Dark Prince: An Age Gap, Forced Marriage Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

As I step into the somewhat rundown yet still luxurious apartment, Laurel greets me with her trademark blend of snark and false sweetness.

“Well, if it isn’t Lukyan Ivanov gracing me with his presence? To what do I owe the pleasure? Or has the new bride already come to bore you?”

Laurel is a beautiful, Ivy League-educated princess who always knows just what to say to get under my skin. She’s a brat and an entitled one at that, sharpened by the fact that, due to her family’s financial ruin, her ambition to marry me and secure her future has been thwarted.

Before I can respond, Lev, standing just behind me, chuckles to make his presence known. “Careful, Laurel. Your claws are showing,” he says, his voice laced with a cautionary edge.

Laurel’s eyes flick over to Lev, and I can see her calculating, reassessing. Lev’s reputation precedes him—his unpredictable nature and unmatched skills as an interrogator for the Bratva have made him a man you don’t want to cross. She visibly reins in her attitude, offering a faint smile and waving her hand dismissively. “I’m just kidding, Lev. You don’t need to be so serious all the time,” she says, her tone smoothing over the earlier bite.

I watch the exchange silently, reminded of why my engagement to Laurel was doomed from the start. Her goal to marry into the Ivanov family for money and influence was clear, but it was the realization of her cunning nature that led me to end things. My marriage to Maura only sealed the deal.

“Let’s get down to business and cut through the bullshit. We’re not here for false pleasantries, and you damn well know it.”

Laurel nods, the mask of sophistication back in place, as she gestures for us to take a seat. Unable to resist another jab, she leans forward with a smirk. “So, how’s blissful married life with your beautiful new bride? It must be quite the change from the fun you used to have with me.” She winks.

The comment hits a nerve, and I grit my teeth, feeling a surge of defensiveness wash over me. Maura is strong but innocent, and I fiercely want to—and will—protect her.

I lean in and lock eyes with Laurel. “Maura means more to me than you ever did. It’s a shame you were never good enough for me even to consider marrying,” I retort sharply.

The dig takes Laurel by surprise, momentarily silencing her. I’m not here to trade barbs with her, however. The real reason for my visit is the assassination attempt, and I decide to bait her into revealing any knowledge she might have about the attempt on Maura’s life.

Watching her closely for any telltale signs of deceit, I say, “I’m sure you heard about what occurred during our wedding. Do you have anything you want to share about that?”

Laurel feigns a look of shock. “All I heard is that some guy tried to take out your bride. Quite a twist of fate, huh?” She forces a laugh, telling me she’s lying. She knows more than she’s saying.

I fix my gaze on her, trying to pierce through her evasiveness. “You’re well-connected. You must have heard something that could help us.”

Laurel meets my stare, her expression composed, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Luk, darling, you give me too much credit. I’m just a socialite these days. What could I possibly know about assassination attempts?”

Her nonchalance grates on me, but before I can press further, Lev, standing just a stride behind me, leans in, his patience clearly worn thin.

“Cut the shit,” he interjects sharply. “We’re not here to play games. Spill what you know—now. Your feeble attempts to deny it aren’t working.”

Laurel’s posture stiffens, and she slowly reaches for her glass of champagne. “You’ve always had a way of getting straight to the point, Lev,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain.

Taking a sip, her eyes narrow as she sets the glass down with more force than necessary. “You think I’m behind this, that I would stoop so low?” Her tone is laced with anger and a hint of betrayal.

I can’t help but interject, driven by frustration and a need to confront the past. “Given our history, it’s not a stretch to think you might hold a grudge. You clearly are pissed that I ended our engagement.”

She looks at me with contempt. “Me, hold a grudge? Please, Luk, I’m so over you. But if you think I could have a hand in orchestrating something so vile, better think again.”

Laurel reaches for her glass again. I can’t help but note her extravagant drinking of champagne when I know she can’t afford it, and the fact that she’s day drinking doesn’t escape me either.

“You were always a suspicious son of a bitch,” she snarls. “Some things never change.”

I meet her gaze steadily, unflinching. “Tell me straight, no games. Did you have anything to do with the assassination attempt?”

Laurel slumps as if defeated. “No,” she states firmly, “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

She pauses, letting her words hang in the air before continuing, a bitter edge to her voice. “But after what you did to me…” Her sentence trails off as she gathers her thoughts, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that’s hard to ignore.

“You were supposed to be the savior of my family,” she finally says, her voice low but laden with accusation. “That all went down the toilet when you rejected me. Assassination isn’t my style,” she adds, her tone defiant. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re deserving of some sort of karmic punishment.”

Her words cut deep, revealing the depth of her resentment and the pain caused by our broken engagement. But despite her bitterness and the accusations thrown my way, I find myself believing her when she says she had nothing to do with the assassination attempt.

I take another glance around her apartment, noting clothing, takeout containers, and empty champagne bottles strewn here and there. Laurel, in her current state, looks like she’d have trouble planning a trip to buy more booze, let alone masterminding an attempt on Maura’s life.

Feeling a sense of closure on that front, I stand up, ready to put this uncomfortable situation behind me.

“I’m leaving,” I announce, my tone final.

“Wait,” Laurel calls out, a note of desperation in her voice.

I pause, half out the door, my instincts telling me just to walk away. Yet a part of me wonders if she might have some further information, something she’s been holding back.

Lev, sensing my hesitation but ready to move on, nods at me. “I’ll start the car,” he says and steps out past me, leaving me alone with Laurel.

Once Lev is gone, Laurel shifts her approach dramatically. Gone is the angry, wronged ex-fiancée; in her place is a woman trying to exude a sexy, sweet demeanor. “Look, yes, I’m mad at you for dumping me,” she starts, her voice softer, attempting to weave a seductive undertone into her words. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t come to another arrangement.”

She closes the distance between us with a sultry sway in her step, her eyes alight with a predatory hunger.

Her suggestion takes me aback, and my confusion is evident. Laurel leans forward, deliberately unbuttoning one of the top buttons of her shirt to reveal a hint of cleavage. “If we can’t be husband and wife,” she says, her gaze locked on mine, “how about husband and mistress?”

Her proposal leaves me momentarily speechless. The audacity of it, the complete shift in her demeanor, is jarring.

“I’ve seen your Maura,” she purrs, her voice dripping with insinuation. “No doubt she’s a prude, Luk. She couldn’t possibly give you what you really like.” Her hand reaches out toward me in a provocative gesture below my waist, aiming to ignite a desire she assumes still lingers.

But I quickly avoid her touch and grab her wrist firmly, stopping her in her tracks. My grip is tight but controlled. “You should be grateful that all I did was dump you,” I say coldly, my words laced with a warning as I push her hand away.

“I know you never had real feelings for me,” I state flatly. “Your affair with Charlie Baird made that quite clear.”

The mention of Charlie, a now ex-employee of Ivanov Holdings, leaves her visibly shaken. It’s the first time I’ve seen genuine concern flicker across her face since I walked into her apartment. Her attempt at seduction falls away, replaced by sudden worry.

“Charlie?” she questions, her voice laced with apprehension. “I haven’t heard from him in weeks. What happened to him?”

Her inquiry hangs in the air, but I choose not to satisfy her curiosity. Whatever fate befell Charlie Baird is not a matter I’m inclined to discuss with Laurel.

With nothing left to say, I turn and walk out the door.