A BRIDE FOR THE RUTHLESS LYKAN

INARA’S POV

I smoothed my hands down the front of the heavy ivory silk, watching the way the amber candlelight caught the intricate pearl embroidery along the bodice. The fabric was cold against my skin, fresh from the seamstress’s iron, smelling sharply of starched lace, sweet lavender water, and old money. In less than two weeks, this dress would define my life. In less than two weeks, I would stand in the cathedral before the elite of the city, take Maksim’s hand, and finally become a wife.

I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the stiff boning of the corset press against my ribs. I had wanted this for so long.

My father had promised me to Maksim years ago, back when my mother was still alive to brush the knots from my hair and sing me to sleep during the long northern winters. After she died, the warmth in our estate seemed to leave with her. My father’s grief had lasted barely a year before he brought home his second wife, a sharp-eyed woman who looked at me not as a daughter, but as a ghost of the past that needed to be quietly pushed into the shadows.

When my younger half-sister, Elizaveta, was born, the dynamic shifted entirely. Elizaveta was sweet, delicate, and gifted with our father’s light hair and soft blue eyes. She became the center of the household, adored by her mother and doted on by our father. Every laughter, every milestone, every small request of hers was treated as a family celebration. I never resented her for it. Truly, I didn't. I loved Elizaveta in the quiet, distant way an older sister loves a fragile flower she feels responsible for protecting. I told myself that it didn't matter if my stepmother ignored me, or if my father forgot my birthdays. I told myself I didn't need their affection, because I had my engagement.

Maksim was my anchor. He was the one thing in my life that belonged entirely to me, a promise sealed before my family fractured. When he looked at me with his dark, thoughtful eyes, I felt seen. He was the key to my freedom, the bridge to a life where I could build a family of my own—one rooted in security, certainty, and quiet devotion.

I stepped back from the tall oval mirror, letting the heavy silk train pool on the wooden floorboards. The quiet of my chamber felt suffocating tonight. The servants were bustling about in the lower halls, preparing for the upcoming feast, and the constant murmur of voices made my skin prickle with a strange, nervous energy. I needed to see Maksim. I needed to hear his steady voice, to feel the firm wrap of his arms around my waist, to remind myself that all of this preparation was leading toward something real.

Changing out of the wedding dress took time, but I refused to call for a maid. I unlaced the stiff bodice myself, my fingers working quickly, and changed into a simple dark velvet traveling gown. Slipping a heavy woolen cloak over my shoulders, I quietly stepped out of my room and made my way down the secondary staircase reserved for servants, avoiding my father’s study where I could hear him laughing with my stepmother.

The night air was crisp and biting as I stepped outside. I slipped through the side gate and flagged a private carriage at the end of the cobblestone lane, giving the driver the address to Maksim’s town residence. It was only a fifteen-minute ride across the river, but every minute felt stretched thin by the restless thrumming under my skin.

When the carriage pulled up to his grand stone estate, the windows on the upper floor were lit with a soft, warm glow. I smiled to myself, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I handed the driver a silver coin. I intended to surprise him. I had a spare key to his side entrance—a key he had given me months ago with a lighthearted promise that his home was already mine.

I unlocked the heavy wooden side door, stepping quietly into the warm, carpeted hallway. The house was surprisingly silent; his head manservant had likely retired for the night, leaving only the soft crackle of the hearth fire in the drawing room to break the silence. I slipped off my leather boots, leaving them near the entrance, and crept up the grand spiral staircase, my heart fluttering with a sweet, foolish excitement.

As I reached the second-floor landing, heading toward his private quarters, a sound made me freeze.

It was a soft, breathless noise, carrying through the heavy oak door of his bedchamber, which stood slightly ajar. A sliver of warm golden firelight spilled across the dark runner rug in the hallway.

I stopped, my hand hovering over the wall. My pulse spiked, a sudden, inexplicable coldness flooding my veins. I told myself it was nothing. Perhaps he had a guest, or a servant was finishing the turndown service. But then I heard it again—a low, husky murmur from Maksim, followed by a woman’s soft, throaty laugh.

The sound was intimately familiar, yet entirely wrong in this context. It wasn't the polished, formal tone of a noblewoman at a salon. It was a breathless, helpless giggle that I had heard echoing down the corridors of my own home since childhood.

My legs felt heavy, as if I were moving underwater, but I couldn't stop myself. Step by slow step, I closed the distance between the landing and his door. My hand trembled as I laid my fingertips against the dark wood, pushing the door open another inch.

The air inside the room was heavy, thick with the scent of melted candle wax, spilled wine, and heat.

My gaze fell upon the large canopy bed near the far wall. The dark velvet drapes were pulled back, casting deep, tangled shadows across the disheveled white sheets. Two bodies were tangled together beneath the mess of blankets.

The woman’s back was arched, her silver-blonde hair cascading over Maksim’s bare shoulders like spun silk. Her pale arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her fingers clenching into his dark hair as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

It was Elizaveta.

My breath caught sharply in my throat, a tiny, strangled noise escaping before I could choke it down.

At the sound, the movement on the bed abruptly ceased.

Maksim froze, his broad shoulders tensing up. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his head from her neck, his chest heaving as he turned toward the door. Elizaveta gasped, scrambling backward against the wooden headboard, pulling a trailing white sheet frantically up to her chin, her eyes wide with sudden, sickening terror.

Maksim sat up, his dark hair messy, his throat marked with flush red skin. His eyes locked directly onto mine.

For a long, agonizing second, no one moved. No one spoke. The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the room, sharp and unforgiving, as the world I had built my entire life upon crumbled silently to dust.