"You kidnapped me!" Her voice rises. "You locked me in a room. You took my gun. And now you want me to marry you?"
"I saved your life." I keep my tone level and reasonable. "I pulled you out of that church when you were frozen in shock. I brought you here where you're protected. And yes, I took your gun because you were pointing it at my chest."
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again. I can see her mind working, processing, trying to find a flaw in my logic.
"It will legitimize your presence in my home," I continue, pressing my advantage. "No one can claim I'm holding you prisoner if you're my wife. It consolidates the alliance that Sergei's death threatened. And it sends a message to the other families that the Morozov family is still in control, still powerful."
"A message." She laughs again, bitter and sharp. "That's what I am to you? A message?"
"You're more than that." The words come out before I can stop them, and I see surprise flicker across her face. I clear my throat, refocusing. "As my wife, you're untouchable. Protected by my name, my reputation, my resources. No one would dare move against you."
"Except you." She tilts her chin up, defiant. "You could do whatever you wanted with me."
The implication in her words makes something dark and possessive stir in my chest. I push it down, force myself to stay focused on the practical aspects of this arrangement.
"I'm offering you protection, Alina. Safety. A position of power in a world that would otherwise chew you up and spit you out." I move closer, and this time she doesn't back away. "You have no idea what's waiting for you out there. How many people want you dead because of who your father is, what he's done. How many would use you as a pawn to get to me or to him."
"I can take care of myself." But her voice lacks conviction.
"Can you?" I gesture toward the window, toward the city beyond. "Your father just painted a target on your back. Every family that sides with him will see you as a traitor. Every family that sides with me will see you as leverage. You're valuable, Alina.Dangerously so. And valuable things in our world don't last long unless they're protected."
She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. I can see her thinking, weighing options, calculating odds. She's smart. She knows I'm right, even if she doesn't want to admit it.
"What about what I want?" she asks finally, her voice small. "Does that matter at all?"
The question catches me off guard. In my world, want is a luxury. Survival is what matters. But looking at her now, at the exhaustion and fear and stubborn strength in her face, I find myself wanting to give her something. Some small piece of control in a situation where she has none.
"Tell me what you want," I say quietly.
She looks up at me, and I see tears gathering in her eyes. "I want my sister to be safe. I want to know my family survived that church. I want to go back to yesterday morning when the worst thing I had to worry about was marrying a man I didn't love." Her voice breaks. "I want none of this to be real."
Something in my chest tightens. I've spent so many years building walls, keeping emotion at bay, that I've forgotten what it feels like to want impossible things. But I remember now, looking at her. I remember being young and wanting a world that didn't run on blood and violence.
"I can't give you yesterday," I tell her honestly. "But I can give you safety. I can verify that your family made it out of the church. I can protect your sister. And I can make sure that when you walk out of this house, you do it as someone powerful enough that no one dares touch you."
"As your wife." She says it like a curse.
"As my wife." I don't flinch from the words. “This is the best option for both of us."
She studies my face, searching for something. Truth, maybe. Or lies. I let her look, keeping my expression neutral. I've laid out my case. Now it's up to her.
"I need time to think," she finally says.
"You have until morning." I check my watch. "The families are already mobilizing. Your father is already making moves. We need to act fast, or this opportunity closes."
"Opportunity." She shakes her head. "You make it sound like a business deal."
"In many ways, it is." I won't lie to her about that. "But it's also survival. For both of us."
She moves toward the door, and I don't stop her. She needs space to process, to think. I've given her the information. Now she needs to make her choice.
But before she reaches the door, she turns back. Her green eyes meet mine, and I see something in them that makes my pulse quicken. Not fear. Not anger. Something else. Something I can't quite name.
"No," she says, her voice steady and clear.
The word hangs in the air between us.
"No?" I repeat, certain I've misheard.
