Page 10 of His Contract Queen

“But marriage is…” My voice trails off before I can stop myself. I take a breath and force the rest of my thoughts out. “Marriage is permanent. Won’t I be caught up in everything when he’sarrested? If I’m legally bound to him, I’ll be labeled at the very least complicit.”

His fingers tighten around mine, grounding and suffocating all at once. “Only on paper. You won’t be alone in this. You’ll be protected every step of the way. Once this is over, the marriage will be annulled. We’ll cite his criminal activities, frame it as your being completely unaware of what he was doing in the shadows.” His thumb brushes the back of my hand, a soothing gesture. “You’ll be the victim in the eyes of the law, Katerina. A young woman deceived by a dangerous man who showered you with enough love to help you turn a blind eye to who he really was.”

My breath leaves me in a long, shaky exhale.

Of course he has a plan. Of course he’s prepared for every angle, every consequence, before it can all unravel. He’s always been a strategist, just like my mother. He wouldn’t put me in danger without an exit or safeguards.

He never would.

I nod slowly, the motion small but steady as his confidence settles over me like a weighted blanket, pressing down the last of my doubts.

“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll marry him.”

Relief floods his face.

“Good, I’ll get everything ready. I have full confidence that you will help me dismantle him piece by piece. You won’t just be helping me, Katerina. You will be helping the entire country.”

I give him a shaky smile and say nothing else.

I’m not sure which part of me agrees. The dutiful daughter? The patriot he raised?

Or the woman who still thinks the man smiling at her is incapable of leading her into ruin?

4

KATERINA

Iarrive at the Volkov estate under armed escort two weeks later.

The black SUV glides through the first set of iron gates like a shark slipping into deeper water, the sound of them closing behind us making my stomach drop. I press my palms against the leather seat under me to keep them from shaking. The tinted windows reflect nothing but my own pale face staring back at me with eyes too wide and my mouth pressed into a thin line I don’t recognize.

I’ve spent the last forty minutes trying to convince myself this is temporary. A necessary sacrifice for the great good and one that will be over long before I know it. My father’s voice still echoes in my head, calm and certain.You’re the only one who can do this. You’re strong enough. The country needs you to be brave.

Brave.

I almost laugh but at the last moment hold it in. The sound would come out broken, so I force myself to swallow it back instead.

The estate unfolds around us in silence. Snow-dusted pines line the long drive up toward the house, floodlights carving sharp white tunnels through the dark. Every few hundred meters, another gate appears—steel and topped with razor wire that glints like teeth. Armed men in black tactical gear stand at each one, faces shadowed under hoods with their rifles slung low at their waists.

They don’t salute the car. They don’t even turn their heads when we pass by. They simply stand motionless as we drive through. Something about that motionless vigilance makes the skin on the back of my neck crawl.

The SUV slows in front of the main house before coming to a stop at the arch of the driveway. The mansion is three stories of dark stone and tall paned windows that reflect the night like black mirrors. No warm lights spill from inside, no curtains twitch with curious eyes peering down from the higher floors. The place would look haunted if it weren’t for the two men who step forward from the front entryway the moment the engine shifts gears.

Control radiates from the place in a way that unsettles me more than the gates did.

One of the men opens my door without pretense. The other stands a pace behind him, hand resting casually on the pistol at his hip.

“Out,” the first says.

I hesitate for a second before I slide from the seat, my boots crunching on the freshly fallen snow. The cold bites through my coat instantly, the pain sharper than Moscow’s usual wintersting. I straighten my spine and lift my chin, refusing to let myself cower as I meet the guard’s eyes.

I will not look small.

I refuse to look afraid.

They flank me close enough that I feel the heat radiating off their bodies despite the subzero air and guide me up wide stone steps to double doors that open before we reach them. Inside, marble floors stretch in every direction, polished so perfectly, I can see my distorted reflection staring up at me. High ceilings disappear into shadow and a grand staircase curves upward on the left, its banister gleaming like obsidian.

No staff hurry past. No voices drift from distant rooms. There is only the faint click of our boots and my own heartbeat thudding too loudly in my ears as I’m marched deeper inside.