“I think women don’t run from weddings in front of powerful families unless something makes staying worse.”
For a few seconds, neither of us speaks.
My mind returns to her face in the corridor. Her pride. Her defensiveness. The way she looked at me like she wanted to understand the danger instead of running from it.
Maybe I misjudged her.
Maybe she’s not only a pretty little thing trained to smile and obey.
Maybe there’s something more pointed under all that polish.
Alexei tilts his head. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m enjoying Dmitri being humiliated.”
“Only Dmitri?”
I give him a flat look.
He lifts his hands. “Fine.” But he’s still smiling.
I tap the pen once against the desk. “Where is she now?”
“That’s the interesting part. No one knows.”
“No one?” I ask.
“Not her father. Not the Volkov security. Not the bridesmaids. She vanished from the estate grounds before anyone realized the ceremony was delayed.”
I glance at the folder covering the sketch.
Something in my chest tightens, though I refuse to name it concern.
Anya Sokolova is twenty-two, wearing a wedding dress, and running from a family that does not forgive embarrassment easily. If she’s smart, she will go somewhere quiet, somewhere no one in her father’s circle knows.
If she’s frightened, she will make a mistake. And frightened people in our world are easy to find. Easy to use. Easy to hurt.
“Find her,” I say.
Alexei’s amusement fades a little. “For what reason?”
“Because my father will be looking too.”
“And?”
“And if he finds her first, she becomes a problem to be corrected.”
Alexei sits back. He understands that.
Everyone who knows my father understands that.
A runaway bride is not a broken engagement. It’s an insult. It makes Dmitri look weak, Galina look foolish, and the old man look like he can’t control his own house.
He won’t care why she ran. Only that she did.
Alexei watches me carefully. “You’re sure this is about strategy?”
“No.”
