Father clears his throat, straightens his tie. "Victoria. These gentlemen and I have been discussing certain... business arrangements."
Coward. Can't even say it directly.
"Oh, I haven’t introduced you yet… This is Mr. Maksim Severyn—""
"I know who he is." I look pointedly at each of them in turn. "I know who they all are. And I know what they do."
Father's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again like a fish drowning in air.
"Let me stop you there." Maksim's voice cuts through the performance, cold and precise as a scalpel. He steps away from the window, hands clasped behind his back, and the room's temperature seems to drop five degrees. "The situationis simple, Miss Ainsley. Your father lost money that belonged to very dangerous people. I'm in a position to keep your father breathing. In exchange, you marry me."
The words land like stones into still water.
Marriage.
He said it so casually, like he's negotiating a car lease instead of my life.
I should be shocked. Terrified. Furious.
Instead, I feel cold clarity settle into my chest like ice forming over deep water. This is the game, then. The price of my father's stupidity, paid in the currency of my future.
I move toward the chair opposite Father's desk. My bare feet are silent on the carpet, wet footprints marking my path like breadcrumbs. Water trails behind me, leaving evidence of small rebellions.
I sink into the leather chair and cross my legs slowly, deliberately. The sheer white cover-up clings to my thighs, water making the fabric nearly transparent. I watch Maksim's gaze track the movement, watch his jaw tighten before he forces his eyes back to my face.
Point to me.
"You've established terms with my father," I say, letting my fingers trail along the leather armrest, nails clicking softlyagainst the brass studs. "I believe it's only fair that I establish some of my own."
The room goes very still.
Father makes a strangled sound. Zakhar shifts his weight, and I feel rather than see the way his body language changes, threat assessment recalculating in real-time.
Alexei laughs, sharp and genuine. "Oh, I like her."
Maksim doesn't laugh. He studies me with the focused intensity of a man who's just realized the chess piece he thought was a pawn might actually be a queen. "You want to negotiate."
"I want to not be sold without getting something out of it, yes." I lean back in the chair, the picture of relaxation I absolutely don't feel. Adrenaline hums through my nervous system, but years of practice keep my hands steady, my breathing even. "Sit, Mr. Severyn. Let's discuss the terms of my cooperation."
For a long moment, he doesn't move. Then, slowly, deliberately, he crosses to the chair opposite mine and lowers himself into it with the controlled grace of a man who's thought about every motion before making it.
We face each other across two feet of space that feels like a chessboard.
"Everyone else out," I say, not taking my eyes off Maksim.
Father moves immediately, practically fleeing toward the door. He can't get away from his own daughter fast enough now that I'm refusing to be the obedient sacrifice he sold me as.
Alexei rises with that restless energy, still grinning like I've just made his entire week.
But Zakhar doesn't move. "I should stay. As Maksim's advisor—"
I turn my gaze to him slowly, let him see me register every detail. "Hands clasped in front like that, body language experts call it the fig leaf position. Self-soothing gesture. Protective. Usually indicates someone feeling vulnerable or intimidated."
Zakhar's eyes narrow. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
"Am I making you feel insecure, Mr. Zverev?"
Alexei's laugh explodes through the room. "Oh,blyat!"
