A delicate choice of words.
Notifpower will change hands.
Buthow.
I glance at my father’s unmoving form. “He’s not dead yet.”
Yelena’s fingers tighten slightly in her lap. The only reaction she gives.
Tatiana tilts her head. “No,” she concedes. “But the families expect stability. Certainty.” She looks at me, expression perfectly neutral. “That is why you came, isn’t it?”
I let the silence stretch. Let them wonder.
Because the truth is—
I didn’t come for them.
I didn’t come forhim.
I came because, whether I wanted it or not, my next move was already decided.
Because somewhere across the city, Isabella Marquez was making a decision of her own.
And if she said yes—
This entire room would realize just how unprepared they were.
I roll my shoulders back, my jaw set. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” I say, my voice final. “For now, thePakhanis still breathing.”
I don’t wait for a response.
I turn, walking out the way I came.
Because soon, the balance of power in this room will shift.
And they won’t see it coming.
25
Bella
I’ve read the contract twenty-seven times.
Maybe twenty-eight.
I’ve lost count somewhere between the third nervous breakdown and the fiftieth time I paced the length of my living room, muttering like a madwoman. The papers are a mess now—creased, wrinkled, practically abused—sprawled across my kitchen table like a crime scene. A damn good metaphor for what my life is about to become.
A marriage contract.
With Konstantin Belov.
I drag both hands down my face, groaning at the absurdity of it all. The words swim in front of me, burned into my brain from how many times I’ve read them. The terms are ridiculous, the kind of thing that belongs in mafia romance novels, not real life.
A legal union with an expiration date.
One year.
Twelve months.
