Sweet Riddle

KATYA

Ivan drives like he does everything else—calm, controlled, like he owns the world and nothing could possibly touch him. It's infuriating. I slouch in the passenger seat, arms crossed, glaring out the window as the city blurs past.

"I don't need a babysitter," I mutter.

Ivan smirks, not even glancing my way. "No, but you do need to understand what being my wife means."

I scoff. "Oh, I understand just fine. It means pretending I don't want to strangle you on a daily basis."

His chuckle is low, dark. "That's a good start."

We pull up to an unmarked building in the middle of the city. From the outside, it looks abandoned—faded brick, boarded-up windows. But the second Ivan steps out of the car, two men appear from the shadows, nodding respectfully before opening the heavy steel door.

I follow him inside, and the second I do, I realize exactly where we are.

The air is thick with smoke and money. A long, polished poker table sits at the center of the dimly lit room, men in expensive suits gathered around it, drinks in hand. A few women drape themselves over them, all sultry smiles and red lips. The scent of whiskey and power lingers in the air, clinging to everything.

Ivan moves through the room like a king surveying his kingdom. And, judging by the way every man straightens at his presence, that's exactly what he is.

He turns to me. "Welcome to The Den."

I raise an eyebrow. "Creative name."

He smirks. "You don't like it?"

"I just expected something a little less... cliché. What's next? A club called Sin?"

Ivan chuckles, shaking his head. "Come."

I don't move right away. Instead, I let my eyes scan the room. Every person here is dangerous in their own way, but none of them scare me. Not the poker sharks, not the bodyguards, not the women who eye me like I don't belong.

I meet Ivan's gaze, holding it for a long moment before finally stepping forward. He doesn't smirk this time, but there's something in his eyes—approval, maybe.

Or amusement.

Either way, I hate it.

IVAN

She's fearless.

That's what I learn as I watch Katya stroll through The Den like she belongs here. Like she isn't surrounded by men who could kill her with a single word. She doesn't shrink under their gazes—she meets them head-on, her chin tilted just enough to show she isn't here to play nice.

She's reckless. Stubborn. But damn if she isn't entertaining.

I guide her toward a hallway at the back of the room, pushing open a door that leads to the lower levels of the building. The air changes immediately—colder, sharper. The scent of chemicals replaces the whiskey and perfume from upstairs.

The drug operation.

Men move efficiently, packaging, counting, securing shipments. The whole thing runs like a machine—smooth, ruthless, effective.

Katya watches in silence, arms crossed. After a moment, she turns to me. "Ah, yes. Nothing like a good old-fashioned drug empire to make a marriage stronger."

I chuckle. "You're handling this well."

She shrugs. "Please. My father's been in this business since before I could walk. Drugs, weapons, gambling—it's all the same game, just different pieces."

I study her carefully. "And yet, you never wanted to be a part of it."

Her jaw tightens slightly, but she keeps her expression neutral. "I never got the choice."

Something about the way she says it makes my grip tighten at my sides.

Before I can respond, a familiar voice interrupts.

"You brought the princess to the fun side of town?"

Dimitri.

My right hand. My closest advisor and guard.And the most annoying bastard I know.

He leans against a nearby table, arms crossed, smirking at Katya like she's something to be examined. "You must be the infamous wife. The one causing all the trouble."

Katya tilts her head, eyeing him up and down. Then, with a slow, unimpressed blink, she says, "Oh, great. Ivan's personal lapdog."

I choke on a laugh.

Dimitri raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Lapdog?"

Katya shrugs. "What? You look like the type to follow him around, clean up his messes, maybe even fetch him his morning coffee. Do you sit when he tells you to, too?"

Dimitri lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, she's going to be fun."

I smirk. "That's one way to put it."

Katya turns back to me. "Are we done here? Or do I get to meet more of your minions?"

I lean in slightly, dropping my voice so only she can hear. "You're adjusting faster than I expected, myshka."

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't back away. Instead, she meets my gaze with that same fire I'm quickly getting addicted to.

"I don't adjust," she says smoothly. "I take over."

I grin.

I think I might actually start to like being married to her.