My chest squeezes.
I whisper to the empty space, “I’ll be back,” like maybe the walls are listening.
The limo is waiting downstairs. The same glossy black car, the same uniformed driver. The interior smells faintly of leather, my grandmother’s expensive perfume, and old power.
My grandmother sits exactly where she did yesterday: centered, composed, gloved hands folded over her purse.
“Sit,” she says.
I do.
The door closes with a soft thud, and the city disappears behind tinted glass.
For a few heartbeats, the only sound is the low hum of the engine.
Then she says, “Dr. Markov had a cancellation.”
My head snaps up, and I can already feel the knowing signs of hope. “What?”
“The nerve trial,” she says. “One of his candidates can’t make the time constraints. There is now a vacant place in the cohort.”
My fingers curl into the seat leather. “And…?”
“And Markov owes me a favor.” She looks at her nails as if this is all very boring. “If I ask, he will offer that spot to your father-in-law.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“Scottie’s father,” I whisper.
“Yes.” She watches my reaction, sharp and unblinking. “Arnold Easton.”
I can’t breathe for a second.
All I see is Scottie’s face at the kitchen table last night, the way his voice cracked when he said,There’s nothing I can do.The weight on his shoulders. The quiet grief he thought he hid.
“There is… a condition,” my grandmother adds.
Of course there is.
“There always is,” I say softly.
She inclines her head. “If I call in this favor, it will not be simply out of kindness. You know this.”
“Yes.”
“I will secure a place in the trial for Mr. Easton,” she continues. “I will give him what I expect is his last, best chance at walking again. But in return, you will end this marriage and honor your engagement to Maxim.”
The words land like a physical blow.
I flinch. “You want me to… divorce Scottie.” I can barely force his name out.
“Yes,” she says simply, “and marry Maxim, as your father arranged.”
My throat burns. “No.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Think carefully before you answer, Katerina. This is not the stage. You cannot improvise your way out of this scene.”
“I can’t just walk away from him like he’s nothing.” My voice shakes. “I love him.”
