Page 62 of His Contract Queen

The comms in my ear crackles with something Aleksandr is saying—“Status?”—but the blood rushing in my ears is too loud for me to decipher it.

The spotlight hits me the second I finally step out from behind the background curtain. The ballroom beyond is a sea of black, white, and glittering gowns. Crystal chandeliers throw prisms across every surface, hundreds of people turning as one when the applause for my father falters mid-stride.

He turns at the sound of my heels, his face going instantly white.

I flash him a smile and stop three paces from him, gesturing to the man standing on his opposite side. He turns then tosee another general, one I can’t remember the name of at the moment, holding his award out for him to take.

To anyone in the crowd who recognizes me, I simply look like Ramil’s devoted daughter surprising him on stage in order to congratulate him on this moment, not a threat who needs to be removed immediately. It’s the perfect cover and will keep everyone none the wiser the moment I step forward to take over.

My father has no choice but to allow me to stay up here with him. He would never risk inciting a scandal by having me pulled off stage in front of everyone. Especially with whatever excuse he’s made to explain away my absence.

The room falls silent as they fold themselves back into their seats and wait for my father’s speech to begin.

He fumbles while adjusting the microphone attached to the podium, making a loud thumping sound in the process. Such an uncharacteristic gesture that shows me just how rattled he is to see me. The hand holding his award shakes slightly. He quickly hides it from view, lowering it behind the podium.

He clears his throat before leaning forward to speak. “I would like to start by thanking the committee for hosting such a beautiful dinner.”

A soft smattering of claps answers him.

“This,” his throat bobs as he swallows. “This award means a lot to me… my career… it… I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time.”

It’s then that he glances over at me, his brows pulling together slightly.

When he turns back to the microphone, he shifts the award into his opposite hand and holds the other one up toward me. “My… beautiful daughter Katerina has flown in from Greece to celebrate with me.”

Applause erupts again, cutting him off. I take that moment to step closer to him, a wide smile stretching across my face when his eyes dart to me again.

My heart hammers against my ribs like a war drum, but I force my smile to stay in place, bright and unwavering. Greece? Of all the lies he could spin, he picks that one? Never in my life have I expressed wanting to lounge on a beach in the Mediterranean. Though I suppose the truth to him has never been an important factor.

The irony burns in my throat, but I swallow it down.

As the applause fades once again, the room settles into that expectant hush again. My father's hand lingers in the air, still gesturing toward me like he's presenting a prized possession. His eyes flicker with panic. Even if he doesn’t know why I'm here, it won’t take a genius to understand something bad is about to happen.

“Thank you,” I say softly, bowing slightly before leaning toward the podium mic as if I'm just adding a sweet, familial touch to his acceptance speech. My voice carries clear and steady through the speakers, amplified for the entire ballroom. “It's an honor to be here tonight with you, my dear father, and celebrate everything you've achieved through blood, sweat, and your own merit.”

The crowd murmurs approvingly, a few more claps rippling throughout it. Aleksandr's voice rumbles softly in my ear piece.“Digital presentation is up in five… four… three…”

My father clears his throat again, forcing a chuckle that sounds brittle even to my ears. “Katerina has always been my greatest pride and joy.” His arm moves then, his hand coming down to cup the back of my neck in a tight, bruising hold that nearly makes me wince. “Her support means everything to me on a night like this. With her, I feel the spirit of her mother looking down on us.”

My stomach turns.

During other events when he used to mention her, I would find it touching. The way his voice would soften, the faint catch in his throat that made even hardened generals dab at their eyes. Now all I feel is revulsion. How dare he invoke her memory like this, wrapping himself in the cloak of a grieving widower while simultaneously condemning the daughter she carried, raised, and loved? The same daughter he sold without hesitation to cover his own shame.

Had my mother still been alive, she would be beside herself. She would have protected me. Instead, he stands here using her ghost as a prop, just like he’s always done to me.

“Digital presentation is up.”

I reach for the microphone again, turning it toward me before sweeping my arm toward the large screen behind us. “Actually, I also have a few things I'd like to add about your list of accomplishments.”

His eyes widen fractionally as his head snaps around to look at it. His grip on my neck tightens for one vicious second before he forces his hand to drop. He can’t yank me away now, not in front of the cameras, the generals, the donors, the press. He’s trapped in the spotlight he’s spent decades preening under.

A low murmur ripples through the audience, confusion stirring like a breeze before a storm.

The first document appears on the screen—a ledger, crisp black ink on white background with timestamps and account numbers in neat rows. Millions upon millions of taxpayer rubles funneled into offshore accounts, then siphoned out again in steady, ruinous withdrawals. Casino wire transfers. Private jet charters to Monaco. Hotel suites in Macau. Every losing streak meticulously documented, every desperate double-down tracked and presented.

I lean into the microphone. “Let’s talk about the real reason we’re here. It isn’t for the medals or the honors, but the money you’ve wasted from the taxpayers who fund your salary. Gambling all of it away for practically a net-zero loss.”

I recite the speech perfectly from memory, the words I’ve practiced in front of the mirror and Aleksandr’s unforgiving stare until they had become muscle memory. I barely hear the gasps from the crowd, my focus narrowing to the man standing beside me.