Unwilling Bride (Married to the Underworld CEO)

Author: [writers hub]

The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses – it all faded into a muffled drone as Ragnar disappeared. Zara felt the weight of every eye in the ballroom, magnified now by her sudden, conspicuous solitude. Her initial fear of being left alone intensified, spiraling into a cold dread. Bondi was out there, watching. Mina Song was out there, relishing her vulnerability. And Ragnar, her ruthless, terrifying shield, was gone.

She wanted to call out, to demand he return, but pride, and the chilling realization of her absolute powerlessness, held her tongue. She was a prop, and props didn't demand. They endured.

Her eyes darted to the alcove where Ragnar had vanished, but the view was obstructed by a cluster of towering figures. She couldn't see him, couldn't hear him. The urgent nature of his call, the grim set of his jaw, implied something far beyond corporate pleasantries. Was it underworld business? A new threat emerging?

Zara forced herself to breathe, to remember her training – her "curriculum." Observe. Listen. Trust no one but me. She had to act, not just react. She straightened her posture, the borrowed gown feeling like a heavy suit of armor. She needed a plan.

Her gaze swept the room again, searching for a familiar face, a potential temporary ally. There was no one she knew, no one who wasn't either a part of Ragnar's formidable world or trying to undermine it. She spotted Director Ahn across the room, discreetly speaking with a group of security personnel. He seemed to be overseeing things, his gaze occasionally sweeping towards Zara. He was a professional, but she knew his loyalty was to Ragnar, not to her.

A waiter approached, offering a tray of champagne. Zara shook her head, her smile polite but firm. Alcohol would only cloud her judgment. She needed to be sharp. She needed to understand what was happening around her, even if she couldn't control it.

Minutes stretched into an eternity. Zara maintained her facade, sipping water, engaging in brief, superficial conversations when approached, her mind racing. The thought of Bondi resurfacing, or Mina making another cutting remark, was a constant prickle of anxiety. She knew they were waiting for her to break. She would not give them the satisfaction.

Suddenly, a subtle shift in the atmosphere registered. The music seemed to dim slightly. A hush fell over a section of the room, drawing her attention. Near one of the side exits, Ragnar reappeared. His face was set, unreadable as always, but his eyes held a new, chilling intensity. He wasn't alone. Behind him, two imposing figures, both dressed in dark, expensive suits, moved with a controlled, almost lethal grace. They weren't ordinary bodyguards. Their eyes, cold and watchful, scanned the room with a practiced, almost predatory awareness.

Zara instinctively knew. These were Ragnar's "Shadow Wolves." Their presence, so overt, was a stark message. Something serious was happening.

Ragnar didn't immediately rejoin her. Instead, he moved swiftly to another group of men, his inner circle, their faces grim. He spoke in low, clipped tones, too soft for Zara to overhear, but the reactions of the men around him – their quick nods, their sudden, focused intensity – indicated urgent, even dangerous, directives.

Her eyes caught sight of Bondi, across the room. He, too, had noticed Ragnar's return and the presence of the Shadow Wolves. A flicker of something crossed his face – not surprise, but a grim satisfaction, as if confirming a suspicion. He then subtly, almost imperceptibly, signaled to one of his own men, a brief, almost invisible gesture that only Zara, now attuned to the undercurrents of this world, might have caught.

A new wave of dread washed over Zara. Whatever Ragnar was dealing with, it was connected to Bondi. And it felt like the conflict was about to spill out of the shadows and into the open.

Just as Zara tried to process this new development, Director Ahn approached her, his face grave. "Madam," he said, his voice unusually strained. "Chairman Botermet requests your immediate presence. It's urgent."

Zara's heart leaped into her throat. Urgent. She barely had time to nod before he was guiding her swiftly through the crowd, past the curious glances, towards a less conspicuous service exit. As they moved, she caught a glimpse of Mina Song, her eyes narrowed, her lips curled in a triumphant, knowing smile. Mina knew. She knew something was wrong.

They reached the exit, and two of the Shadow Wolves were already there, holding the door open, their expressions grim. Beyond them, a sleek black armored vehicle was waiting, its engine idling, ready for a rapid departure. Ragnar was already inside, his phone pressed to his ear, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen, revealing a tight line of raw, dangerous anger.

"Get in, Zara," he commanded, his voice sharp, devoid of any pretense. "Now."

Zara didn't hesitate. She flung herself into the cold leather seats, her silk gown rustling. The doors slammed shut, plunging her into the confined, tense space. The car roared to life, accelerating with frightening speed, leaving the dazzling ballroom, and the polite society that inhabited it, far behind. She was no longer just the unwilling bride at a social event. She was caught in the accelerating vortex of Ragnar Botermet's true, dangerous world.

And a chilling premonition whispered in her mind: the night had just turned deadly.