Alina sinks into one of my leather chairs like her legs won't hold her anymore. "Kira, you can't—"
"I have to." The words taste like poison. "You know I have to."
"That's a death sentence." Her voice is barely a whisper. "His last three wives all died under mysterious circumstances. Everyone knows he killed them. You're signing your own death warrant."
"Better me than Anya." I grab one of the coffee cups, needing something to do with my hands that isn't violent. The heat sears my palm, but I welcome it. "She's innocent. She doesn't deserve to be dragged into this world any deeper than she already is."
"Neither do you."
I laugh, sharp and bitter. "I stopped being innocent the day Maksim died. The day I had to become someone else just to survive. At least I know what I'm walking into. Anya doesn't. She still believes in love and happy endings and—" My throat tightens. I force the words out anyway. "She still has hope. I won't let Roman take that from her."
Alina stands, moving to face me directly. Her hazel eyes are wet but fierce. "There has to be another way. We can run. Take Anya and disappear. I have contacts in—"
"He'll find us." I cut her off because I've already played out every scenario in my head during the drive from my father's house. "You saw the photo. He has people watching her. The moment we try to move her, he'll know. And then he'll take her anyway, and I'll have nothing left to bargain with."
"So you're just going to marry him? Let him—" She can't finish the sentence.
"I'm going to marry him," I say slowly, each word deliberate. "And then I'm going to kill him."
Alina stares at me. "Kira—"
"There's no choice here," I say finally. "There never was. Roman knew exactly what button to push."
"So you marry him."
"So I marry him." The words feel like signing my own death warrant. "I secure Anya's safety, get her out of the country, and then..." I meet her eyes. "Then I kill my husband and take everything he's built."
She groans. "But you'll be walking into a viper's nest. Roman's not stupid—he'll be watching for betrayal."
"Let him watch." I take another sip of the coffee that scalds my tongue. "I've spent six years building a reputation. Roman thinks he's won because he's backed me into a corner. But he's underestimating what I'm willing to do to protect what's mine."
What I don't say is he’s underestimating how much I've already lost. What I’ve already sacrificed.
Because the truth is, the girl who would have been horrified by cold-blooded murder died the same night Maksim did. The woman who rose from those ashes understands that sometimes survival requires becoming the monster everyone already thinks you are.
And I take back everything he thinks he's stolen.
The Ice Queen doesn't break.
She doesn't bend.
And she sure as hell doesn't forgive.
Chapter Two
Maksim
The border checkpoint fades behind me like a bad dream I'm finally waking from. Six years, two months, and seventeen days since I last stood on Russian soil. I've counted every single one of them.
My boots hit the frozen ground, and something in my chest—something I thought died in that Georgian hellhole—lurches back to life.
Home.
I'm actually home.
The word feels foreign. Dangerous. Like if I say it out loud, someone will rip it away again.
I pull the collar of my stolen coat higher against the wind and start walking. The safe house is three miles north, tucked away in a forgotten corner where questions aren't asked, and memories are short.
