“Good,” I say.
But it doesn’t feel good.
It feels like borrowed time.
Anton nods. “We’ll know more by tomorrow.”
I give both of them a short glance. “Discreetly.”
“Always,” Sergei says.
They gather their files and drinks and head for the door. Ilya lingers last, because of course he does.
“One week,” he says quietly.
“I’m aware.”
His mouth quirks. “Then maybe stop saying she’s no one.”
I don’t answer. He smiles like that answers enough, and leaves me alone with the city lights, the cooling whiskey in my hand, and the increasingly useless lie I keep trying to tell myself.
She’s no one.
If only that were true.
22
ZATANNA
By the next afternoon,I’ve chosen someone different.
Not another polished society princess with a charity board and a family name carved into old stone. Not someone who would look perfect on paper and leave Aleksei cold. If I’m going to pull off the impossible and get this man married in a week, I need to stop picking women who look like strategy and start picking women who might actually hold his attention.
The money is too much to gamble with.
Life-changing doesn’t even begin to cover it. That number has been lodged in the back of my skull since he said it, flashing behind everything else. Rent. Debt. My mother’s request. The kind of money that could buy me a future instead of just a little more time.
So no, I cannot afford to get this wrong.
That’s how I end up sitting across from Celeste Vale in a boutique hotel lounge that smells like lilies and money, a tablet in front of me, a notebook beside it, and my phone vibratingevery eight minutes with increasingly annoying messages from Jake.
Need you in today if possible. Client wants rush audio.
Zee?
Can you swing by by 6?
Need that voice, babe.
I flip the phone face down without replying.
For once, Jake can wait.
Right now, I’m looking at the woman who could solve every problem in my life if she says yes.
Celeste is stunning in a way that doesn’t feel real. Not soft, approachable beauty. Weaponized beauty. Dark glossy hair worn loose over one shoulder. Skin like expensive cream. Eyes so pale they almost look silver in the low light. Her face is all clean, elegant lines, sharp cheekbones, a mouth painted the exact shade of fresh blood. She’s wearing ivory silk and diamonds small enough to pretend they’re subtle, which of course means they cost a fortune.
She’s the kind of woman people stare at when she walks into a room.
