"If I sign," I heard myself ask calmly, "will you act immediately? I need to make sure Aiden gets the best care."
Kirill raised an eyebrow, seemingly satisfied with this suddenly practical version of me.
"Of course."
He pulled out that black checkbook, uncapping his pen. The scratch of nib on paper sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet air.
"I know the best cardiac surgeon in this city. He owes me a favor. Sign this, and Aiden moves to a VIP room tonight. I'll also contact America's top specialists for consultation."
He tore off the check, sliding it across the table toward me.
That thin slip of paper, covered in dizzying numbers. That was Aiden's life. And the price of selling my love.
I didn't look at the check. Just carefully folded it, tucking it in my bag, pressing it on top of that pink envelope.
Goodbye, love.Hello, life.
I picked up that heavy Montblanc pen, took a deep breath, and signed my name heavily on the signature line.
"Done."
I set down the pen, forcing an ugly smile.
"Pleasure doing business, Mr. Orlov."
Kirill picked up the agreement, examining the signature carefully, like checking merchandise quality. Candlelight danced across his profile, carving out his knife-sharp features. His lashes were long, casting faint shadows on his lids when they lowered, making him look less dangerous, more damnably attractive.
Damn it, he was really handsome.
"Pleasure doing business, Mrs. Orlov."
Chapter Five
Harper
I glanced down at the wedding dress clinging to my body.
It was some high-end designer's couture piece, with a massive skirt spilling over half the steps. To squeeze into this gown that was never meant for me, Olga's tailor had nearly snapped my ribs last night. Now, even breathing felt like a gamble—one wrong gasp, and I'd pass out.
Beside me stood a distant uncle of Kirill's, Peter Orlov, with his graying hair and ruddy nose. Today, he was filling in for my dad, who'd bolted to the other side of the world after hearing about Aiden's illness.
The doors creaked open wide, and the organ blasted out its thunderous tune.
We stepped inside.
The church hit me like a punch—vaulted ceilings soaring high, massive stained-glass windows flooding the place with color, air thick with candle wax and old wood. It gave me a spark of hope. Ever since I started watching rom-coms, I'd daydreamed about a wedding like this. I should be thrilled, right?
Pews on both sides brimmed with people, a sea of suits and dresses.
Olga had pulled out all the stops for a month, packing the place with New York's power players. Politicians, tycoons, and mafia families running the shadows.
My palms were slick with sweat. I'd never been one for crowds, especially not with those venomous whispers slithering into my ears.
In this echoey hall, every word carried crystal clear.
"That's her?" A woman's voice hissed from the left. "God, look at that waist. The dress is about to burst!"
"Kirill must've lost his mind," a guy chuckled back. "Picking some backwoods caregiver."
