This is what I wanted. She’s suffering, isn’t she? Isolated and miserable and paying for what her family did to Alexei.
Mission accomplished.
So why does watching her make me feel like shit?
“Interesting viewing choices.”
I nearly jump out of my chair. I didn’t hear Konstantin enter which is super fucking concerning, as I’m usually hyperaware of my surroundings. It’s a sign that I’m too distracted, and too focused on those fucking monitors.
My uncle stands in the doorway of my office, eyebrows raised, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes flick to the monitors, then back to me.
“Reviewing security footage,” I say flatly, turning back to my desk. “I’m making sure everything’s running smoothly.”
“Mm-hmm.” He settles into one of the chairs across from my desk without being invited, crossing one leg over the other. “Is that what we’re calling it? Because from whereI’mstanding, it looks like you’re spying on your wife.”
“She’s not my wife,” I snap before I can stop myself. “She’s a hostage. An insurance policy.”
“Who you’re legally married to.” Konstantin says mildly, which makes it worse somehow. “You consummated that marriage three days ago, correct? That makes her, whether you like it or not, Mrs. Volkov now.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I stare at the reports on my desk like they’re suddenly the most fascinating things I’ve ever seen. Which, they definitely are.
“I heard you didn’t come home last night,” Konstantin continues, his tone conversational.Tooconversational. “Or the night before. In fact, you’ve been avoiding the estate quite a bit since the wedding. Staying late at the office, taking meetings thatcould easily be handled during normal hours. Avoiding your new bride?”
“I’ve been busy,” I bite out, irritated that someone on my staff is gossiping about my comings and goings. I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Kozlov about this. “We’re consolidating the new territories from the merger. The Ivanoff situation needs attention. The port contracts need to be renegotiated. There’s a lot of work?—”
“Bullshit.”
I look up sharply. Konstantin is watching me with that assessing gaze that always made me uncomfortable as a teenager. It’s like he can see straight through whatever front I’m putting up.
“I’ve known you your entire life, Dimitri,” he says quietly. “I watched you take over this organization at twenty-five years old when most men your age were still figuring out their careers. I’ve seen you handle situations that would break lesser men. You don’t avoid things because you’re busy. You avoid things when they make you uncomfortable.”
“I’mnotuncomfortable,” I lie. “I’m being strategic by maintaining distance. She’s the enemy, remember? Vincent Ashford’s daughter. The whole point of this arrangement was to have leverage over her family, not to?—”
“Not to what? Actually interact with her?” Konstantin leans forward, his expression serious now. “You’re treating her like a piece of furniture. You’ve locked her in that house, cut off her phone, forbidden the staff from being kind to her, and you won’t even be in the same room with her. What exactly did you think this would accomplish?”
“I thought it would make her suffer,” I say bluntly. “I thought it would remind her—remindallof them—what happens whenyou come for a Volkov. Her family killed Alexei. They ambushed and executed him in a fucking warehouse. So yes, I want her to suffer. I want her to feel a fraction of what we felt. Is that so fucking wrong?”
Konstantin is quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes probing into mine. Then, he sighs. “No. It’s not wrong,” he concedes. “It’s human. But Dimitri…” He sighs again. “Revenge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. It doesn’t work that way.”
“She’s an Ashford,” I say again, like saying it enough times will make the uncomfortable tightness in my chest go away. “This is justice.”
“Is it?” He nods toward the monitors. “Because it looks to me like you’re torturing yourself as much as you’re torturing her. You’re watching her on those screens like…” He stops himself, shaking his head. “You know what? Fine. Do what you need to do. But ask yourself, what would Alexei think of this? Of your locking up some innocent girl and making her miserable because of what her uncle did?”
The mention of Alexei’s name makes my hands curl into fists. “Don't bring him into this,” I warn. Konstantin may be my uncle but I won’t hesitate to smash him into the wall if he continues to bring up my brother’s name.
“He’s already in this. He’s why you married her in the first place.” Konstantin stands, brushing off imaginary lint off his jacket. “But I wonder if this is what he’d want. Your baby brother was always kind to everyone, and he believed in giving people chances. Would he want you to become this?”
I don’t want to hear this anymore. “Goodbye, Uncle.”
“Think about it, Dimitri. That’s all I’m asking.” He moves toward the door, then pauses. “And maybe actually go home tonight. Talk to the girl. She’s your wife, whether you like it or not. Ignoring her won’t change that.”
He leaves before I can respond, and I’m left alone with my reports and my monitors and the uncomfortable truth I’ve been avoiding.
I look at the screens again. Vera is back in her room now, curled up on the bed, and I can see she’s crying. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, her face buried in a pillow.
That tightness in my chest gets worse.
I force myself to look away and focus on work. For the next six hours, I deliberately don’t look at the monitors. I handle meetings, review contracts, and deal with the hundred small crises that are part of running an organization like this. I’m productive. Efficient. Back in control.
