Chapter 6: Bound by Chains

Sinister

"I'd rather put a bullet through my skull than say 'I do.'"

That was Sinister's first thought as he stood at the wedding altar, suffocating under layers of tailored black silk and silent rage.

He had endured many horrors in his lifetime.

He had slit throats without blinking, walked through fire without flinching, and buried more bodies than he cared to count.

But this?

This was a slow, calculated death.

The gold accents of the grand hall shimmered under the glow of the chandeliers, casting an almost divine light over the crowd. But to Sinister, it felt more like a prison.

And across from him stood the man who had orchestrated this farce.

Evyan Malhotra.

Dressed in an ivory suit, elegant and poised, looking more like a mocking deity than the man he was about to marry. The tailored suit hugged his lean frame perfectly, his presence exuding confidence that grated against every single nerve Sinister had left. Those dark eyes gleamed with arrogance, unapologetic, as if he were the one in control of this situation. As if he were the one calling the shots.

Smug bastard.

Sinister wanted to rip that look off his face.

The officiant's voice droned on, his words a meaningless hum in the background. Sinister barely heard them, his gaze sweeping over the gathered families, each one reacting to this sham of a marriage in their own way.

At the front, Ilyin, his twin, looked infuriatingly entertained, leaning back in his chair, watching like this was nothing more than a spectacle for his amusement. Beside him, Kairav sat unnervingly still, his expression unreadable.

Then there was his mother, Yelena, who actually looked pleased, while his little sister, Irina, practically sparkled with excitement—as if she were witnessing a fairy tale instead of a hostage situation.

On Evyan's side, his stepmother dabbed at her tears of joy, caught up in the fantasy of a love story that didn't exist. His father and brother sat stiffly, their disapproval locked behind gritted teeth.

And then there was Alex—Evyan's manager. Murder burned in his eyes. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, barely restraining himself from storming up and ripping Evyan away.

Sinister almost wished he'd try something.

The officiant's words blurred together: Love, trust, eternal partnership…

A joke.

Evyan tilted his head slightly, catching Sinister's gaze, that damn smirk still firmly in place. His voice was barely a whisper, meant only for Sinister.

"You look like you're about to murder me."

Sinister's jaw tightened, his voice a quiet, venom-laced growl. "Don't tempt me. I'm considering it."

Evyan chuckled softly, the sound like a match to gasoline.

"Murder would be too quick. I prefer this." His smirk deepened. "Watching you suffer."

Sinister's pulse ticked in his temple, the fire inside him burning hotter.

Watching me suffer?

The bastard had no idea this was only the beginning.

The officiant's voice sliced through the tension.

"Do you, Sinister Krylov, take Evyan Malhotra to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

The room stilled.

Sinister didn't hesitate. He wouldn't give Evyan the satisfaction of seeing him falter. His gaze remained locked on him, dark and filled with a silent promise.

"I do." The words were slow, deliberate, dipped in pure ice.

The crowd waited, and Evyan's smirk grew wider, like a predator savoring the kill. His voice was smooth, almost mocking as he said, "I do."

Of course, he didn't hesitate. The bastard had been rehearsing for this moment.

The rings came next—cold, lifeless metal. Chains in disguise.

Sinister slid the ring onto Evyan's finger with the precision of a man who knew exactly what he was signing. But the touch… the touch sent a fresh wave of fury coursing through him.

Evyan's fingers lingered for a split second. Taunting. Deliberate.

Then came the final humiliation.

"You may now kiss."

The air shifted. The room held its breath.

Evyan leaned in slowly, his breath warm against Sinister's skin. The moment stretched, thick with rage, tension, and something far more dangerous.

"Be a good husband, Sinister. The world is watching." Evyan whispered, his lips brushing dangerously close to Sinister's.

Sinister's grip on his wrist tightened. His voice was a quiet, deadly promise."You just signed your own death sentence."

Evyan pressed a fleeting, mocking kiss against Sinister's lips."Then make sure it's a slow, agonizing one, darling."

Sinister didn't move. Didn't react.

But in that moment, he made a vow of his own.

This wasn't a wedding—it was the first shot fired.

The room erupted into applause. Laughter. Cheers. Congratulations.

But Sinister heard none of it.

All he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

All he could see was Evyan's smirk.

And the only thing he knew was this:

Evyan Malhotra would regret this.

He would bleed for this.

And Sinister would make sure of it.

This wasn't fate. This wasn't destiny. This was a calculated move—

And I should have seen it coming.

Flashback: (A week before the wedding)

The air inside Sinister's office was heavy, thick with the scent of leather, aged whiskey, and something colder—like steel and quiet violence. The city skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city pulsed with life—bright, chaotic, meaningless but Sinister barely glanced at it.

He sat behind his imposing black mahogany desk, fingers drumming against the polished surface in slow, deliberate movements. Numbers scrolled across the sleek screen of his laptop—financial reports, encrypted messages, coded transactions—pieces of an empire that ran far deeper than Krylov Industries. His gray eyes flicked over the data with sharp precision, cross-checking figures, ensuring that every deal, every movement in his network, was exactly as it should be.

But then his secretary's voice crackled through the intercom.

"Sir, Mr. Evyan Malhotra is here to see you."

Sinister exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair, fingers drumming against the polished mahogany desk. What now? Hadn't he already indulged the model enough? Pulled him out of danger, ensured his safety, let him walk away unscathed?

Now, he was here, uninvited.

Sinister exhaled sharply through his nose. Did the fool come to thank him for his little act of mercy?

If so, he would throw him out within seconds.

Sinister pressed a button on his intercom, his voice calm, but laced with quiet warning.

"Send him in."

The door swung open.

Evyan Malhotra walked in like he owned the room. Like he wasn't standing in front of a man who could snap his neck in an instant. His dark eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something bordering on amusement, and the corner of his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk.

Sinister leaned back in his chair, watching. Calculating. Waiting.

Evyan didn't sit. Didn't hesitate.

He shut the door behind him with a quiet, deliberate click.

Then, with the arrogance of a man who had everything planned to perfection, he met Sinister's gaze and said—

"Marry me."

Silence.

Sinister stared. Then, he laughed. Low. Amused. Lethal.

A sharp, mirthless chuckle that echoed in the vastness of his office.

He tilted his head slightly, examining Evyan as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in existence.

"You must have lost your mind."

Evyan's smirk didn't waver.

"I'm perfectly sane."

Sinister leaned back, his lips curling into a mocking smirk, his voice dripping with derision. "Let me guess—you've developed some twisted fascination with me since the moment we met. And now, you see something you shouldn't touch, something that should terrify you, and instead, it excites you. Because that's what spoiled brats do, isn't it? Chase things they can't control just for the thrill of it."

Evyan chuckled, utterly unfazed."Sharp as ever, Mr.Krylov. But I wouldn't expect anything less from the Bratva's king."

Sinister arched a brow. Unimpressed. Unshaken.

Evyan's smirk widened. "Oh, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." He took a slow step closer. "Sinister Krylov. The head of the Bratva. The ghost king of the Russian underworld."

The weight of his words hung in the air, sharp as a blade.

Sinister exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable.

Then he chuckled.

Low. Amused.

"And?"

Evyan faltered—just for a fraction of a second. But Sinister caught it.

He expected a reaction. A denial. A threat. Something.

Instead, Sinister simply stared at him, his gaze flat, his smirk barely there.

Evyan's fingers twitched slightly at his side before he rolled his shoulders, regaining his composure.

"It would be… inconvenient if that information got out, wouldn't it?"

Sinister tilted his head slightly, considering. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Nice attempt at blackmail, but if you think a whispered truth is enough to shake my empire, Malhotra, then you're even more naïve than I thought."

His voice was calm. Unforgiving.

"Men have tried to use my name as a weapon before. They are no longer breathing."

Evyan exhaled a quiet laugh. "Oh, I figured as much."

Then, he reached into his coat, pulled out a thick manila folder, and slid it across the desk.

Sinister didn't break eye contact as he opened it.

And then—his blood turned to ice.

A single name stood out in bold, black ink.

Ilyin Krylov.

Sinister's fingers tightened around the edge of the folder. His twin brother's name should not be there. But it was. And it was followed by damning evidence.

He flipped through the pages, scanning the contents with cold precision.

The first document was an Interpol intelligence report, stamped classified, outlining an ongoing investigation into high-profile arms smuggling across Europe—one of the Bratva's biggest and most lucrative operations. It contained bank statements linking Ilyin Krylov to offshore accounts suspected of funding the arms deals, a leaked internal memo from Interpol listing Ilyin as a "Person of Interest"—not arrested, not charged, but being watched. Worst of all were surveillance photos of Ilyin meeting with a known arms dealer at a private location—a meeting that should never have been documented.

None of this was public knowledge.

But if it ever became public…

Ilyin wouldn't just be under investigation. He would be marked as a liability—by both law enforcement and the Bratva.

And liabilities didn't last long.

Sinister's expression remained unreadable as he turned the page.

The next set of documents was worse.

A confidential Bratva ledger listed Ilyin's name under a coded transaction—one that suggested stolen money had gone missing under his watch. Sinister's fingers twitched. He knew for a fact that Ilyin hadn't stolen from the Bratva. But that didn't matter. Because in their world, perception was deadlier than truth.

If the Bratva believed Ilyin had mishandled money, if they believed he was being watched by Interpol, if they believed he had compromised their security— they wouldn't ask questions.

They would act.

Sinister's heartbeat remained steady. His breathing didn't change. But something inside him shifted.

Finally, he closed the folder with slow, precise movements—cold, calculated, dangerous. When he looked up, his voice was razor-sharp, edged with fury hidden beneath layers of ice.

"You have five seconds to tell me why I shouldn't rip you apart limb by limb."

Evyan's smirk didn't waver. If anything, it deepened.

"Because if anything happens to me, that folder finds its way to the Bratva."

Sinister exhaled through his nose, patience razor-thin. "You think the Bratva would turn against me?"

Evyan shrugged. "No. But they might turn against Ilyin."

There it was. The real game.

Sinister's eyes darkened. A storm brewing beneath the ice. Because Evyan wasn't just threatening to expose Ilyin to the authorities. He was threatening to expose him to their own people. If this information got out, Ilyin wouldn't just lose power—he would become a target.

A liability.

A traitor.

And in the Bratva, traitors didn't get second chances.

Sinister remained silent for a long moment.

Then—he smiled.

It was slow. Cold. Merciless.

"You've thought this through, haven't you?"

Evyan nodded. "Every detail."

Sinister tapped his fingers against the desk, his mind moving like a blade through the possibilities.

He could kill Evyan.

He could wipe him off the face of the earth.

But the second he did, the Bratva would know.And they would demand a sacrifice in return.

Ilyin's.

Sinister's fury coiled inside him like a living thing, demanding violence, destruction, blood.

Sinister exhaled sharply through his nose. "You must have a death wish."

Evyan leaned in, his voice a whisper of mocking silk.

"No, Sinister. I have a plan."

Sinister's fingers twitched.

A storm was brewing inside him.

Evyan knew exactly what he was doing.

If Sinister married him, it would bind them together in a way the Bratva wouldn't question. It would give Sinister time to dismantle this trap, time to turn the tables.

But if he refused—

Ilyin's position would crumble.

Sinister's fury coiled inside him like a living thing, demanding violence, destruction, blood.

Evyan leaned in slightly, his voice mockingly soft. "So, now what do you think of my proposal?"

Sinister he forced his expression into something unreadable and spoke the most bitter words he had ever uttered.

"Fine."

Evyan exhaled softly—not in relief, but in victory.

Sinister's lips curled into something that wasn't a smile.

"Enjoy this while it lasts, Malhotra." His voice was a promise of vengeance.

"Because when I'm done with you, you'll wish you were never born."

Evyan laughed softly, standing to leave.

But before he reached the door, he turned back, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

"I do hope you live up to your threats, darling—it would be such a shame if you disappointed me."

And then he was gone.

Leaving Sinister alone with his rage.

With his defeat.

Present – The Reception

The ballroom shimmered under the glow of chandeliers, alive with laughter, music, and empty pleasantries. Glasses clinked, guests toasted, and meaningless conversations flowed—a perfect illusion of celebration.

But at the head table, where the newlyweds sat, the air was poisoned with tension.

Sinister's grip tightened around his champagne glass, knuckles white. Restraint. A skill he had perfected.

Evyan leaned in, his breath warm against Sinister's ear, his voice a whisper—smooth, taunting.

"Darling."

Sinister didn't react. Didn't blink. He simply stared ahead, treating Evyan like an irritation, a meaningless inconvenience.

An existence he refused to acknowledge.

Evyan's smirk widened. "Ignoring me won't change reality, my dear husband."

Nothing.

He exhaled a soft laugh, tilting his head. "Are you going to pretend I don't exist all night?"

Finally, Sinister turned, his gaze slow, deliberate—deadly. His voice was a whisper, edged with steel.

"Oh, I'm going to make sure you exist, Malhotra. In the worst way imaginable."

Evyan grinned, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. He lifted his glass, the crystal catching the light—mocking, unbothered.

"Oh, but it's Malhotra-Krylov now." His smirk deepened, tapping his glass against Sinister's. "To a long, miserable marriage."

Sinister held his gaze, cold and unyielding. Then, with chilling precision, he clinked his glass against Evyan's.

"To your suffering. May it be slow, exquisite, and eternal."

The soft clink rang out—elegant, deceptive, final.

A toast—not to love, but to the art of mutual destruction.