Chapter 2
1033 Words
Angelica POV
The past four days have been torture.
I can’t stop thinking about the deal Nicko made. About my life being traded like currency. About how no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape the role I was born into.
I live in a golden cage.
And soon, I’ll be moved into another one—just bigger, colder, and farther from everything I know.
So I dance.
More than ever.
I spend hours in my dance room, losing myself in movement, letting the music drown out my thoughts. I come after breakfast, leave only to eat, rest briefly, and then return again. Dancing is the only place where I still feel like myself.
Today, the song is Human by Rag’n’Bone Man.
The choreography is raw, emotional—every step fueled by frustration, fear, and longing. If I had been allowed to attend an academy, I would have become a choreographer. I know it in my bones. Dance isn’t a hobby for me. It’s who I am.
The song ends, my chest rising and falling as sweat clings to my skin. I walk toward the counter for water—
And freeze.
Nicko stands near the door.
And beside him… a stranger.
Tall. Broad. Powerful in a way that makes the air feel heavier.
My breath catches.
He has auburn hair, neatly styled, and eyes the color of warm amber. His presence is overwhelming—not loud, not aggressive, just there. Watching me.
Approaching me.
“Angie,” Nicko says carefully, “meet Alexander. He arrived a day early.”
So this is him.
The man I’m going to marry.
Panic flares in my chest.
He’s… perfect. Too perfect. The kind of man women dream about, not someone forced into their life like a sentence.
“Hello, Angelica,” he says.
His voice is deep, accented, smooth enough to make my skin prickle.
He takes my hand gently and presses his lips to my knuckles. His touch is warm, steady—his lips soft.
I feel it everywhere.
Get it together.
Don’t fall for this. Don’t let him charm you. This isn’t love—it’s survival.
“Hello, Alexander,” I manage. “Welcome.”
“You were incredible,” he says. “Your performance.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
Before I can respond, Nicko clears his throat. “Angie, why don’t you stop for today? Go freshen up. We’ll wait for you for dinner.”
Relief washes over me.
“Of course.”
Alexander’s eyes linger on me as I walk past him, his gaze following every step. I don’t look back—I’m not sure I could handle it.
When the door closes behind them, I finally exhale.
Elena appears seconds later, grinning. “He’s hot, right?”
“I’m taking a shower,” I say quickly.
She laughs. “Nice deflection.”
This man is out of my league.
We’re marrying for power, alliances, and enemies—not love. And I won’t let myself fall. I refuse to be the one who ends up broken.
In my room, the hot water washes away the sweat and tension, but not the image of Alexander. His smile. His voice. The way he looked at me like he was already trying to understand me.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile, breathing deeply.
I shouldn’t think about him like this.
And yet… the idea of being wanted by a man like him—chosen, even if by necessity—does something dangerous to my heart.
I push the thoughts away and finish my shower.
For dinner, I choose a simple red dress—nothing dramatic. Flat black shoes. Light makeup. My hair loose over my shoulders.
Downstairs, everyone is gathered. Nicko. Maria. My parents. Alexander and his uncle.
Maria rushes to hug me.
“How’s the baby?” I ask, smiling genuinely.
“Perfect,” she says excitedly. “And—guess what? It’s a boy.”
I laugh and hug her tightly. “I’m going to have a nephew.”
Alexander watches me quietly, his gaze unreadable.
“I’d like some time alone with Angelica,” he says suddenly.
My breath stutters.
Nicko nods easily. “Of course. Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”
“Take a walk in the gardens,” Maria suggests with a knowing smile.
Alexander stands and offers me his hand.
I take it.
Outside, the evening sun filters through the trees, warm but softened by shade. He removes his jacket, loosening his tie slightly.
“In Russia, the weather is very different,” I say, trying to fill the silence.
“Yes. Much colder. You’ll see snow every winter.”
I smile. “I love snow.”
“You’ll have it in your own garden,” he replies.
We walk slowly.
“Tell me about you,” he says. “Not what your brother told me.”
“There isn’t much,” I shrug. “I dance. I stay home. I obey rules.”
“And yet,” he says softly, “you don’t feel small.”
I look at him. “Do you have hobbies?”
He hesitates. “I used to sketch. I stopped.”
“That’s a shame,” I say. “If you ever start again, I’d like you to draw me.”
Something shifts in his eyes.
“I’d like that,” he says quietly.
We sit on a bench, talking easily now—about music, travel, small things that feel almost normal.
Finally, his tone turns serious.
“This marriage may be arranged,” he says, “but it can work. I don’t lie. I don’t cheat. And I expect the same respect.”
“I can’t lie either,” I say. “I feel everything openly. But I’ll respect you.”
He takes my hand, pressing a kiss to my skin.
“I think,” he says, “we’re going to be dangerous together.”
My phone buzzes—Maria.
Dinner is ready.
Disappointment flickers in both our eyes.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Hand in hand, we walk back inside—both of us pretending this isn’t already more than it should be.
- Writer
