"She'll cooperate."
"Will she?" Semyon moved closer, lowering his voice even though we were alone. "Vasily, it's not too late to reconsider. There are other ways to protect her. Ways that don't involve—"
"I've made my decision."
"You've made a decision that will haunt you for the rest of your life." His voice sharpened. "I've watched you build this organization into something our father never dreamed of. I've watched you make hard choices, ruthless choices, and I've never questioned your judgment. But this?" He shook his head. "This isn't strategy. This is obsession wearing the mask of protection."
"You think I don't know that?" The words escaped before I could stop them, raw and honest in a way I rarely allowed myself to be. "You think I don't understand exactly what I'm doing?"
"Then why do it?"
I was silent for a long moment, staring at my reflection—the monster in the expensive suit, about to claim a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
"Because I can't let her go." The admission felt like pulling a knife from my own chest. "I've tried. Every rationalpart of me knows I should find another way, should give her money and a new identity and let her disappear. But the thought of her out there, alone, vulnerable, beyond my reach—" I stopped, my hands clenching at my sides. "I would rather have her hate me for the rest of our lives than spend a single day not knowing if she's safe."
Semyon was quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than before.
"And if she never stops hating you?"
"Then I'll have earned it." I turned to face him. "But she'll be alive, Semyon. Whatever else happens, she'll be alive."
He held my gaze for a long moment, something shifting in his expression—not approval, but perhaps a reluctant understanding.
"I'll make sure the terrace is ready," he said. "Vartan is with the guards, reviewing security for the ceremony."
"Thank you."
He paused at the door. "For what it's worth, brother—I hope you're right. I hope this obsession of yours becomes something worth the cost."
Then he was gone, and I was alone with my reflection and my guilt and the weight of what I was about to do.
***
She hadn't dressed.
When I entered her suite an hour before the ceremony, Gabrielle was sitting on the floor by the French doors, exactly where I'd found her that first night. She wore the same clothes she'd slept in—a thin cotton shirt, loose pants, her hair tangledand unwashed. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale, and when she looked up at me, I saw nothing but contempt.
"Get out."
"You need to get ready."
"I'm not doing this." Her voice was hoarse, scraped raw by hours of crying. "I don't care what you threaten, what you do to me. I'm not marrying you."
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, giving her space. "The ceremony is in one hour. Judge Antonov is waiting in the library. My brothers are here as witnesses. This is happening, Gabrielle, whether you participate willingly or not."
"Then it'll happen without me."
"It can't." I kept my voice gentle, though gentleness felt like a lie. "You need to be there. You need to stand beside me and let the judge see your face."
"So you can drag me down the aisle like a prisoner?" She laughed bitterly. "That's exactly what this is, isn't it? A show. A performance of ownership."
"It's protection."
"It's violation." She stood abruptly, swaying slightly—from exhaustion, hunger, or both. "You're taking everything from me. My home, my freedom, my future. And now you want to take my name too? Make me Mrs. Chernov, like I'm just another asset in your portfolio?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
"You're trying to keep me!" The words exploded out of her, sharp and anguished. "This isn't about my safety—it's about your obsession. You wanted me from the moment you saw me, and you took me, and now you're dressing it up in pretty excusesabout protection and danger. But I see you, Vasily. I see exactly what you are."
