Zakhar's hands drop to his sides, posture shifting into something more aggressive, more honest. But Maksim makes a small gesture, barely a movement at all, just a slight tilt of his head, and both twins obey. Zakhar moves toward the door with coiled tension. Alexei follows, still chuckling.
The door clicks shut.
Silence wraps around us, broken only by the faint drip of water from my hair onto leather. The air conditioning hums its mechanical song. Outside, cicadas scream their late afternoon chorus, oblivious to the negotiation happening inside.
I'm alone with the most dangerous man in Chicago.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, I feel sharp and focused, the way I always do when the stakes are highest.
"You have audacity," Maksim says finally. "I'll give you that."
"You're buying me," I reply. "The least you can do is let me set the price."
His mouth curves, just slightly. Not quite a smile. Something colder, more dangerous. "Your father's life isn't compensation enough?"
"Why should I care about my father's life when he clearly has no problem bartering with mine?"
The words come out sharp, honest in a way I didn't intend. Something flickers across Maksim's expression. Still unreadable, but I think there's appreciation behind those blue eyes now.
"Fair point," he says.
Water runs down my collarbone, slides between my breasts. His gaze tracks the movement. I watch his pupils dilate, watch his fingers tighten on the armrest before he forces himself to stillness again.
Good. Let him see what he's trying to buy. Let him want it.
Want makes men careless, and careless men make mistakes.
"How do you see this arrangement working?" I ask, voice steady and businesslike. "Practically speaking."
"Marriage on paper." His voice is controlled, but there's a roughness to it now that wasn't there before. Like gravel under silk. "Two years. You provide social access, introduce me to the right circles, legitimize the Severyn name. I provide protection for your father and financial compensation for you."
"One year."
His eyebrow lifts. "I said two."
"I heard you. I'm negotiating." I let my head tilt slightly, exposing the line of my throat. The movement is calculated, sensual, designed to distract. "One year is sufficient for me to open the doors you need opened. Two is excessive."
"Two years provides stability. Makes the relationship appear genuine rather than transactional."
"Every marriage is transactional, Mr. Severyn. " I lean forward, let certainty ring through my voice. "Give me one year. I'll make you respectable enough that mothers offer you their daughters willingly."
Low blow. Deliberate.
His jaw tightens. I'm getting to him. "You think highly of your abilities."
"I think accurately of them." I lean back again, the picture of confidence. "One year, Mr. Severyn. That's my counteroffer on duration. Now let's discuss logistics. Will I need to move in with you?"
"That won't be necessary. Separate residences. Joint appearances as required for social events."
"Expectations regarding intimacy and children?"
The wordintimacyhangs between us like a live wire.
The knot of tension I carry in my stomach. The one that's lived there since I was twelve, tightens. This is the moment where most men reveal themselves. Where politeness drops and entitlement shows its teeth.
But Maksim just studies me with that same cold calculation, like I'm a contract he's reviewing for loopholes. "I have no intention of having children."
"Good. Neither do I." My voice stays steady. Professional. "And sex?"
