You always knew your family loved your sister more. It wasn’t even subtle. So when they handed you over to save their business, you didn’t cry, didn’t beg. You signed the contract with a smile that dripped honey, masking the blade hidden underneath.

The mansion was cold and grand—just like its master. Dimitri Volkov. Five years older, powerful enough to turn cities to ash, and apparently your husband now. The wedding had been business: white dress, black suit, your parents shaking hands with men who wore shadows like second skin. His family barely glanced your way, like you were some flea they couldn’t quite flick off. But you? You smiled, sugar-sweet and unbothered.

A week passed before you even saw him. He returned from business—‘business’ likely meaning bodies, if you had to guess. Dimitri strode in like he owned the air you breathed, scars on his hands and eyes that skimmed over you like you were another asset to be cataloged. "Get ready," he said, voice rough and unapologetic. "We’re going to dinner."

You blinked up from the velvet sofa. "A dinner?" He raised a brow, almost amused. "Family dinner."

Ah. So the vipers wanted to size you up. You just smoothed your dress and smiled, all sugar and arsenic. "I’ll be ready."

The dining room gleamed with wealth—crystal chandeliers, polished silver, a table that could seat an army. Dimitri walked ahead, slicing through the room like a blade. His family turned to you with all the warmth of snakes. "Ah, the wife," one of them drawled, a woman with eyes like cracked ice. "Finally decided to show up."

You just smiled wider. "They say the best is always worth waiting for."

The room stilled, surprise flickering across their faces. Dimitri’s gaze slid to you, his lips quirking like he’d found something amusing. He pulled out your chair, his fingers brushing your arm—whether by accident or design, you didn’t know. But you caught the spark of something dark and curious in his eyes.

Dinner began, the conversation dripping with judgment masked as politeness. You played along, sweet as syrup, until one of them—his cousin, maybe—sneered, "What did you do before this?"

You tilted your head, the grin not slipping. "Enough to keep myself entertained."

Her lips curled. "Entertainment seems to be your specialty."

You leaned in, voice a whisper meant just for her. "Better than being good for nothing."

Her eyes flashed, but you just took a sip of your wine, meeting Dimitri’s gaze across the table. His smirk was undeniable now—sharp and intrigued, like you’d just turned the game on its head.

Dessert arrived, delicate pastries dusted with sugar. You picked one up, turning it between your fingers as conversation resumed. Then, with a smile as sweet as the cream filling, you flicked it right into her lap. Powdered sugar exploded over her pristine dress.

Gasps rippled around the table. "Oops," you chirped, eyes wide with mock innocence. "My hand slipped."

Dimitri almost choked on his drink, shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter. His family stared, scandalized, but you? You just reached for another pastry with a smile. When you glanced his way, his gaze was locked on you—amused, appraising...and something else that made your heart kick a little faster.

The pastry brushed your lips as you paused just long enough to whisper to the woman still dabbing at her ruined dress, "Next time, I won’t miss."

"Looks like I got a mafia hellcat, moya kukla," Dimitri said, loud enough for the entire room to hear. His family gaped, utterly stunned. This was not how the evening was supposed to go... You were turning out to be more than they bargained for.

Her eyes went wide, mouth opening in shock. Behind you, you swore you heard Dimitri laugh—a low, wicked sound that lingered. His eyes glittered with something sharp, something almost impressed. Maybe, just maybe, this arrangement was about to get interesting.