“Would you expect anything else?” Arseny’s expression doesn’t change, but I detect the subtle note of disdain in his voice. He’s never bothered hiding his contempt for my stepmother’s spawn. “Tatiana is helping him arrange it. They’re calling it a ‘family unity’ event.”
“What they’re calling it doesn’t interest me.” I pick up a pen from the desk, twirling it between my fingers. “What they’re planning does.”
“They’re planning your replacement, Your Highness.” Only Arseny gets away with using that nickname. Anyone else would lose their tongue. “The doctors say thePakhan… won’t make it past the month. Tatiana is positioning Filipp to take over.”
I snap the pen in half, black ink staining my fingers. “They’ll regret it.”
Arseny doesn’t react to the display of temper. Instead, he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to me with that steady hand that’s never trembled, not even when pulling a trigger.
“The old alliances are wavering,” he continues as I wipe the ink from my skin. “Your bachelor status isn’t helping. The families respect tradition.”
“And tradition demands a wife.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.
“A suitable wife,” Arseny emphasizes. “From a respected family. Not some American real estate agent who trespassed on your property.”
“You don’t approve of my choice.” It’s not a question.
Arseny doesn’t flinch. “The old guard expect tradition. They’ll question why you’ve selected an outsider with no connections when there are daughters from allied families who’ve been groomed for this position since birth.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that she’s not the kind of wife the old guard will accept.”
I lean back in the chair, studying him. “But?”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. He knows me too well. “But she’s not the worst choice you could make. She’s intelligent. Adaptable. And her lack of connections means no divided loyalties.”
“Unlike Irina Mikhailova.” The name of my ex-wife still tastes like ash.
“Precisely.” Arseny pulls out his phone. “And she needs money—not for herself, but for her family. For that house she’s fighting to keep. For those siblings she’s protecting.”
“A woman with something to protect is a woman who stays,” I observe.
“And they’re predictable.” Arseny’s eyebrow lifts slightly.
“She’ll submit to me.”
I find myself wanting to smile and suppress it.
She’ll be mine in every way that matters. On her knees, in my bed, under my control—completely surrendered.
The memory of that night makes my cock twitch. Her fingers working between her thighs with the ugliest dildo I’ve ever seen. Her head thrown back, all while staring at my painted face. I want to see her on her knees, those full lips wrapped around me, showing her what the real thing feels like down her throat.
Arseny’s phone vibrates.
I know him well enough to recognize the shift. The subtle tensing of his shoulders as he glances at the screen. The almost imperceptible change in his breathing.
Something’s wrong.
“What is it?” I ask, though I already know. There’s only one thing that would make Arseny lose his composure.
His eyes meet mine, his face suddenly drained of color.
“Boss, thePakhan—” He hesitates, a rare moment of uncertainty from a man who never shows it. “He’s coding. The doctors say it’s critical. They don’t expect him to make it through the night.”
My face remains impassive except for one tell—a slight narrowing of my eyes that Arseny recognizes immediately. He’s already reaching for his phone as I say, “Get the car. Now.”
23
