Guards stationed at intervals, trying to look like decorative statues. Failing.
Irina stops at a set of double doors, dark wood carved with intricate patterns. She knocks once, waits for a response I don’t hear, then opens them.
“Miss Lawrence,” she announces, then steps aside.
I walk through. The doors close behind me with a quiet finality that makes my spine stiffen.
The study smells like leather and smoke and something darkly expensive I can’t quite identify. Books line three walls, floor to ceiling, more books than most libraries hold. A massive desk dominates the center of the room, dark wood polished to a mirror shine. Leather chairs positioned for conversations that probably decide people’s fates.
Aleksandr Sharov, standing beside the desk, watching me with those pale blue eyes that see too much.
He’s dressed more casually than I’ve seen him before—no jacket, just a white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and marked with scars I can’t quite make out from this distance. His hair is slightly disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it.
He looks tired. Human, almost.
The observation unsettles me more than his usual cold control.
“Elena,” he says. Just my name. No greeting, no preamble.
I don’t wait for permission to speak. Can’t stand here silent, letting him control every aspect of this interaction.
“You’re destroying my family,” I say. The words come out sharper than intended. Good. Let him hear the anger. “You know it’s hurting me and you’re doing it anyway. Bleeding us dry piece by piece, like some… like some heartless monster!”[4]
He doesn’t interrupt. Just leans against the desk, arms crossed loose over his chest, expression unreadable. Waiting.
The silence should make me cautious. Should make me measure my words, calculate what’s safe to say.
Instead, it makes me reckless.
“You orchestrated everything,” I continue, pacing in front of him because standing still feels too much like submission. “Every regulatory pressure, every investor withdrawal, every convenient audit. You have politicians in your pocket, officials who move on your orders, entire systems bent to your will.”
Still nothing. Just those eyes tracking my movement, cataloging every gesture.
“My father tried to protect us. Tried to salvage what he could. But you made it impossible. You wanted us destroyed and you made sure it happened.”
I’m lying now. Exaggerating. Mixing truth with invention to see if he’ll react, if I can provoke him into revealing something useful.
Aleksandr just watches. Patient as a predator who knows the prey will eventually exhaust itself.
“You—” My voice wavers despite my effort to keep it steady. “You’re a monster. You take what you want and destroy anyone who gets in your way. You don’t care about laws or ethics or—”
“Are you finished?” His voice is calm. Almost conversational.
The interruption stops me mid-sentence.
He pushes off the desk and stands fully upright. Not moving toward me yet. Just… present in a way that fills the room.
“Your timeline is wrong,” he says. “The Warsaw property was seized six months before I became involved. Tax investigation started under the previous administration. I simply… acquired the results when they became useful.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he continues.
“The shipping subsidiaries—two of them were already failing. Mismanagement, not sabotage. The third I did pressure. You’re correct about that. But it was leverage, not the primary attack.”
He takes a step closer. I force myself not to retreat.
“The investors who pulled out?” Another step. “They weren’t coerced. They saw the pattern and ran. Self-preservation, not conspiracy.”
“You’re lying—”
