It still doesn’t add up.

  My phone ringing in my pocket breaks the spell of our conversation, and before we can continue, I grab it. Finding Nikolai’s name across the screen, I accept the call and bring the phone to my ear.

  “What is it?”

  Nikolai, who is normally calm and collected, sounds vaguely out of breath on the other end. “One of our convoys was intercepted…the one heading north-east.”

  Pausing, I pull the phone back before putting him on speaker. My brows knit together.

  “What happened? How bad was it?”

  He takes a breath, the continues, “They derailed the truck and caused a shoot-out. As far as we can tell, they got away with very little and lost a few on their side, but now we’re working to get everything up and running before we pull too much attention.”

  Anger flares beneath my skin, and at once, that knowing feeling settles in my gut. I have to force myself not to crush the cell phone in my grasp. “…who did it?”

  “They looked like Nikolaev men…”

  Seeing red immediately, I clench my jaw and scrub a hand over my mouth. “That bastard…is this retaliation? Does he know about Victoria?”

  Mikhail, focused on the conversation, has that usual look of deep thought in his eyes, quietly scrutinizing the situation. He seems to be wondering the same thing.

  “It’s possible…but either way, we have to get this thing out of the public eye.”

  Despite the rage moving through me, I pull in a breath and nod to myself, trying to focus more on the next steps, rather than those volatile emotions.

  “Yes…go with them and make sure nobody inspects the load too closely…we need to up the security detail on the other shipments going out today,” I murmur, trying to think with the clearest mind I can manage. “Get everyone out of there. If you come across more of Maxim’s men, don’t hesitate.”

  “Got it…I’ll let you know when we arrive.”

  My patience is barely hanging on by a thread, but I force myself to hold it in. “Stay safe.”

  Exchanging our goodbyes, I end the call and grip the phone a bit tighter, pressing my hand to my mouth in an attempt to hold my most instinctive reactions in.

  “Fucking Nikolaev…”

  “We need to know if this is his usual escalation or if he’s retaliating for Victoria,” Mikhail says, treading lightly given my current state. “Maybe this is our chance to find out.”

  Despite bracing myself and trying my hardest to restrain my anger, I still hear what he’s saying, and I let that surround me for a moment.

  He’s right. If Maxim knows about Victoria and is hitting back as revenge, then it’ll only worsen. He’ll keep pushing until he gets her back. Either way, I need to know what to expect, and I need to use it to my advantage.

  Forcing out a heavy breath, I meet his gaze while the gears turn in my head.

  “Regardless of his awareness, or if Victoria is truly his sister, I need to make the marriage public,” I begin, mulling it over. “That way, he’ll either confirm or deny their relation, and I’ll know if this is still an angle I can exploit. If not, then I’ll need to find another way to get the message across. He’s being too brave, and he needs a reminder.”

  Mikhail considers this, and then he nods. “I suppose that’s a good first step…how do you want to go public?”

  Looking out the window, I try to remember everything we have coming up…events, meetings, anything…then it hits me.

  “Elena’s been organizing that charity gala for the children’s hospital…every significant player will be there, and knowing how fast word travels, Maxim will likely hear about it before the night is up,” I say, creating the plan as it hits me on the spot. “I’ll walk her in on my arm, and everyone will know. He’ll know...then I’ll get my confirmation one way or another.”

  “And if Maxim acknowledges her as his sister?”

  “Then it will be back to the original plan…I’ll leverage it against him.”

  While the declaration comes out easily, something stirs inside me.

  It was my drive all along in kidnapping Victoria and forcing her to marry me, but I’m well aware that things are different now.

  Before, it was supposed to be to the point. It was only a strategy.

  Now, I’m emotionally entangled with her to some degree, and using her as something to hold over Maxim’s head doesn’t feel quite so simple.

  She would hate me for it…and it could potentially risk the barely-existent trust she has for me.

  Still, I can hear those old voices in my head, reminding me to be cautious against letting those emotions interfere…of letting it stop me from fully cementing my dominance over Nikolaev and everyone else in Las Vegas.

  This is the game, and while I don’t take pleasure in involving Victoria in the slightest now, I can’t hesitate.

  If Maxim really is her brother, then I’ve taken something precious of his and made her untouchable.

  I can’t expect anything short of war.

  Even if she hates me for it, I have to make my move.

  Chapter 18 - Victoria

  I’m late…two weeks late.

  My period should’ve started by now.

  At first, I wanted to blame the stress of everything, given how my life hadn’t been normal since the day Roman and his men grabbed me from the school parking lot. It seemed like a valid enough reason for my body to quit functioning as regularly as it had been. But beneath those excuses and attempts at rationalizing for my emotional sake, I already knew.

  Since I noticed, I’ve been sitting with that sinking feeling that only worsens with every passing day.

  While I haven’t had any noticeable symptoms beyond missing my period, I just have the feeling…the inclination that it has happened.

  I haven’t said anything to Roman yet, and a small part of me wants to never tell him.

  But of course, I can’t do that. Eventually, it will become too apparent for either of us to ignore.

  For the time being, at least, I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to admit that I could very well be pregnant with his child.

  As much as the not knowing part is grating on my nerves, I can’t exactly slip out of the house and grab a test to find out. And if I ask anyone to get one for me, that will be cause for immediate suspicion.

  I’m not ready to face it yet, even if I should be. Addressing it will only make the situation more real, and if I am pregnant, then I can kiss any chance of getting away goodbye.

  I’ve been trying not to focus on it lately, but being stuck at the house with nothing better to do, it’s an impossible feat. I can’t help my mind from getting caught up on it.

  I’m not exactly afraid of how he would react…not with how logical and strategic he is. Roman would likely say it was inevitable; maybe he has even been anticipating this.

  As much as the idea terrifies me, he wants permanence—he has made that abundantly clear by marrying us in the first place. A baby would only further unite us in his eyes, and our child would be a testament to the dedication of his plans.

  I wouldn’t be able to run from being a Lukov. Not with his baby in my belly.

  Initially, I thought being his unwilling wife was scary enough, but the idea of now having a baby between us is a horror all on its own.

  Even if Roman has been changing lately and doing things to try and make the situation easier for me…even if we gave in to our urges before and felt something for each other…I still can’t ignore who he is and what he did to me.

  Regardless of how many times he tries to kiss my cheek or speak to me with rare warmth in his tone, he’s still Roman Lukov. He’s still a Pakhan and a dangerous man.

  To my dismay, I find myself wrapped up in rich, deep crimson silk with a slit high enough to be vaguely provoking. My black heels are high enough to give me extra height to better match Roman’s, and the diamond earrings feel heavy…expensive. The dainty necklace he placed around my neck is more like a collar than anything, regardless of how nicely he put it on me.

  And he…he’s dressed up even more than usual. His tux is perfectly tailor with all the right edges and smooth plains of fabric, his shoes shine, and his hair is groomed to make him look both refined yet intimidating.

  He’s walking sin, and I have the feeling he knows it.

  The gala is stuffy and the last place I want to be, but for what it’s worth, apparently it was arranged by Elena, so I can’t be entirely disgruntled about it.

  Still, it’s too much for someone like me.

  The chandeliers cast their luxurious light across the venue, the red carpets strewn about the ballroom floors give everyone a certain air of importance, and there’s enough crystal in the place to end world hunger.

  Roman keeps his hand at the small of my back as we walk in, not hovering this time. No, instead, he’s letting me feel the full warmth of his palm.

  He uses it to guide me, both acting as a propellant and a way to exert his control.

  Given how he gazes around the room with his stoic expression, I know the gears are already turning. He’s calculating his every move, and likely that of everyone else in attendance.

  His thumb vaguely traces against my back while we move with decided precision, capturing a few stray eyes. It feels possessive, almost like he’s allowing me to be seen, but only for as long as he decides.

  Feeling the attention shift to us while we move along the space makes me feel far too exposed and raw. It makes my skin crawl, and somehow, my body doesn’t seem like my own. Given how there’s likely something growing inside me, it seems even more like the case.

  Vaguely dizzy, I follow his lead, but no part of me wants to be there. My face is surely showing it, too.

  A champagne flute is handed to me, but I don’t drink from it. It’s like a prop more than anything.

  Roman nods his head at a few of the men nearby, then he ducks closer to me while we continue.

  “You could at least try to pretend like you’re enjoying yourself,” he murmurs, voice quiet enough for only me to hear.

  I bristle and look ahead. “Well, I’m not.”

  “Hence the pretend part,” Roman returns with hushed impatience. “Everyone here is supposed to know you’re my wife…not some bitter extra. Just act like it.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I stop moving. But given how we’re surrounded by others, I keep my tone low. “And why should I?”

  A flicker of irritation moves through him, yet he has no choice but to stay composed for the sake of his image. “Because you are my wife, and we both have images to uphold. Regardless of how you feel, you are a reflection of me and my empire…so I need you to cooperate and behave. It wouldn’t kill you to smile, either.”

  Part of me wants to tell him it will, in fact, kill me. But I hold my tongue and feel that hostility festering in me.

  There are so many things I could scream at him…all the ways I could ruin his precious reputation right then and there. But the way he holds my gaze tells me this is important…this means something to him.

  For whatever reason, it makes me hesitate to act out.

  Pulling in a breath, Roman leans in as if to kiss me, resting his lips next to my cheek. His words whisper against my skin, “They can smell weakness, Victoria…but as my wife, you have more power than they do. So help me crush them.”

  Something about those words sends a shiver down my spine, startling me into dropping my scowl. I blink, unable to stop myself from surrendering to the idea.

  He hums, and his hand drops a bit lower in a vaguely affectionate caress. “Good, the sooner we convince them, the sooner we can leave.”

  As he pulls back and resumes guiding me along, I try to push down my subtle fluster.

  I don’t know what it is about the thought, but his words stick with me.

  Me…having more power than the literal elite? He can’t be serious.

  I feel like a prey animal caught in a predator’s den and have nowhere to run. Roman’s hold on me is the only anchor I have, as much as I don’t want to admit it.

  All the while, he totes me around like his obedient wife. My stomach is in knots. The vapid looks and fake smiles only make it worse, further tangling the anxiety burrowing inside me.

  They all look so opportunistic…like they’re waiting for the chance to strike.

  Between the calculating smiles, the expensive clothes, the glamor, and everything else, I feel so out of place. So, outside of my element.

  Roman introduces me to far too many people whose names escape me immediately, and all the while, I feel like I’m drowning. With the pressure of having to perform, combined with the possibility of carrying his child looming over me, I want to be sick.

  Even so, his hold on me never goes away, and in some twisted way, it’s surprisingly reassuring.

  After a while, I started to get the hang of pretending. The fake, pressed smiles become a bit easier, and while the nerves are still there, they’re at least hidden beneath the surface for now. Being vaguely flirty seems to help push the narrative that I’m some desirable wife and one who can keep up with Roman’s image.

  It all starts to feel like some kind of dance to be mastered, and while it does instill me with a sense of power, it’s also exhausting.

  Throughout the night, I feel Roman’s gaze flickering over to me, almost like he’s keeping tabs on me. Assessing me.

  It annoys me to even consider it, but the vague approval that emanates from him gives me the confidence I need to keep going. To keep pretending.

  And to my surprise, a sense of power comes with being next to him.

  When Roman strikes up a conversation with someone important, I linger close to his side, letting the occasional brush of our hands happen, or laughing airily at some unfunny joke while lightly touching his lapel.

  In a way, it becomes like muscle memory.

  Eventually, those gazes are less questioning and more curious. Maybe even envious.

  It’s a difficult concept for me to swallow, but it doesn’t matter. I just have to get through it.

  Before long, the room thinks I’m madly in love, and of course, Roman seems to notice.

  Despite maintaining his diplomatic mask, I notice the careful way it slips, the way a faint question seems to linger in his gaze. He looks almost caught off guard by my performance.

  With the initial round of conversing done, he guides me in for a dance along the main floor. We’re surrounded by the other couples, and I feel his eyes on me all the while.

  He pulls me a bit closer with a hand still against my back and the other holding mine.

  “What are you playing at?”

  Looking up at him, I hum to myself, able to see the slight tension in his features. “I’m giving them what they want…what you want.”

  Something moves in his eyes as I lower my spare hand from his shoulder, grazing over his chest. It’s an almost dangerous look.

  I half expect him to scold me for doing too much, or for being somewhat smug, but inside, the corner of his lip pulls faintly. That approval lingers.

  “You’re good at this.”

  Despite myself, satisfaction flows through me, and I'm well aware that it’s getting to him in some way.

  “I’ve had practice.”

  His brow lifts with suspicion. “What, convincing people you’re someone else?”

  “Convincing people I’m happy.”

  At that, Roman’s expression simmers down to something gentler, but he doesn’t say anything. His grip on me tightens.

  While subtle, it seems to say so much at once. In a way, the gesture feels like a quiet reassurance. Empathy, maybe.

  Either way, it seems I’ve found a way to convince both the others and Roman that I’m in love with him…and it feels like the upper hand.

  A softness to exploit.

  Then, I realize I’m not much better than him.

  Chapter 19 - Roman

  There’s something soft about her smile that’s almost disarming. It feels genuine, even if it isn’t.

  Victoria is someone else entirely, despite her initial refusal and her evident reluctance.

  Rather than looking too clever or spiteful, she gives me the kind of smile that has me second-guessing all of her previous resistance and resentment.

  For all of our arguments before, it’s almost like she doesn’t hate me…as if she truly does feel the things she’s portraying for the room to see.

  She laughs like it’s easier than breathing, leans into me like she’s magnetized to me, and she grins like it’s an invitation.

  Every part of her demeanor screams that she’s mine…and while I know it’s all for the image, all for my request, something about the way my body reacts to her makes me forget.

  I asked her to do this. I told her to bide her time and at least show the others she doesn’t despise me. That she is my wife—and a doting one at that.

  Now, I can’t help but wonder if that was a mistake.

  She’s almost scarily good at it, which should concern me to a degree.

  While I know it’s all forced, I can still feel her pulling me in, and for the first time, it’s like I’m the one being played.

  But at the same time, there’s something almost addicting about the way she clings to me…how she looks empowered with me.

  Her hand lingers against my chest while looking at me so earnestly, I can’t help but believe her.

  She presses a bit closer, causing me to warm all over. Cocking her head slightly, she gives me a small, demure smile.

  “I like how you’re looking at me…”

  I lift a brow, feeling like I need to tread carefully for my own sake. “How so?”

  She hums. “Almost like you’re not sure if you should strangle me or kiss the ground I walk on.”

  She’s too right and doesn’t even know it.

  “Careful, Victoria…” I warn her with a low tone, grip tightening against her back ever so slightly.

  “Why?” She asks, giving me a subtle look of mischief. “Afraid you’re feeling things?”

  My eyes narrow at her, still trying to work out her angle. “Do you think this is a joke?”

 

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