Page 7 of His Stolen Bride

Mikhail’s mouth twitches, almost amused. It’s small, quick, gone fast. “Tonight.”

“I want to see her now.”

“You don’t get to set terms here.”

I take a breath, forcing my voice steady. “If you have any heart at all, you’ll let me speak to her. If you’re human, you’ll let me.”

Mikhail’s gaze stays on me. “You think calling me human will soften me.”

“I think you don’t like being challenged,” I shoot back, earning another beat of silence. Then Mikhail nods once. “Ten minutes. Guards present.”

I exhale sharply. “Fine.”

He turns and gestures. “Inside.” Without so much as another word, he strides away.

Mikhail’s men lead me through the house, my boots scuffing against the cold, gleaming marble as I’m pushed into what they call a morning room. I’m told to sit and wait, my nerves twisting tightly in my gut, but even with my head spinning, I can’t help but take in the space around me. This room is something else—pure, untouched luxury that makes my worn-out clothes feel like an insult. Tall windows stretch almost to the ceiling, framed by thick curtains in a deep, rich red. Sunlight sneaks through in thin streaks, hitting a massive wooden table in the center. Above, a chandelier dangles, all glass and glitter, throwing tiny flecks of light across the pale walls. A vase of bright pink flowers—peonies, I think—sits off to the side, their scent mixing with a faint whiff of polish and something expensive I can’t place. It’s all so perfect it almost feels like I’m sullying it just by breathing here.

I shift in the stiff chair, my fingers digging into the armrest as I try to keep my racing thoughts in check. An hour drags by—I think, anyway, since there’s no clock to mark the time—and my legs are stiff from sitting when I hear the creak of a side door. My head snaps up, heart lurching as they bring my mother in. Two guards tower over her, their hands hovering near their belts like they’re itching for an excuse to draw something. She looks smaller than she did this morning. Her eyes widen the moment she sees me. “Alina,” she breathes, rushing forward until a guard blocks her.

“Let her,” I snap.

Mikhail’s voice comes from behind me. “Let her.”

The guard steps aside. My mother throws her arms around me, gripping me hard. Her body shakes. Mine does too. I hate that the first thing I feel is relief, because relief means part of me already accepts that I’m trapped.

My mother pulls back and cups my face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” I whisper. “Mama, what is happening?”

Her eyes flick past me, toward Mikhail. Her mouth tightens. She lowers her voice. “You don’t understand who they are.”

“I’m trying,” I whisper back fiercely. “Tell me.”

My mother swallows hard. “Your father didn’t just gamble. He wasn’t just unlucky.”

My chest tightens. “Mama⁠—”

“He owed men,” she continues, voice trembling. “Men who don’t forgive, forget, or stop.”

I shake my head. “The police said it was a robbery.”

My mother’s eyes fill. “You needed that to be true.”

I stare at her. My throat closes. “Is it not?”

She doesn’t answer directly. She just looks at me, eyes shining, and her voice goes steady in a way that scares me more than her fear. “You do what you have to do to keep breathing.”

I stare at her. “You want me to marry him.”

My mother’s lips part, then close. She looks down, then back up. “If you refuse, they won’t just take you. They’ll make an example.”

I swallow hard. “How big are they?”

My mother’s gaze flicks toward Mikhail again. “Big enough that the police will never help you. Big enough that running won’t save you. They’ll find you.”

My skin goes cold. “You’re telling me there’s no way out.”

My mother squeezes my hands. “Not tonight.”