I Killed the Groom My Father Picked for Me

The bass from the nightclub’s speakers pulsed through the walls, making the floor beneath my heels vibrate. I adjusted the strap of my dress, my stomach knotting tighter with every step I took toward my father’s office at the back of the club.

I should’ve been downstairs, pretending to have fun, sipping champagne, and smiling at some rich creep trying to impress me. But instead, I was walking straight into the lion’s den.

I stopped at the heavy wooden door, the muffled sound of voices creeping through the cracks. My father’s voice was unmistakable—deep, sharp, carrying the weight of authority.

“You’ll have her hand in marriage, Viktor. The Romanov and Ivanov families will be united, and this war ends tonight.”

My breath hitched in my throat. ‘Marriage? The fuck?’

Viktor Ivanov. The man was twice my age, cruel, sting like corpse, and rumored to have a collection of bodies buried under his estate.

I shoved the door open without thinking.

“What the hell did you just say?” I demanded.

The room fell silent. My father, Nikolai Romanov, turned to face me, his dark eyes narrowing. Viktor sat across from him, smirking like he’d already won.

“Cassandra,” my father said slowly, like I was a child interrupting an important conversation. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You promised me to that old man who stung like a corpse?” I pointed at Viktor, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Like I’m some bargaining chip in one of your dirty deals?”

Viktor chuckled, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Oh! She’s feisty, Nikolai. I’ll enjoy taming her.”

The way he looked at me made my skin crawl.

“Shut up!” I snapped at him before turning back to my father. “You can’t do this.”

My father’s expression turned cold. “You will do as you’re told, Cassandra. This family comes first. Your feelings are irrelevant.”

“No!” I shook my head. “I won’t marry this fucking old—”

The slap came out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, sending me stumbling backward. My cheek stung, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe.

Nikolai Romanov had never hit me before.

“Enough!” His voice was ice. “You’ll do your duty, Cassandra, or you’ll wish you had.”

I straightened, my face burning—not just from the slap but from the humiliation. Viktor’s smug grin made my blood boil.

“No, father.” I said softly but firmly.

Nikolai’s eyes flared with fury, but before he could react, I turned and bolted out the door.

But…

I didn’t make it far.

The hallway was empty except for two of Viktor’s men, standing like shadows by the exit. They stepped forward, blocking my path.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” one of them sneered.

“Move,” I hissed.

They didn’t.

But then, behind me, I heard slow, deliberate footsteps. Viktor’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Cassandra, my feisty princess Cassandra… running won’t get you anywhere.”

I turned around to see Viktor walking toward me, his leather shoes clicking against the marble floor. He had his gun out, the barrel gleaming under the cold fluorescent light.

My heart hammered in my chest. I glanced around, desperate for an escape, and spotted an open door leading to one of the private back rooms.

“Fuck you!"

I lunged for it, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it.

The room was dimly lit—plush leather couches, scattered poker chips, and a small bar in the corner. A faint smell of cigars lingered in the air.

But I wasn’t alone.

A gun. Sitting pretty on the glass table in the center of the room.

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed it, my fingers trembling as I checked the chamber. Loaded.

“Open the door, Cassandra!” Viktor’s voice thundered from outside.

“No way, old hag!” I screamed back.

The lock rattled violently, and then—bang! The door flew open, splinters flying as Viktor kicked it in.

Time slowed.

Viktor stepped into the room, his face twisted in a cruel grin. Behind him, his two men followed, guns drawn.

I fired first.

The bullet hit the first man square in the chest. Blood splattered across the wall as he collapsed with a grunt.

Huh! I smirked.

The second man fired back, the shot grazing my arm. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but I didn’t stop. I squeezed the trigger again, hitting him in the neck. He dropped to the floor, gurgling on his own blood.

That left Viktor.

His grin was gone now, replaced with something dark and furious.

“You stupid girl!” he snarled, raising his gun.

But I was faster.

I lunged at him, knocking the gun out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, sliding under one of the couches.

We crashed into the bar, glass bottles shattering around us. He grabbed a shard of glass and swung it at me, slicing across my shoulder. I screamed, but I didn’t stop.

I grabbed a broken bottle, my hands slick with blood, and drove it straight into his side.

Viktor let out a guttural scream, staggering backward. His hand clutched at the wound, blood seeping between his fingers.

But I wasn’t done.

I grabbed his fallen gun from the floor, aimed it right at his chest, and fired.

Once. Twice. Three times!