Aleksandr's smirk curled cruelly
as he murmured, "Moya Lyubov, don't worry—there's a silencer. You won't hear a thing."
"NO! No... s-stop... Aleksandr, please," I half-whispered, voice trembling with fear. "It's not worth it."
He didn't take his eyes off the woman. "Take her away," he ordered.
"Fired. Blacklisted. Make sure she never works in
Europe again."
"And for you," Aleksandr snarled at the second
woman sobbing on the floor, "consider this your
only warning. Tell the others—anyone who talks
about my wife will be killed."
He locked eyes with Valeria. "I'm sparing you both
only because of her. You should be grateful—now
kiss the ground she walks on."
"Go on—do it!" he yelled.
His voice cut like a blade, making me flinch.
They nodded frantically and, trembling, kissed the ground slowly.
Aleksandr nodded to his men. "Get them out. Deal
with them accordingly."
His men moved quickly, hauling the women away as they sobbed.
⸻
🌑 The Gun
Silence fell as the doors closed.
"Y-you... you didn't have to do that," I half-whispered, my voice unsteady. "All of that was unnecessary, Aleksandr."
Aleksandr turned back to me. His eyes softened,
though the steel beneath them never faded.
"When it comes to you," he said softly, his eyes still on mine,
"No one..gets away with disrespect. Especially not
in front of me."
His voice was almost gentle—but it sent a chill
down my spine.
He meant it. Every word.
I could see it in his eyes
He crossed the room, slipping the gun into his waistband as his hands came to rest on my waist.
"Moya lyubov.." he murmured, his hands still resting on my waist.
He gripped me firmly, lifting me from the chair like I
weighed nothing—like a doll made just for him.
His arms wrapped around me, lips brushing my hair
as he whispered, "You're perfect. I'm truly the lucky one."
I didn't respond. My arms moved on their own, hugging him back weakly.
His breath caught—just for a second.
"Are you accepting me... us?" he asked softly.
As his arms loosened, starting to pull away, I moved
fast—too fast for him to react. My hand slipped
behind him, grabbing the gun from his waistband.
His gray eyes widened, stunned.
I stepped back and raised the gun to my head, the
barrel shaking in my trembling grip.
"Valeria..."
I raised it to my head. "Don't come any closer."
His expression flickered—fear, pain, and something far darker.
"You want to die, moya lyubov?" His voice was soft. Sick with devotion. "Then we'll die together."
He glanced toward the door. "Every exit is locked. My men are armed. If you pull that trigger, they'll slaughter every guest out there."
My knees buckled. "You're insane."
"You're mine."
I pointed the gun at him, my hands shaking violently.
Aleksandr took a step closer. And another.
"Do it," he whispered. "Shoot me...."
I hesitated. Tears slid down my cheeks—why
couldn't I do it? My fingers trembled on the trigger.
He saw it. He felt it.
"Do it," Aleksandr said quietly. "Shoot.... or don't."
With one smooth motion, he twisted the gun from my hand and tossed it to the floor.
⸻
🌑 His Calm
I gasped, shaken, stepping back—but he moved in
fast, one hand on my waist, the other cupping my cheek.
"You're adorable," he murmured, "You didn't even know the safety was on."
I froze.
"I'd never leave a loaded gun near these delicate
fingers," he murmured, letting go of my cheek to
take my hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the back—his grip firm, yet soft.
"Now, let's get you ready for our wedding. You'll walk down that aisle, Little Dove."
He kissed my forehead, then gently let me go,
already turning away.
Phone to his ear, his voice low and calm: "Send them back in."
The seconds stretched, each tick louder than the last.
Five minutes passed in a haze of silence, my heart
pounding in my chest. When the door creaked open
and the beauty team returned, my body stiffened—shaken, raw from what had just happened.
I swallowed hard, forcing my trembling hands to
still.
Deep down, I knew Aleksandr wouldn't truly hurt me.
But the weight of his ruthless protectiveness pressed on my chest like a vice.
I had to stay calm. Had to behave. No outbursts, no
rash moves—not like earlier when I grabbed the gun.
No .. I couldn't risk anyone else getting caught in the
crossfire. Not the guests, the stylists, not the staff.
There was no running from this—not after
everything.
So I straightened myself, masking my fear with fragile calm.