I need to deflect before he probes deeper.
"Speaking of which," I say brightly, forcing my voice into the register of excited bride-to-be, "we should discuss wedding arrangements. I'm thinking a winter ceremony would be ideal. December, maybe January. Something elegant at the—"
"Three weeks."
The words cut through my planning like a blade.
I stop mid-sentence. "What?"
"The wedding will be in three weeks." He says it like he's commenting on the weather, casual and absolute.
Three weeks.
Not enough time. Not nearly enough time to organize everything I need to organize, to secure the resources I need to secure, to hide what needs to stay buried.
"That's impossible," I say, and I can hear the edge in my voice, the control starting to fray at the seams. "You can't organize a proper wedding in three weeks. The venue alone—"
"Money solves most problems." He leans back, utterly relaxed while I'm trying to calculate contingencies in real-time. "My assistant has already secured a venue. We'll hire whoever you need. Planners, florists, caterers. It's not complicated."
"It's extremely complicated—"
"It's necessary." His voice hardens just enough to remind me that underneath the expensive suit sits a man who overthrew a Pakhan and took his throne. "My business doesn't allow for delays. The Albanians need to see commitment. Three weeks, Victoria. That's the timeline."
I open my mouth to argue, but he's already reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a small velvet box, slides it across the table with the same casual efficiency he might use to pass the salt.
"Engagement ring," he says simply.
The box sits between us.
I stare at it for a long moment, trying to steady my breathing, trying to make my hands work properly. Finally, I reach for it, pop it open.
The ring is beautiful.
Platinum band. Cushion-cut diamond that catches light and throws it back in rainbow fragments. Smaller stones set in a halo around the center, delicate and flawless. It's the kind of ring you see in magazines, the kind that makes other women lean close and sigh with envy.
When I was a little girl, before I learned that monsters wear expensive cologne and move through society with impunity, I used to dream about this moment. About someone sliding a ring onto my finger with hands that trembled slightly. About promises that meant something.
This couldn't be further from that fantasy.
I stare at the ring until the stones blur slightly. Blink hard to clear my vision. Lock down the grief trying to claw up from whatever place I keep emotions I can't afford to feel.
Dreams are for children. I learned a long time ago not to waste time on things that aren't meant for me.
"If you don't like it," Maksim says, and there's something almost careful in his voice, "or if you think it's not big enough, you can go to one of our stores. Éclat. We own them. Pick something else. My assistant assured me this would be appropriate, but—"
The words hit like cold water.
Of course. His assistant. He didn't even pick the ring himself. Why would he? This is a business transaction. A strategic acquisition. The ring is just another line item on a contract,selected by someone paid to handle details he can't be bothered with.
I need to stop letting myself feel anything when it comes to this man.
"It's perfect," I cut him off, sliding the ring onto my finger. It fits exactly. Of course it does. "Absolutely perfect."
I force myself to look up, to meet his gaze, to resurrect the mask. "Three weeks. I'll make it work."
"Good." He nods once, satisfied.
"I have one condition." The words come out harder than I intended, sharp enough to draw blood. "I don't want my father to give me away."
