I want to laugh. I want to scream. I take a step closer, fists clenched at my sides. “Is this your idea of protection, Lukyan? Or just another way to control me? What do you even mean?”
He comes out from behind the desk, his presence filling the room, and stops only when there’s barely a foot of space between us. His eyes are dark, steady, unyielding. “You’re marrying me, Clara.”
It hits me like a blow—no warning, no chance to dodge. I stare at him, searching for any sign that he’s joking, any crack in that stone-cold mask. There isn’t one. His gaze never wavers.
For a moment, all I can do is laugh. It’s a bitter, ragged sound, raw and helpless. “You’ve lost your mind. Do you even hear yourself?”
He doesn’t move. “It’s the only way.”
“The only way for what? To own me, to parade me in front of your enemies and tell them I’m property now? Is that all I am to you?”
He looks at me, and for a second—just a second—I see something flicker in his eyes. Regret? Longing? I can’t be sure. “No one will touch you if you’re my wife,” he says quietly. “No one will dare.”
The silence that follows feels heavier than any threat. I feel the weight of it settle over my shoulders, squeezing my lungs tight. He’s not lying. He believes it.
I press my hands to my temples, trying to hold my world together as it tilts beneath me. I want to break something, to shove him, to scream at the unfairness of it all. Instead I force myself to meet his eyes, refusing to let him see how much he’s shaken me.
“This isn’t love, Lukyan,” I say, the words trembling. “This isn’t even kindness.”
He nods, just once. “I know.”
“So what is it?”
He’s quiet for a long time, searching my face as if he could find an answer there. “It’s survival. For both of us.”
I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You don’t get to decide my future. Not like this.”
He steps even closer, and I can feel the heat of him, the steady pulse beneath the surface. He’s so close I can see the tired lines around his eyes, the tightness in his jaw.
“If you walk out that door, you’re in more danger than you’ve ever known. My enemies will kill you to punish me. I can’t let that happen.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” I whisper.
He nods again, slow and solemn. “Well, I am.”
Something twists in my chest—fury, heartbreak, an ache I can’t name. I want to hate him. I want to hate how desperate, how certain he sounds. I want to hate the way my heart skips when he claims me, even as every rational part of me recoils at the thought.
I can’t stay in this room another second. I shove past him, ignoring the way his hand lifts as if to stop me, as if he might actually reach out and hold me there. I need air. I need space. I need to get away from the man who thinks he can save me by owning me… and the part of myself that doesn’t entirely hate the idea.
My heart hammers as I bolt down the hallway, ignoring the startled looks from a pair of guards and the anxious flutter of a housemaid at the stairs. I don’t care. I don’t stop. I make it to my room and slam the door, locking it behind me.
I press my back to the wood, chest heaving, tears burning behind my eyes. I want to believe I can still escape. That I can walk away, untouched, unclaimed.
His words echo inside me, louder than the storm, sharper than any threat—You’re marrying me, Clara. You’re mine now.
I slide to the floor, shaking, terrified of the man who wants to own me, and of the part of me that aches to belong to him too.
I stay on the floor for a long time, the wood cold beneath my legs, breaths coming in uneven bursts. My hands won’t stop shaking. I try to push the memory of Lukyan’s words out of my mind, but they loop endlessly.
He wants to marry me.
I think of Lukyan’s eyes, his voice, the way he made it sound like a promise and a warning all at once.
A quiet knock jolts me upright. I wipe at my cheeks, furious that there are tears at all.
“Go away,” I call, my voice hoarse.
The door opens anyway. Nikolai steps inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. He stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes careful, not unkind.
