Chapter 8: A wedding to prepare
Long after Isabella left, Aaron remained where he was with his head leaned back against the seat.
The car was quiet, but it still felt like Isabella was sitting right there next to him. He could smell her perfume. It was some kind of flowery smell, sweet but a little sharp, like leaves after a heavy rain.
He could still taste her skin, too. He remembered the exact way her pulse jumped against his teeth when he bit down on her neck, and the little gasp she let out. It was a broken, sharp sound that almost made him lose his grip right then.
A slow smile came over his face in the dark.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt like laughing.
Five years. For five long years, Isabella looked at him like he was dirt on her shoe. She used every nasty, bitter word her rich father ever taught her and threw them right in his face.
She hated him. She hated the ground he walked on.
But today, she sat right next to him in this car, swallowed every single bit of her pride, and asked him to marry her.
It took her pathetic husband trying to kill her for her to finally run to him.
Aaron moved his shoulders, thinking about Kian Carter.
He had big plans for that arrogant bastard. But this was so much better.
He didn’t even have to use a gun or lift a finger to ruin Kian’s life now. Kian’s own blind wife had just handed Aaron the exact tool he needed to destroy him.
Outside, the driver’s door opened.
The driver slipped into the driver’s seat with usual silence.
Johan was a big guy, broad and heavy like a wall, but even he looked small compared to Aaron.
And he had worked for Aaron long enough to know exactly how his boss operated.
In the many years he’d served Aaron Kazarov, he had seen his employer furious, amused, bored, blood-soaked, even half asleep after seventy-two hours without rest.
Smiling?
That was new.
Johan knew all about Aaron’s weird obsession with Isabella. He was the one who set up the cars today. But seeing Aaron look this happy made a bad feeling crawl right down his neck.
His gaze lingered for only a fraction of a second before Aaron spoke.
"Johan."
Johan straightened up fast, his hands gripping the wheel tighter.
"Sir."
"How long does it take to get a custom wedding dress made?"
The car actually jerked for a second. Johan blinked, his mouth opening a little as he stared into the mirror, probably wondering if his ears had just stopped working.
"...Sir?" Johan’s voice went a little high.
Aaron slowly turned his head. His eyes hit the mirror, heavy and cold. "I don’t like repeating myself."
Johan swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I... I don’t know, sir. I’ve never had to look into that before."
"Find out," Aaron said, looking back out the window.
"...Right now, sir?"
"Does it look like we have time to waste?"
"No, sir. Right away."
Johan’s mind was spinning fast, a weird kind of panic hitting his chest. This made no sense at all.
Aaron Kazarov ran the most brutal shipping syndicate in the city.
The guy hadn’t looked at a woman with anything but total boredom for five years, and now he was asking about wedding dresses.
Johan didn’t know if someone was about to die or if someone was actually getting married.
With Aaron, both were equally plausible.
The car turned off the main avenue, heading down Into the messy industrial streets near the water.
They drove past the giant cranes and rows of rusted metal shipping containers until they hit an old, private dock.
A massive concrete warehouse stood right at the edge of the dark water. It looked totally empty to anyone passing by.
But it wasn’t empty.
The second the car stopped inside the yard, the whole mood changed.
Dark shapes stepped out from the shadows of the loading docks. Aaron opened his door and stepped out into the cold, salty air.
He didn’t say a word to any of them.
As his boots hit the cracked concrete, every single conversation in the yard stopped instantly.
Men in heavy coats straightened up, looking straight at the ground.
Two hefty guards near the big iron doors scrambled out of the way, pulling the gates open before Aaron even reached the steps.
Nobody had to give an order. They just knew who he was, and nobody wanted to be in his way.
Inside, the warehouse was huge, dark, and freezing cold.
The only light came from a single bulb hanging over a big shipping container right in the middle of the floor. The metal doors of the container were wide open.
Aaron walked right inside, the smell of blood, sweat, and old water hitting his nose.
A man was on his knees on the floor, his hands tied tight behind his back. It was a big shipping boss, a billionaire who usually spent his days in expensive suits telling thousands of people what to do.
Right now, he was a total mess. His shirt was torn and covered in dark red stains, and his face was swollen so bad you couldn’t even recognize him.
Tears and snot were smeared all over his cheeks, and there was a dark, wet puddle on the floor around his knees where he had wet himself hours ago.
Aaron didn’t even look at him. He walked right past the shaking guy like he was a broken piece of old furniture left in the way. He pulled off his dark leather gloves, threw them onto a metal chair, and sat down.
The billionaire let out a loud, pathetic sob, his whole body shaking. Aaron ignoring him like that was ten times scarier than getting hit.
A sharp-faced guy stepped out from the dark near the back. It was Perez, the lieutenant running the interrogation.
He wiped his bloody hands on a towel and walked up to Aaron’s side.
"Sir," Perez whispered, his voice tight.
Aaron didn’t answer him. He just leaned back, stretching his long legs out and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
In the quiet, his mind went right back to the car. He remembered how her black hair looked against her pale neck.
He thought about her green eyes... those eyes used to flash with such a beautiful fire whenever she looked at him.
"Sir," Perez tried again, moving uncomfortably. "We took three fingers off his left hand. He’s still refusing to give up the offshore bank codes. He just keeps crying about his family."
The container went totally silent.
The guards stood there like statues, waiting for the word that would end the guy’s life.
Aaron finally blinked, his dark eyes moving slowly up to Perez. "Is he still talking?"
"...Yes, sir. He’s begging."
Aaron let out a short, tired sigh, a look of real annoyance crossing his face. "I thought we fixed that hours ago."
"We can keep going, sir," Perez said, turning back toward the tray of tools.
Aaron waved his hand in the air. "Fix it."
Perez nodded, reaching for a pair of heavy pliers.
"Actually," Aaron said. His voice cut through the cold air.
Everyone froze. Perez stopped right there, his hand hanging over the tray.
The billionaire choked on his own breath, his bloody eyes wide with total terror.
Aaron slowly got out of his chair. He crouched down until he was right at eye level with the crying billionaire.
"I’ll tell you everything!" the man screamed, his voice breaking into a high shriek.
"Please! Just stop! I’ll sign the papers! I’ll give you the codes! Everything!"
Aaron completely ignored the screaming. He just stared at the man’s face, totally calm, almost curious.
"I need a woman’s opinion," Aaron said. His voice was casual, like they were sitting in some quiet café down the street.
The billionaire’s mouth hung open, a thick drop of blood falling from his chin. He blinked, completely lost. "...What?"
"White," Aaron went on, his fingers tapping lazily against his knee. "I was thinking a pure white. But apparently, ivory is a completely different thing."
The prisoner just stared. Perez stared.
Johan, standing near the entrance, pulled at his collar, his chest tightening up with a whole new wave of confusion.
The entire warehouse got so quiet you could hear the water crashing against the docks outside.
"Is it?" Aaron asked, raising his eyebrows a little as he waited for an answer.
The billionaire swallowed hard, his voice dropping into a rough, confused whisper. "I... I don’t know..."
Aaron frowned, his eyes turning dark. "You’re married, aren’t you? Your company papers say you’ve had a wife for twenty years."
"...Y-yes..."
"So your wife planned a wedding," Aaron said, his voice totally flat. "What color did she wear?"
The man started sobbing all over again, his shoulders shaking as the total, absurd terror of the question broke whatever sanity he had left. "I don’t remember! It was twenty years ago! Please, God, I don’t remember—!"
Aaron looked down, his face twisting into a cold, disappointed look. He stood up slowly, shaking his head as he pulled his suit jacket straight.
"Hm," Aaron muttered, turning his back on him. "What a bad answer." He looked over at Perez. "Keep going."
"No! No! Please!" the billionaire shrieked as Perez grabbed him by the hair and dragged him backward into the dark corner. The heavy metal doors muffled the first sharp scream that came next.
Aaron walked out of the container, his long strides taking him back toward the exit.
Johan hurried to keep up, his boots making a fast, frantic sound against the concrete behind his boss.
Just as they reached the car, a phone buzzed loud in the quiet. Johan pulled it out of his pocket, answering it fast.
He listened for about ten seconds, his face changing from total confusion to pure shock, before he hung up and rushed to open the door for Aaron.
"Sir," Johan said as Aaron slid back into the seat.
Aaron leaned his head back, closing his eyes. "Hm?"
"I found the answer to your first question," Johan said, his voice shaking a little bit. "I called a contact who handles luxury weddings. The average wait time for a proper custom dress takes anywhere from eight to twelve months."
Aaron’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t move a muscle, but the sudden, freezing look in his eyes made Johan freeze right on the spot.
"Unacceptable," Aaron said, his voice dropping low and dangerous.
"...Sir?"
"Tell them they have six weeks."
Johan just stared at him, his mouth open. His chest tight. "Sir... a dress like that takes hundreds of hours of hand-work. It’s physically impossible to—"
"They’ll manage," Aaron cut him off, his face turning back into that calm, terrifying stone mask. "Tell them to hire more people. Throw whatever amount of cash it takes to make them work through the night. Six weeks, Johan."
"Yes, sir," Johan whispered, closing the door quiet.
As the engine roared to life, Aaron’s smile returned.
"So troublesome," he murmured.
"I suppose I have a wedding to prepare."