I let out a low grunt, pinching the bridge of my nose as a headache bloomed behind my eyes.
“You don’t need to answer,” Harris said. His smug certainty leaked through every syllable. “Divorce him. Let’s finalize ourwedding. I have my own stake in this—my inheritance. And I won’t wait forever for your indecision.”
My fingers tightened around the phone until the edges bit into my palm.
“No,” I said quietly. My voice didn’t shake. “I won’t d-divorce Ruslan. And you—stop calling me. I’m ano-another man’s wife now.”
The words tasted like armor. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Necessary.
Inside, I was splintering.
In truth, divorce wasn’t an option anyway.
Ruslan had made that brutally clear.The only thing that will separate you from me is death.
I believed him.
But I also refused to wait around to die.
There had to be a loophole. A legal crack. Some moment of weakness. Something buried in contracts, jurisdictions, or blood feuds that I could pry open.
Running from Ruslan would mean homelessness, poverty, starting over with nothing while my father’s fortune sat locked behind a clause I could no longer fulfill.
No.
I would stay in California. I would survive Ruslan Baranov.
And eventually—somehow—I would still marry Harris and claim what was mine.
Until then...
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make Harris uneasy.
He spoke again, his voice edged with quiet steel.
“Do you understand what’s happening? Every major family that controls California’s underworld—mine included—has aligned against Ruslan Baranov. He’s an outsider. A foreignpower who believes he can step onto this soil and claim it as his own. That kind of arrogance isn’t tolerated here. Not for long.”
Then, evenly, as if stating an inevitability rather than a threat, he added, “Within days, he and his men will be eliminated.”
I scoffed, a short, sharp laugh. “That’s a fantasy. Men like Ruslan don’t die easily.”
“I’m assuming,” I continued softly, “that’s why you had his son kidnapped.”
The pause on the line stretched.
Too long.
I could almost hear the recalculation—the mental scrambling, the sudden realization that I wasn’t guessing. I was confirming.
Finally, he spoke, slower now. Cautious.
“His son—and everyone around him—are targets. That includes you. I won’t be able to shield you if you insist on remaining his wife.”
“Shield me?” I echoed, bitter, incredulous.
A harsh laugh bubbled up from my chest, though it almost choked me. “That’s rich. Really rich, coming from the man who told me to sleep with my boss to keep my job—while you were supposed to be my fiancé. The man who was supposed to care for me.” My fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening.
“If anything were to happen to you,” he said quietly, each word chosen with care, “my inheritance disappears with you. I can’t afford that. If you decide to leave him—legally or otherwise—I can make it happen. Until then... be careful. Staying where you are isn’t safe.”
