Chapter Three — Marriage Proposal

Elara's POV

The proposal didn’t come with a ring.

It came with a contract, a loaded gun on the table, and the unmistakable understanding that saying no would get people killed.

I stood in Ruin’s office while the compound outside buzzed with night preparations—engines revving, men shouting, metal clanking. Inside, the air was heavy and still, like the moment before lightning struck.

Ruin sat behind the desk, broad shoulders filling the chair, hands folded as if he were about to negotiate a business merger instead of my life.

I remained standing.

“You said this was temporary,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “You said it was a solution.”

“It is,” he replied calmly.

“That’s not an answer.”

His gray eyes lifted to mine. Cold, focused but there was something else there, buried deep—tension, maybe. Or restraint.

“The Bratva won’t accept appearances anymore,” he said. “They want permanence.”

“And permanence,” I said slowly, “means marriage.”

“Yes.”

The word echoed in my skull.

Marriage.

I had imagined it once—years ago, before debts and blood and fear. Something soft. Something chosen. Not this. Not a forced vow under threat of violence.

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Ruin said. “You don’t lie well. You don’t flinch when men raise their voices. And you haven’t tried to run.”

“That doesn’t mean I want this.”

“No,” he agreed. “It means you understand the stakes.”

I laughed then—quietly, almost hysterically. “Is that what this is to you? Stakes?”

Ruin leaned back in his chair. “It’s survival.”

“For you,” I shot back. “Or for me?”

His gaze sharpened. “For both.”

He stood, coming around the desk. I tensed without meaning to.

He stopped at a careful distance away.

“This isn’t about owning you,” he said. “It’s about stopping a war before it starts.”

“You keep saying that,” I whispered. “But every step pulls me deeper into it.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then Ruin reached into a drawer and placed a thin folder on the desk.

“The terms,” he said.

I stared at it as it might bite.

“You’ve already decided,” I said.

“Yes.”

My throat burned. “Then why am I here?”

“Because I won’t force you blind,” he said. “Read it.”

My hands shook as I opened the folder, and it said: No physical demands.

No heirs required.

Protection guaranteed.

Marriage is binding until debt is settled—or until both parties agree to dissolve.

It was cold. Clinical. Stripped of anything resembling romance.

“You don’t even want a real marriage,” I said.

“I don’t want anything that puts you in danger,” he replied. “This keeps you alive.”

“By trapping me,” I snapped.

Ruin’s jaw tightened. “By shielding you.”

I looked up at him. “Do you know what it feels like to have your future decided by men who talk about blood and territory like it’s weather?”

Something flickered in his eyes then—recognition. Or guilt.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I do.”

The admission stunned me more than anger ever could.

I took a slow breath. “And if I say no?”

Ruin didn’t hesitate. “The Bratva takes you. They won’t negotiate twice.”

Fear clawed at my chest, sharp and vicious.

“You’re using them to corner me,” I said.

“I’m using myself to block them,” he countered. “There’s a difference.”

I closed the folder and pressed it to my chest.

Marriage meant staying. Wearing his name. Standing beside him while enemies watched for weakness.

It meant belonging to a world I despised.

But saying no meant death. Or worse.

“You won’t touch me,” I said suddenly. “Not unless I say so, you won't kiss me, and don't you dare fall inlove with me."

Ruin held my gaze and laughed. “I won’t.”

“You swear?”

“I don’t swear lightly,” he said. “But yes.”

I studied him—really studied him. The scar. The hard lines. The way he held himself was like a man who had learned early that control was the only thing standing between order and chaos.

And beneath it all, I saw loneliness.

Not soft loneliness. The kind that hardens into steel.

“I won’t be paraded,” I said. “I won’t be used as a symbol.”

“You’ll be respected,” he said. “As my wife.”

The word sent a shiver through me.

“Then I have conditions,” I said.

Ruin raised an eyebrow. “You’re in no position to make demands.”

“Then this deal won’t work,” I replied, surprising myself with the firmness of my voice. “Because if you break me, this marriage becomes your weakness. And men like the Bratva will smell it.”

Silence.

Then Ruin smiled—slow, sharp, approving.

“Go on,” he said.

“No one speaks to me like I’m disposable,” I said. “Not your men. Not your allies. Not you, and I won't be ordered around."

“Agreed.”

“I get to leave this compound when I want—with guards.”

“Agreed.”

“I don’t share a bed with you,” I finished. “Not yet, and you don't expect a wifey duty from me."

Ruin didn’t respond immediately.

The pause stretched, heavy and dangerous.

Finally, he nodded. “Agreed.”

Relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled.

“When?” I asked.

“Tonight,” he said.

Tonight.

My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.

“There’s one more thing,” he added.

I looked up. “What?”

“This won’t look like a proposal,” Ruin said. “It’ll look like a claim.”

My skin prickled. “Explain.”

“The Bratva will be watching,” he said. “They need to believe you’re mine.”

The words settled deep, uncomfortable, and intimate.

“And if they don’t?”

“Then this ends badly.”

A knock sounded at the door.

Axel stepped in, his gaze flicking to me before returning to Ruin. “They’re ready.”

Ruin nodded. “Prep the yard.”

Axel paused, then smirked faintly. “Congratulations, President.”

The word tasted wrong.

Ruin turned back to me once Axel left. “You should know something.”

“What?”

“This isn’t how I planned to marry,” he said quietly.

The honesty caught me off guard.

“You planned to?” I asked.

“For someone else,” he said. “In another life.”

That hurt more than it should have.

“Then why me?” I asked softly.

Ruin held my gaze, his voice low. “Because you walked into hell and didn’t beg.”

The compound lights flared to life outside.

Men gathered.

Engines idled.

I felt like I was stepping toward the edge of something irreversible.

Ruin extended his hand.

“Last chance,” he said. “Once you walk out there, everything changes.”

I stared at his hand.

Then I placed mine in it. His grip was firm. Steady, warm, and terrifying.

As we stepped into the floodlights and the crowd erupted into tense silence, a man broke from the shadows near the gate.

He wore a Bratva pin.

And when his eyes met mine, he smiled—Like he already knew something neither Ruin nor I did.