Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 97448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Everything is going exactly according to plan.
The church brims with people. At the top of the food chain, there’s the Pakhan, the leaders of the brotherhood, and the rest of the members from different organizations.
They’re here to witness the birth of the new man all dealings will go through.
Aka me.
Considering the importance of this event, the church is mined with security detail from all factions. However, Viktor is the one who’s leading the process. I don’t trust anyone else to make this wedding a success.
Most of my men are stationed inside, while the others are guarding the external perimeter. I can leave it to Viktor to come up with the best security plans.
I check my watch and frown when I don’t find an update from Maksim. He should’ve gotten in touch by now.
Unless…he was killed?
I internally shake my head. He couldn’t be dead. Maksim is one of my best men, second best after Viktor in combat, so there’s no one better than him to take care of this loose end.
“Sir?”
I lift my head to stare at the priest. Wrinkles of age surround his eyes as he carefully looks between me and my ‘supposed’ wife-to-be. Perhaps I spent too long staring at my watch and ignoring the robot of a woman who shouldn’t be anyone’s wife.
But she will be.
If everything goes according to plan.
“I apologize,” I say, letting a charming smile tug at my lips. “I’m so eager to take my wife home that I’m counting the minutes.”
Scattered laughter fills the hall. The priest smiles and mumbles that it’s okay.
Kristina, however, is nowhere near amused. She looks too pale, as if she’ll pass out any second now.
That’s it, robot. Show emotions for once in your miserable life.
“You can proceed,” I tell the priest and grab Kristina’s gloved hands in mine. They’re frigid cold, like her expression and corpse-like presence.
Her deep blue eyes look into mine, but they’re lifeless, and the wrong fucking color.
The only color I approve of belongs to those eyes that flicker between green, brown, and yellow in a symphony of emotions.
Her hands were warm, too, when I held them, and she couldn’t stop smiling. She even pinched her thigh when she thought I wasn’t looking.
And when I said ‘I do,’ a sheen covered her eyes as they turned a bright glittery yellow and green. She was so overwhelmed with emotions, she looked to be choked by them.
This one, though? It’s like she’s having a fucking stroke. And not because of emotions, but more due to the lack thereof.
Should I make it worse?
To be completely honest, I don’t believe this woman can ever be useful in my schemes, but if what I gathered about the situation is correct, then it might be worth a try.
I cast a glance at the first bench, where Yulia sits with my sister Karina, who’s barely hanging in there. I told her she didn’t have to attend the wedding, but she vehemently refused and had Anna accompany her. The old woman is holding my sister’s hand—to Yulia’s dismay. Needless to say, my dear mother didn’t want either of them to attend since, according to her sociopathic thinking, they ruin the family’s image.
In fact, she was against this entire wedding happening, and it shows in the lasers she keeps shooting from her rancid eyes.
But the star of this theatrical drama is notably absent.
Igor, his wife, and his son, on the other hand, are watching the show intently on the bride’s side. Or more like, they’re focused on Kristina and her frosty fucking demeanor.
She follows my line of vision, stares at Yulia—or who is supposed to be sitting beside Yulia—then she subtly turns to the priest.
“Do you, Kristina Petrova, take Kirill Morozov to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
Her eyes focus on mine intently, but it’s like she’s not seeing me. Or perhaps she’s seeing someone else in my lifeless gaze.
“I…” she chokes on the word, swallows, then closes her eyes for a brief second.
She sways on her feet, and a better man would reach out to steady her, but where’s the drama in that?
From my peripheral vision, I catch Igor sitting taller and growing more agitated the longer his daughter remains silent.
“Kristina?” the priest asks as a low murmur breaks out in the crowd.
She opens her eyes, but when she looks at me, there are tears in them, even as her expression remains the same.
My, my. Who knew the robot was capable of feeling?
I didn’t expect much from her today, so this is going way better than I anticipated.
“Is everything okay?” I say loud enough for the front row to hear. I need Igor to listen to me being an absolute gentleman to his daughter, who’s fucking up his image as we speak.