Page 59 of His Contract Queen

“I said it doesn’t concern you,” he snaps, loud enough to make me flinch.

I freeze.

I’ve never seen him like this before. Never with his anger directed entirely at me. I’ve seen him after he’s interrogated and punished someone. When that quiet lethality I rarely ever am allowed to witness shifts him into the man he’s rumored to be. This isn’t that. This is something far more volatile and not at all like the Aleksandr Volkov that I know.

I swallow thickly, the motion painful. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming for hours even though I haven’t made a sound. “Why are you shutting me out?”

His eyes flicker for half a second. Guilt, maybe. Or regret. The shutters slam back down before I can blink, replaced by hard, unyielding seriousness. “Enough. It’s handled. Friday will be fine.”

The finality in his words stabs me clean through the chest.

That’s it.

No explanation. Just a tight, clipped dismissal that feels like a slap to my cheek.

I stare at him, searching for the man who held me upstairs in bed only hours ago, who kissed me and whispered that I was his like it was a vow he’d die to keep. That man is gone now, replaced by the Pakhan of the Volkov syndicate.

I nod once, the action stiff and mechanical. My pride won’t let me beg, nor will it let me stand here and demand answers he’s already decided I’m not entitled to. I turn toward the door and leave before he can see how badly this rejection hurts.

My bare feet are cold against the floor. My arms wrap around myself without conscious thought as I quickly head back to my room, hugging the oversized sweater tighter around me like it can shield me from the sudden chill that has settled into my bones.

Once I’m back in my room, I shut the door and lock it.

Only then do I let myself sink against it.

My knees buckle slowly. I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor and bring my legs to fold against my chest. I drop my head until it rests against my drawn-up knees.

I don’t let the tears fall.

I refuse to.

My throat tightens until every swallow hurts. The silence he’s left me in feels louder than any argument we’ve ever had before—louder than his growled commands, louder than my own screams when he’s inside me, louder than the ringing in my ears as I fight to keep myself from falling into hysteria.

For the first time since this nightmare turned opportunity began, I feel small.

Small and foolish.

Whatever bond I thought we were building suddenly feels fragile. Conditional in a way that can be taken the moment it becomes inconvenient to whatever life he lives beyond these walls. The realization hurts far more than his angry outburst ever could. Worse than the memories of my father’s voice telling me I was chosen for something greater and finding out none of it was true.

Aleksandr was supposed to be different from every man who has ever lied and kept secrets from me.

I lift my head and stare at the vast space of my room.

The distance between us has never felt wider.

For the first time since I chose to stay—since I chosehim—I wonder if I made the wrong decision after all.

The nightof the gala arrives before the hurt has time to heal.

I stand in the shadowed service hallway just off the Metropol’s grand ballroom with my back pressed to the stone wall. The faint swell of a string quartet drifts through the half-open door, refined and grotesquely out of place with what I’m about to do. I close my eyes for one heartbeat and breathe in through my nose, taking in the faint scent of expensive cologne along with the subtle bite of champagne.

My heart isn’t racing. It’s steady, eerily calm in a way that comes when you’ve already crossed the point of no return and there’s nothing left to lose or go back to. My fingers flex around the small USB drive in my palm.

It’s barely larger than a dollar coin, unassuming and innocuous looking. To anyone else, it looks meaningless. But to me it weighs more than the entire hotel around me. Every damning file inside will soon be presented on the big screen, all thanks to this tiny piece of hardware.

I slip it into a hidden pocket sewn into the lining of my dress and push away from the wall. I smooth my palms down the skirt one last time, steadying myself.

Then, I move.