I Killed the Groom My Father Picked for Me

Viktor stumbled back, his body hitting the wall before sliding to the floor. His dead eyes stared blankly ahead, his mouth slightly open as if he still had something to say.

My hands were shaking. Blood—his, mine—was everywhere.

"You really thought you had me, huh?" I spat, my voice sharp and venomous. "You? Marry me? You crusty, power-hungry fossil."

I kicked his boot, his head lolling to the side.

"Did you think I’d fucking swoon? That I’d bat my lashes and play the obedient little trophy wife while you paraded me around like some prize you earned?" I laughed bitterly, wiping the blood off my cheek with the back of my trembling hand. “You were never going to own me, Viktor. Not in this life, not in any!”

My breath hitched as the weight of what I’d done started to settle in. The gun slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor.

But I wasn’t sorry. Not for this. Not for him.

The music from the nightclub pounded faintly in the distance, oblivious to the chaos back here.

I turned and ran.

Out the door, through the maze of hallways, past the bodies of men I’d killed.

When I burst into the cold night air, my dress was torn, my face streaked with blood, and my chest heaving with every ragged breath.

The city stretched out in front of me—dark, endless, and full of shadows.

I had no plan, no allies, and nowhere to go.

But one thing was certain: Nikolai Romanov was going to regret ever thinking he could sell me off like property.

***

The cold night air hit me like a slap, sharp and biting against my blood-streaked skin. My heels—useless, overpriced death traps—clicked loudly on the wet pavement as I ran through the alleyways behind the nightclub.

I had no plan, no phone, and no backup. My arm throbbed from where Viktor’s goon had grazed me, and my shoulder burned where he’d sliced me with that shard of glass. But the adrenaline pumping through my veins kept me moving.

Behind me, I could hear shouting—my father’s men spreading out, their voices echoing off the brick walls.

“Find her!” someone barked. “She couldn’t have gone far!”

Think, Cassandra. Think.

The alleys twisted like a maze, dark and littered with broken glass and trash bags that reeked of rot. I ducked behind a dumpster, pressing myself against the cold metal, trying to slow my breathing.

But footsteps—sharp, heavy boots—grew closer.

“Check over there!”

Shit.

I darted across the alley, my heels skidding on something slimy. I barely caught myself before face-planting into the pavement.

My dress was torn up one side, blood smeared across the pale fabric like some grotesque piece of modern art. I probably looked insane, but I couldn’t stop.

A car screeched to a halt at the end of the alley, its headlights flaring to life and blinding me.

I froze like a deer caught in the beams.

A man stepped out of the driver’s side, silhouetted against the harsh light. Tall, broad shoulders, leather jacket. His face was shadowed, but I caught a flash of something in his hand—a gun.

“Hey!” he called out, his voice rough, sharp. “What the hell are you doing out here, princess?”

Not your problem, dude.

I turned and bolted down the opposite end of the alley. Behind me, I heard him swear under his breath.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and then came the sound of boots pounding after me.

But before I could reach the next corner, a pair of hands grabbed me, yanking me into a dark alcove. A gun pressed against my temple, cold and unyielding.

“Gotcha,” a man’s voice rasped in my ear.

One of my father’s men. His breath reeked of garlic and stale cigarettes.

I swallowed down the panic clawing up my throat. My mind raced, searching for something—anything—to get me out of this.

But then, there was a click.

Not from the gun against my head, but from somewhere in front of us.

“Let her go.”

The voice was low, steady, and absolutely done with everyone’s bullshit.

I peeked out from the corner of my eye.

The man from the car was standing a few feet away, his gun raised, aimed directly at the guy holding me.

“This isn’t your fight,” the goon sneered. “Walk away.”

The stranger cocked his head slightly, his jaw tight. “Wrong answer.”

Bang.

The gunshot rang out so loud my ears popped. The man holding me slumped, dead weight dragging me down with him as we both hit the ground.