The name alone chills me to the bone. Yuri had spoken of him briefly, but when he did, it was in measured, careful words, a blend of grudging respect and undisguised loathing. A man who’d built an empire in blood, one who wouldn’t hesitate to do anything to reclaim it.
He’s lean, mid-forties, his dark hair touched by silver at the temples, trimmed and styled perfectly. His suit is impeccable—charcoal gray, sharply tailored, paired with a midnight-blue tie that gleams subtly against a crisp white shirt. He adjusts his cuffs casually, looking more suited for a gala than a hostage situation.
I step away from the window as he enters the building, the soft murmur of his voice carrying beyond the door. Seconds stretch unbearably, each passing heartbeat thunderous and slow, until I hear the door being opened.
The handle twists gently, and it swings open without ceremony. Christian steps into the room, pausing just inside the doorway. He regards me calmly, openly, like he’s assessing a work of art.
“Astrid,” he says finally, my name rolling easily off his tongue. His voice is velvet-smooth, accented faintly, confident yet inviting—like a lover whispering promises he’ll never keep. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
I stare at him warily in silence. My pulse races, betraying my fear, and he notices immediately, a small, satisfied smile touching his lips.
“You’re frightened,” he says softly. “Understandable, but not necessary. I'm not here to hurt you.”
I force a bitter laugh. “Tell that to the army you brought.”
He chuckles as if we’re sharing an intimate joke. “Strictly precaution. It’s nothing personal. Yuri Ivanov is formidable. I can’t take any chances.”
He steps closer, watching my reaction. He’s magnetic, impossible not to watch. There’s a careful, elegant way about his movements, each gesture purposeful and composed.
He begins to circle the room slowly, hands clasped casually behind his back, speaking as he examines his surroundings. “You know, Yuri and I have a lot in common. Ambition, ruthlessness, a flair for strategy. I consider him contemporaneous.” He stops beside the filing cabinet, tracing a finger along its dusty edge. “But Yuri,” he smiles faintly, shaking his head, “has surprised me. Gone soft. Allowed himself vulnerabilities he can’t afford.”
He meets my eyes again, directly, uncomfortably. “And now, here you are. The greatest vulnerability of all.”
I lift my chin defiantly, masking the tremble in my voice. “If you think I’m going to beg, you’re wasting your time.”
“Oh, I’d never expect you to,” he replies warmly, almost admiringly. “No Ivanov would ever fall for a woman who begs.”
He approaches slowly, leaning against the edge of the desk across from me, close enough now that I can smell his cologne—subtle, expensive, pleasant.
“Tell me something,” he continues, voice gentle, dangerously intimate. “Do you think Yuri loves you enough to sacrifice everything? His power, his empire, his family?”
I swallow hard, fighting the twisting dread in my stomach. “Yuri isn’t like you.”
Christian’s smile widens, disarming, even kind. “No. Not anymore. But make no mistake, Astrid—he was once. Beneath all that cold control, Yuri’s just another monster. Perhaps even more dangerous because he tries so hard to hide it.” He pauses, his gaze heavy on mine, as if seeking to pierce through every layer of my bravado. “Men like Yuri don’t know how to love without destroying.”
My chest tightens. I look away, desperate to conceal my fear, but he reads every small twitch, every micro-expression, with cruel clarity.
“You really are lovely,” he murmurs. “Let’s hope he doesn’t ruin you… or those precious twins you’re carrying.”
My blood turns to ice.
He smiles, watching my reaction with quiet satisfaction. “I know everything I need to know, Astrid. I always do.” He watches me, eyes glinting like a blade in the dark. “But let me be perfectly clear. No one will stand between me and what I’m owed.”
Fury rises in me like fire through my veins. Hot. Blinding. “You son of a—” I lunge at him, fists clenched, rage overtaking fear. I don’t even think. I just move.
But he’s faster. He catches me with a brutal twist of my wrist, yanking me sideways as I crash into the desk. My shoulder smacks the edge, pain blooming sharp and white-hot.
He doesn’t raise his voice. “Guards.”
The door swings open immediately. Two men rush in, their gazes sweeping the room. They see me off the chair, see the madness in my eyes, the sweat on my brow. They don’t need further instruction.
“She got loose,” Christian says calmly, smoothing his suit jacket. “Fix it.”
They move fast. I scream, thrashing, but one of them grabs my arms while the other circles behind, dragging thick restraints from his belt. The leather bites into my wrists. I twist, kick, and curse, but they’re prepared this time. They force me back intothe chair, binding me roughly, tightly, like I’m nothing more than a dangerous animal.
Christian watches with cool detachment, stepping forward once the men are done. He leans in again, brushing a stray hair from my face like we’re old friends.
“I hope you understand, Astrid,” he says softly, his breath brushing my skin. “This part isn’t personal. Not yet.” He steps back and heads toward the door, pausing just inside the threshold to cast a final glance back at me. “It was a pleasure, Astrid. I hope you get to live to meet your children.”
