Viktor slides a document across my desk, the pages thick with legal language and numbers that make my vision blur. "We've already drawn up the preliminary agreements. Very generous terms. You'd maintain creative control, of course. We simply ask that certain transactions flow through your business accounts. Legitimate on paper. Clean. Simple."
The words hit me like ice water. They want to use my business to launder money. To corrupt the one thing in my life that belongs entirely to me, that I built from nothing through years of relentless work and sacrifice. My vision tunnels, rage flooding through my veins hot enough to burn.
"In exchange," Viktor continues, apparently mistaking my silence for consideration, "you'd receive substantial capital investment. Two million dollars initially, with additional funding as needed. Enough to open three new locations within the year. We've already identified potential properties in prime area such as the waterfront space in Harbor District, the corner lot on Merchant Street, and a beautiful historic building in Old Town that would be perfect for your upscale clientele."
My heart hammers so hard, I'm certain they can hear it. Two million dollars. Properties already scouted. This isn't a spontaneous offer. They've been planning this, watching me, calculating exactly how to trap me.
"The Harbor District location alone would triple your revenue," Dmitri adds, leaning forward with the enthusiasm of someone discussing a legitimate business venture rather than a criminal enterprise. "Prime tourist traffic, parking, outdoor seating withocean views. The permits are already in process. We have connections with the city planning commission."
Of course they do. My throat tightens, and I force myself to breathe slowly through my nose, to keep my expression neutral even as my mind races. Viktor's watching me with the patience of a predator who knows his prey has nowhere to run. Dmitri's fingers drum once against his knee, the only tell that they're not as confident as they appear.
"This is inevitable, Miss Levin," Viktor says, his voice dropping to something almost gentle. "Your business is already connected to the Alekseev family through your relationship with Nikolai. This simply makes that connection official. Profitable. Protected."
The word "inevitable" sends ice down my spine. They've already decided my future, already drawn up the papers, already identified the properties. They're just waiting for me to accept what they believe I have no power to refuse.
I force myself to breathe, to think past the fury threatening to choke me. Did Nikolai know about this? Did he approve it?
A memory surfaces unbidden—the first event I ever catered on my own. A small wedding reception in someone's backyard, just forty guests. I'd been terrified, working from a borrowed kitchen, transporting everything in my beat-up Honda. But when the bride had tasted the lemon lavender cake and tears had filled her eyes, when she'd hugged me and said I'd made her day perfect, that was the moment I knew. This was mine. Built from nothing but determination and talent and countless sleepless nights perfecting recipes in my tiny apartment kitchen.
Every client I've earned, every five-star review, every referral—I did that. Not because of connections or family name or money. Because I was good enough. Because I worked harder than anyone else. Because I refused to compromise on quality even when it would have been easier, more profitable.
"Think about what you could accomplish," Viktor continues, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Your sister Maya could manage one of the new locations. Give her a real opportunity to prove herself. Stable income, legitimate work. A chance to rebuild her life."
Using Maya as leverage. Of course they would. They've done their homework, know exactly where to apply pressure. The thought of my sister finally having stability, a real chance. It's tempting. God, it's tempting.
"The papers are ready," Dmitri says, producing a leather portfolio from his briefcase. "We just need your signature. Everything is already arranged. The LLC formation, the partnership agreement, and the property leases. We can have the first location operational within sixty days."
They've thought of everything. Planned it all out without me. This is what being with Nikolai means. This is the reality I've been trying to ignore. His world doesn't ask permission. It doesn't negotiate. It simply takes what it wants and dresses it up as opportunity.
And maybe that's what hurts most. Not that they're trying to absorb my business, but that Nikolai might have let them. That he might have sat in some smoke-filled room and nodded along while they carved up my life like it was just another deal to be made.
But this… Thyme is different. This is the one thing I built alone, the one piece of myself I swore I'd never let his world touch. It's my line in the sand. I meet Viktor's eyes with steel in my spine, my voice steady despite the rage threatening to crack it. "No."
28
NIKOLAI
Idon't knock. The door to Aria's bedroom slams open under my palm with enough force that it bounces against the wall, and I stride through like I own the space. Which I do. Every inch of this house, every piece of furniture, every breath of air she takes under this roof belongs to me.
Except the woman standing by the window doesn't seem to have received that particular memo.
Aria turns slowly, deliberately, her arms crossed over her chest in a posture that screams defiance. Her dark eyes meet mine without a flicker of the fear I'm accustomed to seeing when I enter a room radiating this level of fury. Most people take one look at my face right now and start calculating their survival odds. She just lifts her chin fractionally, and that small gesture makes something dangerous coil in my chest.
"Get out," she says, her voice steady despite the pulse I can see hammering in her throat.
"No." I close the distance between us in three strides, stopping just short of touching her because if I put my hands on her rightnow, I'm not sure what will happen. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
Her eyebrow arches with infuriating calm. "I was thinking that my business is mine, and I don't need your organization turning it into a money laundering operation."
"My advisors were offering you an opportunity." The words come out rougher than I intend, my accent thickening with the effort of maintaining control. "Capital. Connections. Everything you need to build something substantial."
"At what cost?" She takes a step toward me instead of away, and the movement brings her close enough that I catch the scent of her shampoo, something floral that makes my body respond in ways that have nothing to do with anger. "My integrity? My reputation? The one thing in my life that's actually mine?"
"Everything you have is mine." The possessive declaration hangs between us like a blade. "You're carrying my child. Living in my home. Under my protection. That makes your business my concern."
Her laugh is sharp, bitter. "Your concern. That's rich. You mean your property, don't you? Just another asset to absorb into your empire."
The accusation hits harder than it should, cutting through my rage to something that feels uncomfortably like guilt. I watch her dark eyes flash with fury, the way her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths that draw my attention to the curve of her breasts beneath the simple sweater she's wearing. She's magnificent like this, all fire and defiance, and my body tightens with want that wars with the need to make her understand.
