the harbon, staining the city with gold and blood–red hues. The world outside never stopped moving. Even when yours did.
Hours had passed.
And I’d been lost in my head again.
Sometimes I wondered how I’d managed to <b>build </b><b>an </b>empire when my mind felt like a constant war <b>zone</b>. Too many thoughts, always so chaotic. I had been far too long since my mind had felt peaceful. Not in a calming sort of way at least.
Because when it came down to it, I <b>knew </b>how to switch it off. I could be <b>surgical </b>when I needed to be. But that just left me feeling empty for hours.
My therapist once told me iny wandering thoughts were a defense mechanism. Something about my eidetic memory and unresolved trauma giving my brain a constant feed of distractions<b>. </b>I didn’t care about the science of it. I just knew it worked.
I picked up my phone again.
“Get me the Tegal team.” <b>I </b>said into the receiver. “I want the marriage contract ready by six. One–year term. No extensions unless both parties agree. -Full spousal protection use. Medical and educational expenses handled. A cohabitation use. Monthly allowance of ten thousand dors to the wife, with flexibility for more if needed. All her current debts are to be cleared by me. She must apany me to all public and social events deemed necessary. Five nights a week together <b>are </b>mandatory–the remaining two may not be consecutive. Exceptions apply only for illness or
menstruation”
<b>My </b>secretary confirmed everything.
“And make sure there’s champagne in the office,” I added. “Nothing cheap”
<b>8:34 </b>PM
I ended the call, slipping the phone into my pocket as I headed to the changing room down the hall. I kept a wardrobe in nearly every ce I frequented. A habit born from necessity. My life didn’t allow for dy’s
Tonight, I needed something sharp.
I chose a ck suit, tailored to precision, with a deep crimson pocket square. My watch, tinum. My cologne, subtle but <b>intoxicating</b>.
I adjusted my cufflinks and stared at myself in the mirror.
This wasn’t just business.
It never had been
Even if I told myself otherwise.
Because the truth was-
The moment she spilled coffee on me and ran off <b>like </b><b>a </b>chaotic storm, she hadn’t just knocked my drink out of my <b>hand. </b>
She’d gotten under my skin.
And I hadn’t been able to forget her since.
Tonight, she would walk into my office not <b>as </b><b>Dinitri’s </b>girlfriend
But as my wife.
And I was fucking excited.