Sweet Riddle

KATYA

The second I finish signing the contract, I slam the pen down, the weight of the decision settling like a heavy stone in my chest. Without a second glance, I grab my car keys and storm out of the suffocating room.

I can feel his presence behind me—Ivan. His footsteps are steady, unbothered, like he knows exactly what he's doing. The man makes me want to scream.

Ivan.

What a stupid name for someone like him.

Why do I even like it?

It's like it doesn't even suit him.

He s 6'2", with a body that seems to be made for perfectly tailored black suits. His dark, piercing eyes never miss a thing, and his messy brown hair just adds to his damned charm.

He's too attractive for his own good.

He looks like trouble in the flesh.

Yet, here I am, walking away from the room with him trailing behind me, knowing that somehow, for some unfathomable reason, I can't shake him from my mind.

Ugh, I just need space.

I step outside and inhale a deep breath of the cool night air.

It doesn't help.

Nothing helps.

I make my way to the car, practically seething with frustration, and slide into the driver's seat.

If this bastard thinks everything's going to go smoothly just because we're in a one-year arranged marriage, he's got another thing coming.

I wait for him to say something, anything, but to my surprise, he doesn't protest.

Instead, he slides into the passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt without a word.

Oh, so now he's all obedient, huh? How convenient.

I roll my eyes, fix my hair in the rearview mirror, and hit play on my playlist, blasting music to drown out my thoughts.

Buckling my seatbelt, I glance at him, already preparing for the fight I expect.

"I'm stopping by my apartment to grab some of my stuff," I say, trying to sound casual.

He just nods.

That's it.

Like, "Hey, yeah, I'm going to ruin your life for a year, but it's fineeee."

I can't stand it.

His indifference.

His ability to remain so goddamn calm.

I roll my eyes and start the car, the speakers blasting Fuck You by Silent Child. The heavy beat thumps in my chest as I pull out of the driveway.

I lean back in the seat and reach for a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of my lighter.

The first inhale is sharp, calming. I exhale the smoke and crack the window slightly, letting the cool air mix with the bitter scent of nicotine.

IVAN

I follow her out of the building, watching her as she moves with that same irritation, that same fire, like the world owes her something.

She's stunning, effortlessly captivating, with her long hair cascading over her shoulders. She's wearing ripped jeans and a simple t-shirt, but it only makes her body look more dangerous.

Every step she takes says she knows exactly how to wield her power, and I can't help but admire it.

But then, she reaches the car first and hops into the driver's seat without a second thought.

Really?

She thinks she's the one in control here?

I raise an eyebrow, amused.

I had planned to drive, but apparently, she had other ideas.

Ivan: 0. Katya: 1.

I slide into the passenger seat, not bothering to argue.

Let her have this moment.

For now.

The music blasts through the speakers, loud and bold, and I recognize the song. She mumbles the words under her breath, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

A smoker too.Of course.

I watch her as she takes a long drag, her expression unreadable.

The song, the cigarette, the attitude—it's all a performance, a way for her to assert dominance.

She thinks she's calling the shots, playing a game with the next mafia head.

But she has no idea who she's really dealing with.

For now, I'll let her think she's won something tonight.

Soon enough, she'll learn.