Page 85 of His Contract Queen

And it definitely isn’t the kind of abandoned warehouse I’d half expected to be dragged into so someone could tie me to a chair and beat answers out of me that I don’t, and have never, had.

Instead, beyond the iron gates sits a massive mansion.

It rises out of the snowy darkness like something out of a painting. Stone walls climb three stories high, warm golden light spilling from tall windows that overlook a long, sweeping driveway. A grand portico shelters the entrance, thick pillars framing massive double doors carved with intricate designs.

The grounds are immaculately kept despite the storm.

The entire estate radiates quiet, obscene wealth. The kind that doesn’t come from honest business and climbing up the corporate ladder, but from the kind of power and influence that a man who has never had to hear the wordnospoken to him in his entire life has.

My chest tightens.

The realization hits me all at once.

My head snaps toward the man sitting beside me, my eyes widening

One ofthem.

One of the members of that secret society… the group Aleksandr has tried so hard to keep me away from. The men who quietly control Moscow’s underworld while the rest of the city pretends they don’t exist.

Sheer, overwhelming relief crashes into me so violently, my eyes begin to sting. For a moment, I can barely breathe. The pieces slide together in my mind all at once.

He got my letter.

That’s why someone was waiting for me in the tunnel.

He sent them to come get me.

A shaky breath escapes me as the weight that has been crushing my chest for the past several hours finally begins to lift.

He didn’t abandon me.

The SUV rolls to a smooth stop in front of the mansion’s grand entrance.

Both doors on the left side of the vehicle open at once, cold air rushing inside, chasing away the heat that had just started to unthaw me. The man who pulled me from the tunnel leans back into the car and extends a hand toward me, gesturing for me to come closer.

I slide across the seat without hesitation.

The moment my hand touches his, he yanks me out of the vehicle and hoists me over his shoulder again like a sack of potatoes.

“What—” I start instinctively.

But the protest dies in my throat. This time, I don’t fight him. Honestly, I’m too eager to get inside and see Aleksandr.

The man carries me up the wide stone steps toward the massive double doors of the mansion. Snow crunches beneath his boots as he climbs, his grip around my legs steady and unbothered bymy weight even when I twist around to face where we’re headed. The other man jogs ahead of us, reaching the entrance first. He grabs the heavy door handles and pulls them open.

Warmth spills out from inside, golden light flooding across the snow-covered steps. The cold that had been clinging to my bones melts almost instantly the moment we cross the threshold. As soon as we’re inside, my eyes lock onto the impressive entrance.

The foyer is enormous—two stories tall with a sweeping staircase curving up along the far wall like something out of an old imperial palace. Marble floors gleam beneath a massive chandelier dripping with crystal that scatters soft light across the entire space. Every detail has been chosen with refined taste and more money than most people will ever see in their lifetimes.

It’s just as grand and beautiful as the Volkov estate.

Maybe even more so.

Instead of setting me down once we’re inside, the man carrying me keeps walking as if he’s forgotten he’s even holding me. The heavy front doors close behind us with a deep, echoing thud, sealing the storm outside. He crosses the foyer without slowing and turns down a hallway just off to the right.

I shift awkwardly over his shoulder, craning my neck to see where we’re going. The walls are lined with oil paintings and antique sconces that cast soft pools of light across polished floors. Everything smells faintly of smoke and expensive cologne.

He continues down the hall until we reach a wide, arched doorway.