“From this world,” he says. “From men like them. From men like your father chooses.”
I shake my head, confusion swirling. “My father—”
“He does not see you as I do,” Igor interrupts. “He sees a jewel, yes. But jewels are traded. Bargained with.” His jaw tightens. “I see you as mine.”
The word lands like a blow.
“Igor, you’re crossing a line,” I say, reaching for the door handle. “I need to go.”
“I love you,” he says.
I freeze.
“I have loved you for years,” he continues, his voice almost reverent. “If you marry me, your father will have no choice. He will give me Alexi’s position. I will have the power to keep you safe. To ensure no one ever touches you without your consent.”
My pulse roars in my ears. “You’re insane.”
“I am devoted,” he corrects. “There is a difference.”
I tug at the handle, but the doors are locked. “Let me out.”
He doesn’t move. “You would be happy with me, Anya. In time, you would see that.”
“I will never marry you,” I snap. “Open the door.”
I manage to shove it once more, panic rising sharply now, when I feel it—a sharp, burning prick at the back of my neck.
I gasp, my hand flying up instinctively. “What—”
The world tilts.
My limbs go heavy, the strength draining from them too fast, too completely. I try to scream, to hit him, to do something, anything—but my body no longer listens.
“I’m sorry,” Igor says softly, his face the last thing I see as darkness rushes in. “This is the only way.”
The city fades. The light disappears. And then there is nothing at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: VLADIMIR
I expected the house to be calm.
That was my first mistake.
Dominic and I stepped through the front doors of Alexandr’s estate with the precision of men on a schedule. Theater nights ran on rigid timing—Anya needed to be seated, settled, and focused. I already had the route mapped in my head, the traffic patterns accounted for. Everything was supposed to move cleanly from here.
Instead, chaos hit us like a physical force.
Rurik stood in the center of the main hall, barking orders in Russian, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. Two members of the household staff hurried past us, faces pale, eyes darting. Another guard emerged from the corridor that led toward the private wing, shaking his head.
“Still nothing,” he said.
Nothing was a dangerous word in this house.
Rurik noticed us then and strode over, his jaw tight. “We have a problem.”
“I can see that,” I replied, my gaze sweeping the room. “What’s going on?”
“Nadia is missing.”
