CHAPTER SEVEN

Dawn

My little Dawn was his major substance.

So when he said, “Take nothing of my substance,” he meant I should leave her behind.

That tricky, sick prick. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He wanted me to leave without Dawn.

He’s insane.

But we’ll die here together before that happens. I’m not leaving without my baby.

Scoffing, I left the room to check on Dawn.

It’s been a while since I last sang her a lullaby to lull her to sleep.

It’s been a while since I last cuddled her to bed.

I stepped out of the bathroom and slipped into a soft, simple nightgown. Then I headed to Dawn’s room.

When I opened the door and walked in, I froze.

It was a displeasing sight. Appealing in a way, but still displeasing.

Arrow was sitting on Dawn’s bed like a father reading his children bedtime stories.

Well, he was her father.

His legs were crossed at the waist, palms resting on his thighs like they were glued there.

Dawn’s face was lit up with happy smiles. Her chubby little hands cradled her cheeks as she gazed up at him.

Her eyes sparkled like the stars, something I’d never seen before. And to think her joy was because of him—her father—made a bile rise in my throat.

Arrow was slowly winning her over. Just like he was trying to win me over.

And it was working.

Obviously.

I cleared my throat and walked in. Both pairs of eyes turned to me.

Those striking grey orbs.

The resemblance was undeniable.

Why did she have to inherit his grey eyes? Even his dark hair.

No one would ever doubt that Arrow was her father.

Out of the two stares, one was cold and full of contempt—his. The other was warm and needy—hers.

“I’ll take it from here,” I said firmly, keeping my expression as stiff as possible. Trying to match his coldness.

But who was I kidding? This man was born with that devilish look. I couldn’t compete.

“Dawn, do you want me to leave?” he asked, completely ignoring me.

My eyes widened.

What was he doing?

Was he really undermining me and leaving the decision up to Dawn?

I turned to her, waiting for her to dismiss him. But her reply left me speechless.

“No, Daddy. Stay. Please. Mummy, please, I want Daddy to stay. You can stay with us if you want,” she said, smiling sheepishly like a little trickster.

I stared at her, stunned.

“Dawn, you’d pick Daddy over Mummy? I’ve been with you since you were born!” I said, my tone laced with disappointment.

“All the more reason why I want Daddy to stay. He only just got the chance to enjoy being a father,” she said sassily, picking at her nails like some little diva.

I whipped my head toward Arrow, narrowing my eyes.

“What are you teaching my girl? She’s not sassy!” I accused, glaring at him.

He turned his head slowly, his cold, penetrating gaze reminding me exactly who I was dealing with.

Our relationship.

I had no right to speak so informally with him.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped back, forcing myself to calm down.

Dawn just stared at me with those innocent, doe-like eyes.

I moved closer to Arrow and leaned down slightly.

Just a light reminder—it’s only for a year, so stop your acts," I said, glaring at him.

He turned his head slowly, his eyes cold and devoid of emotion.

"A reminder for you as well—I made the pact with you, not my daughter," he said evenly, and my eyes widened.

"What?"

He got off the bed, picked up Dawn in his arms, and faced me.

"You can have the room now," he said simply before walking out.

I stared at his retreating back, frozen, and the sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the room.

What did he just say?

He made a pact with me.

Not with my daughter.

Which means… at the end of the year…

I’d have to leave without Dawn.

Is he crazy?

I raised Dawn for six freaking years! She’s my daughter. How dare he think he can just take her away after getting what he wants?

"Arrow!" I screamed, storming out of Dawn's room.

But I slammed right into something solid.

Jesus, when did a wall move into the hallway?

Rubbing my forehead, I looked up—and froze.

It wasn’t a wall. It was him.

Arrow.

Damn, his chest is hard.

And why was he shirtless? Those abs… oh my God, those abs. My throat went dry as my eyes trailed down to his waist.

His pants hung low, revealing his V-line and… oh no, I’m not doing this.

I tore my gaze away, biting my lower lip.

Looking up, I met his expressionless face, and another gulp escaped me.

Suddenly, he leaned in, and I instinctively stepped back until my back hit the wall.

His hands caged me in, one on either side of my head, and I blinked.

Where did the bold me go?

Why does he always make me feel so small?

Well, no need to wonder—he’s too intimidating.

"You wouldn’t even be here without me," he said, his voice sharp and cold. "Marrying me gave you access to my wealth, and as long as you’re under my roof, you’ll abide by my rules.

You’re my wife, and any relationship with another man is annulled. Do you even realize the title you’ve taken on?

You’re lucky no one knows you’re my wife," he spat, his words sharp like daggers.

He straightened up, his tall frame looming over me like a shadow.

"It would have been a shameful fact," he added coldly before walking away.

I stood there, frozen, staring at the empty hallway.

His words kept playing in my head, over and over.

“It would have been a shameful fact.”

Slowly, I slid down the wall, sitting on the floor.

Why did it hurt so much?

Why did it feel like his words were a knife slicing through my chest?

He’s a big shot in Russia. A powerful man.

And I…

I treated him like he didn’t matter. I let Clyde kiss me, thinking I was proving a point. But in the end, I’m the one losing.

Even if this marriage is just a contract, it still made me feel… useful.

For a moment, it felt like someone wanted me.

Even if it was just for a year.

I felt oddly good knowing that even after the scandal that drove my ex away, someone still wanted me—as their contract wife. But then, what did I do?

I let a damn kiss from that same ex jeopardize the fragile little family I had now.

Sure, I wasn’t completely happy in this setup, but my daughter was.

This arrangement was only for a year. I was supposed to make it worthwhile. Acting like this was foolish.

He was right. I had access to his wealth because I married him, and he thought I was just a gold-digging bitch. But I’d change his perception of me. I’d prove him wrong—no matter what.

I stood up and sniffed.

Wait. Had I been crying? When did that happen?

I quickly wiped my eyes and walked to our room.

Opening the door, I saw Dawn sleeping peacefully on the bed.

He must have gone to the living room. She was here alone.

I approached the bed and lay down beside her, watching her serene face like it was the most captivating movie I’d ever seen. Her happy, sleepy expression filled me with a sense of peace.

I smiled softly and finally closed my eyes to sleep.

ARROW'S POV

I typed furiously on my laptop, ignoring the relentless ringing of my phone.

I was trying hard to suppress the image haunting my mind, but the harder I tried, the clearer it became.

“Fuck,” I muttered, throwing my laptop across the room. The keys scattered in every direction.

Frustration coursed through me as I gripped my hair.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” I shouted, punching the table with a force that cracked the glass surface.

“Fuck!” I roared, slamming my fist down again, shattering the glass completely.

My eyes burned with fury as I took in the chaotic state of my personal space.

His closed eyes, his hand holding hers, her motionless expression as he kissed her.

Every fucking detail stabbed at me, fueling my rage.

For Satan’s sake, that bastard kissed my wife.

He had the audacity to touch her.

The insane bastard.

A surge of anger rose within me, burning hot and untamed. I couldn’t calm down.

The need for violence overtook me. I wanted blood.

Grabbing my phone, I ignored the sharp pain in my chest. Emotions were irrelevant now.

I scrolled through my messages until I found what I needed—the door code for the bastard who sold red-tip bullets.

Leaving my underground personal space, I stepped onto the escalator that led me up.

The wall to my office opened, and I stepped through.

I pulled on a black vest and approached the far wall, pressing my palm against it.

The scanner recognized my fingerprint, and the wall split open, revealing my munitions cache.

Rows of weapons gleamed under the light. I selected a shotgun, two daggers, a grenade, and my pistol.

Tucking the daggers and pistol into my back pockets, I clenched my fists.

After securing a bulletproof vest over my black vest, I sealed the wall and left my office.

Heading to my room, I checked on my little demon. She was asleep—in the arms of...

Anger surged through me. I slammed the door shut and stormed out of the house, my blood boiling.

Sliding into my black Cherokee, I sped down the road with one destination in mind: the organization.

Pulling a black cap over my head, I arrived at the gate and spotted two guards.

I stepped out, shotgun in hand, walking calmly toward them despite the storm raging within me.

“Hey! Who the hell—”

Before he could finish, I gunned him down. The alarms blared as I entered the premises.

"The wall's been breached!" someone shouted as the guards swarmed the field.

“It’s... It’s...” one stammered upon seeing my face.

“It’s the President!” another yelled.

“Wrong. It’s the Devil,” someone muttered, and the guards hesitated, fear flashing in their eyes.

Too bad for them—I wasn’t here for mercy.

Raising my gun, I fired a shot straight into the forehead of the guard in front of me. Blood splattered as he crumpled to the ground.

The others opened fire, but I dodged their bullets, taking them out one by one as I made my way to the building.

Reaching the door, I kicked it open, ignoring the tunnel at the back—I wanted to make an entrance.

Inside, more guards awaited me, weapons drawn.

I dropped my shotgun and drew both daggers. A female guard charged at me with a knife, but I sidestepped, letting her run straight into my blade. I yanked it out and stabbed her again in the back.

Another guard lunged at me, but I ducked, stabbing his leg repeatedly before finishing him off with a blow to the head.

Blood splattered my face, but I didn’t care.

"Come at me and die trying," I growled. "Or stay and die useless."

The fight raged on, and my daggers made quick work of the remaining guards.

Jumping onto the stair rails, I pulled out my pistol and fired at three more, hitting them squarely.

By the time I reached the top floor, the area was swarming with guards.

No time for games.

I pulled out a grenade and uncapped it. Their eyes widened as I tossed it toward them and stepped back.

The explosion shook the building, clearing the way.

Walking through the destruction, I spotted a rope hanging from a window.

The bastard was trying to escape.

Grabbing the rope, I shouted, “Bastard!”

The fool looked up, fear etched across his face.

I smirked and began cutting the rope.

“No! Please! Don’t do it!” he screamed.

I paused, then started pulling him up. Once he was within reach, I grabbed his hair and yanked him into the room. He screamed in pain as I flung him against the broken wall.

Blood smeared the floor as he struggled to breathe.

I approached him slowly, grabbing his collar. “An old man running this shitty operation?” I sneered.

Slamming his head to the ground, I demanded, “Tell me the truth. Who created the red-tip bullets?”

The old man coughed up blood, his body shaking. “P-please… I’ll talk…”

“Speak!” I barked.

“It... It...”