“You speak of things you don’t understand,” my father says dismissively. “This isn’t love. It’s confusion. Rebellion.”
A laugh escapes me, sharp and humorless. “I’m twenty-three years old. If I wanted to rebel, I could think of easier ways than falling for my stepbrother.”
“This ends now,” my father says, his tone flat and final. “You will end whatever this is. You will call Jessica and apologize. You will return to the path laid out for you.” His eyes flick to Vincent. “And he will disappear again. Permanently this time.”
I feel Vincent stiffen beside me, but he doesn’t back down, doesn’t look away from my father’s threatening gaze.
“No,” I say, the single syllable dropping between us like a stone.
My father’s eyebrows raise. “No?”
“No,” I repeat, moving closer to Vincent until our shoulders touch. “I’m not ending anything. I’m not calling Jess. And Vincent isn’t going anywhere.”
“You would choose him over your family? Your birthright?”
“I would choose him over you,” I clarify. “And if that means losing my ‘birthright,’ then so be it.”
My father’s face darkens. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Without me, without the Orlov name and resources, you are nothing.”
“I’d rather be nothing with him than everything without him.”
Vincent’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. The small gesture enrages my father further.
“This is disgusting,” he hisses. “Under my roof—”
“This isn’t your roof,” I interrupt. “This is my home. And you’re not welcome in it if you can’t respect the person I love.”
The word ‘love’ lands like a sucker punch. My father’s face contorts with rage.
“Listen carefully, Father,” I continue, stepping toward him. “Five years ago, you told Vincent to stay away from me or die. Now I’m telling you the same thing. If you or any of your men come near him, if you so much as touch a hair on his head, I will kill you myself.”
Vincent’s sharp intake of breath beside me is the only sound in the room for several heartbeats.
“You would threaten your own father? For him?”
“I would do anything for him,” I say, the truth of it resonating through my entire body. “Including walking away from everything I’ve ever known. Including cutting you out of my life completely. Including things you don’t want to test.”
Something shifts in my father’s expression—not softening, exactly, but recalibrating. He studies me with new eyes, as if seeing something he hadn’t seen before.
“No one speaks to me that way,” he says finally. “Not your stepmother. Not your sister. Not my men. No one.”
“I just did.”
A strange, tight smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. “Yes. You did.” He sighs, straightening his already perfect cuffs. “You have the Orlov bite, Sasha. The steel in your spine that made our family what it is.”
I wait, wary of this sudden change in tone. My father doesn’t give compliments without purpose.
“It’s that very quality that makes you the only possible successor to lead our family’s interests,” he continues. “Your sister is brilliant, but she lacks the killer instinct. You have it. I’ve always known it.”
“I’m not following,” I say cautiously.
“I’m offering a compromise,” my father says, his businesslike demeanor returning. “I will not disinherit you. I will not cut you off from the family or its resources. You will continue your education and your apprenticeship at the firm as planned.”
“And in return?”
“In return, whatever this is,” he gestures between Vincent and me, “remains private. Discreet. I will not acknowledge it, but I will not actively oppose it—provided it does not interfere with your duties to the family.”
I feel Vincent’s hand tighten around mine. It’s not acceptance. It’s barely even tolerance. But from my father, it’s more than I expected.
