Page 19 of Arrow

Arrow’s eyes flicked to mine. “No?”

“No.” I leaned forward, scanning the trays until I found the most ostentatious, gaudy option—a rose-gold monstrosity encrusted with pink diamonds. “I want that one.”

The manager’s smile faltered as he looked to Arrow for guidance. Arrow’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the only sign that I’d managed to irritate him.

“An unusual choice,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps something more timeless?”

“You said I could choose whatever I liked,” I reminded him, sweetness dripping from my voice like poison. “Price is irrelevant, remember?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Of course. Let’s see it.”

The manager hurried to retrieve the ring and placed it on a separate velvet cushion before me. I slipped it on my finger, holding my hand up to the light. It was hideous, too large for my thin fingers, and exactly what I wanted. A daily reminder to Arrow that I would never conform to his aesthetic or his control.

“Perfect,” I declared. “Don’t you think it suits me?”

He studied me, his gaze moving from the garish ring to my face. Then he did something unexpected: he smiled—a real smile that transformed his face and sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I’d seen him cold, calculating, even angry, but this expression was different. It held something almost like admiration.

“It’s perfect,” he agreed, taking my hand in his. His touch was warm, his fingers calloused in places I wouldn’t have expected from a man who wore suits worth more than most people’s monthly rent. “Exactly what I would expect from you.”

I tried to pull my hand away, but he held firm, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a gesture that felt too intimate.

“And for you?” the manager asked, clearly relieved that a potential confrontation had been avoided.

Arrow released my hand and pointed to a simple platinum band. “That one.”

The contrast couldn’t have been more stark—my gaudy monstrosity against his understated elegance. Me fighting with every weapon at my disposal while he remained unmoved by my rebellion. It was a perfect metaphor for what this marriage would be.

“Shall we size them?” the manager asked.

“Yes,” Arrow said before I could object. “And we’ll need the engraving as discussed.”

I stiffened. “What engraving?”

His eyes met mine, that same almost-smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” I said flatly.

“I know.” He turned back to the manager. “We’ll take them today.”

The manager nodded eagerly. “Of course, Mr. Romanov.” He gestured to an assistant. “If you’ll come with me for the sizing, Miss Virelli.”

I shot Arrow a venomous look before following the assistant to a small table. She measured my finger with a metal loop, jotting down the size.

“And what message will you have engraved in his ring?” she asked, smiling like this was all perfectly normal.

I blinked. “I get to choose?”

She nodded. “Mr. Romanov was very specific. You choose his engraving, and he chooses yours.”

My mind raced with possibilities—obscenities, threats, declarations of hatred. But something told me that’s exactly what Arrow expected. He wanted me to be predictable, to fulfill whatever dark fantasy he’d constructed about our relationship.

“Non omnis moriar,” I said finally. Latin. Not all of me shall die. A promise and a warning.

The assistant wrote it down without reaction, probably assuming it was something romantic. If only she knew.

When we returned, Arrow was signing the receipt, a black credit card already tucked back into his wallet. The manager beamed at us, clearly thrilled by whatever exorbitant amount had just been charged.

“Shall we deliver them to your residence, Mr. Romanov?”