Page 3 of His Stolen Bride

“Twenty,” he corrects.

I step into the hallway and close the door behind me, leaving my mother inside. The moment the door shuts, the two men close in enough that I’m boxed between them and Sergei.

Sergei gestures toward the stairwell. “Let’s walk.”

I don’t move. “Where are we going?”

“A cafe down the street,” he says. “Public. You’ll like that.”

“I don’t like anything about this.”

Sergei’s expression turns flat for the first time. “Alina, don’t test me.”

I stare right back. “Then don’t test me.”

His eyes hold mine for a long second. Then he steps aside, allowing me to move first. As we go down the stairs, my mind starts grabbing at the last week and trying to make it fit into something that makes sense.

My father always had problems. That’s what I told myself growing up. He was unlucky, picked the wrong friends, and got pulled into games he didn’t understand. He kept promising it was the last time, that he’d stop. When I was sixteen, I started working evenings. At nineteen, I started working full-time and taking classes in the mornings. By the time I hit twenty-five, I stopped telling myself I’d go back. I sent money every month and paid things off that I didn’t fully see. It wasn’t enough. “Just a little more,” he’d say. “You’re helping me, Alya. You’re a good girl.”

I hated being called a good girl, but I took it because it meant he was still alive. Then four days ago, a detective called and asked me to come identify him. “Robbery,” the detective said. “They took his wallet and watch.”

We reach the cafe. Sergei pushes the door open and gestures for me to go in first. His men stay outside. Sergei follows me to a table in the back corner. He doesn’t ask if I want coffee. He sits and looks at me. I stay standing. “Say it again.”

He leans back slightly. “Your father promised you to me.”

“Why?” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I clear my throat. “Why would he do that?”

Sergei watches my face as if he’s picking out the moment I’ll break. “Because he owed my family. He didn’t have money and offered something else.”

“Me.”

“Yes.”

My nails dig into my palm. “I’m not marrying you.”

Sergei’s gaze stays steady. “Your refusal doesn’t matter.”

“It does in my world.”

He laughs once. “You’re standing in my world now.”

I lean forward. “Show me proof.”

He taps the envelope. “You saw it.”

“I saw a paper with my father’s name on it. That’s not proof.”

Sergei’s eyes narrow slightly. “Do you think he loved you?”

I say, “He was my father.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I swallow hard. “Don’t talk about him.”

Sergei’s voice drops. “If he loved you, he wouldn’t have sold you. So pick one. Loved you or sold you.”

My throat tightens. “You don’t know anything about him.”