Chapter Eight - Erik
The mirror reflects a version of myself I’ve grown accustomed to: sharp, controlled, untouchable. The suit is flawless, tailored to perfection by one of the finest artisans Moscow has to offer. It fits me like a second skin, each detail meticulously crafted, but my thoughts are elsewhere. On her.
The tailor fusses at my sleeve, muttering about an adjustment that feels irrelevant. “Hold still, Mr. Sharov,” he says, his tone polite but firm.
I comply, more out of habit than care for the task at hand. My gaze remains locked on the reflection, though I’m not looking at myself. I’m seeing her . Chloe Hart.
The realization had been unexpected. One moment, I was reviewing the terms of this arrangement, skimming through the mundane details of another business alliance disguised as a marriage contract. The next, her name caught my eye. Chloe Hart. The woman from the auction.
The memories surface with startling clarity. Her determined expression, the way her hazel eyes had sparked with defiance as she raised her bid higher and higher, refusing to back down. She’d been relentless, fierce in a way that intrigued me more than I’d care to admit. She wasn’t like the other women in that room, all perfectly polished and eager to please. Chloe had something different—a fire.
Now, she’s mine.
The thought sends a ripple of satisfaction through me, though I keep my expression neutral. Fate is an unpredictable force, but when it aligns with my goals, I’m not one to question it.
The tailor steps back, nodding to himself. “Nearly done,” he says, reaching for the hem of my jacket.
The door opens behind me, and Semyon strides in. “I hope this interruption is worth it,” he says, his voice laced with dry humor. “It’s not every day I see you voluntarily playing dress-up.”
I glance at him through the mirror, my lips curving into a faint smirk. “What do you think, Semyon? Am I wedding-ready?”
He chuckles, leaning against the wall with the casual ease of someone who’s known me far too long. “I’d say you look the part, though I doubt your fiancée cares much about suits.”
“She doesn’t care about much when it comes to me,” I reply, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve. My voice is steady, betraying none of the thoughts running through my mind. “Not yet, anyway.”
Semyon raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met her already?”
“We’ve crossed paths.”
His curiosity sharpens, and he straightens slightly. “And?”
“And,” I say, letting the word hang in the air as I smooth down the lapel of my jacket, “she’s… unexpected.”
The admission surprises even me, but it’s the truth. Chloe is nothing like the women I’ve encountered in my world. There’s a rawness to her, a refusal to conform that makes her both infuriating and captivating.
Semyon folds his arms, a knowing glint in his eye. “Unexpected, huh? That’s not a word I hear from you often.”
I shoot him a pointed look, but he doesn’t back down.
“Go on,” he prompts. “What’s so special about this girl?”
I consider his question, the image of her from the auction flashing in my mind. “She’s stubborn,” I say finally. “Bold. She doesn’t back down, even when it’s in her best interest to do so.”
Semyon whistles low, clearly entertained. “Sounds like trouble.”
“She is,” I admit, my smirk returning. “I’ve always liked a challenge.”
The tailor clears his throat, stepping back to admire his work. “Perfect,” he declares, his voice tinged with pride. “As always.”
I turn slightly, inspecting the fit in the mirror. It’s impeccable, of course, but my mind is already shifting back to more pressing matters. “Leave us,” I tell the tailor.
He nods, gathering his tools quickly and slipping out of the room without a word.
As the door clicks shut, Semyon pushes off the wall, his expression growing more serious. “So what’s the plan?”
“The plan,” I say, adjusting the collar of my shirt, “is simple. This marriage will go ahead, and she will be my wife.”
Semyon studies me, his brows knitting together. “I can’t imagine she’s too happy about that.”
I laugh softly, the sound devoid of humor. “She thinks she can avoid it. That she has a choice.”
“She doesn’t?”
“No,” I say firmly, meeting his gaze. “This isn’t just about her or me. It’s about the alliances this marriage secures, the leverage it provides. Her father agreed to this for a reason, and I intend to honor that agreement.”
Semyon’s mouth quirks into a half smile. “Honor. Right.”
I ignore his jab, my thoughts returning to Chloe. She might think she can outmaneuver me, but she’ll learn soon enough. Every move she makes only brings her closer to where I want her to be.
“What happens if she fights you on this?” Semyon asks, a note of caution in his tone.
“She’s already fighting,” I reply, my smirk widening. “She just doesn’t realize she’s losing.”
Semyon shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about my “questionable taste in women.”
“Careful, Semyon,” I warn, my voice light but laced with an edge. “I’ve already decided she’s mine.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Understood. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when this blows up in your face.”
“It won’t.” My tone leaves no room for doubt. “She’s mine, Semyon. Whether she likes it or not.”
The words linger in the room, heavy and absolute.
Semyon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I always do,” I say simply, turning back to the mirror.
The man staring back at me is ready—ready to claim what’s his, to ensure that Chloe Hart understands exactly who holds the power in this arrangement.
I adjust my cuff links, their weight familiar and grounding, as I meet Semyon’s gaze in the mirror. His expression is a mix of curiosity and disbelief, arms crossed over his chest like he’s bracing himself for what I’ll say next.
“You seem unusually committed to this,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “Last I checked, you weren’t exactly enthusiastic about this whole arrangement. You even considered pushing back against Dominik to avoid it.”
“That was before,” I reply, letting the words hang in the air as I focus on straightening my tie.
“Before what?”
“Before I realized who she was.”
Semyon arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. When I don’t, he sighs and leans against the edge of the table, his patience thinning. “You’re not planning to make me guess, are you? Who is she?”
I glance at him through the mirror, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “The girl from the auction.”
His brow furrows in confusion for half a second before recognition dawns. “Wait. You mean her ? The one who went toe-to-toe with you over that dagger?”
“The same.”
Semyon lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You’re telling me your reluctant bride-to-be is the woman who spent half the night trying to outbid you just to get under your skin?”
“Not just under my skin.” I turn to face him, my hands in my pockets. “She got my attention; now I understand why.”
Semyon gives a short laugh, though there’s an edge to it. “So what, you’re suddenly head over heels because she made you work for something? That’s a hell of a shift, considering you were ready to risk Dominik’s wrath to get out of this marriage.”
I shrug, my expression calm. “I don’t believe in fate, Semyon. I believe in control, in shaping the world to fit my needs. That’s more than coincidence. It’s… alignment.”
“Alignment,” he repeats, disbelief dripping from the word. “You sound like a man who’s already decided this is more than a business deal.”
“It is more than a business deal,” I admit, my tone firm. “I’ve already picked out her dress.”
Semyon blinks at me, caught off guard. “You’ve what?”
“I picked out her wedding dress,” I repeat, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “A classic silhouette, elegant and understated. It’ll suit her.”
He stares at me, dumbfounded. “You’ve met her twice. Briefly. You think you know her well enough to pick out her dress?”
“I don’t think,” I say evenly, holding his gaze. “I know . I remember every detail, Semyon. Her height, her build, the way she moved. The dress will fit perfectly, and the rest can be tailored on the day, if necessary.”
He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Erik. You’re acting like she’s already yours, and she hasn’t even agreed to this yet.”
“She doesn’t need to agree.” My voice drops slightly, a harder edge creeping into it. “This was decided the moment her father signed the contract. Chloe Hart is mine, whether she likes it or not.”
Semyon studies me for a long moment, his usual air of detached amusement giving way to something more thoughtful. “You’re serious about this.”
“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”
“You’re not just going along with Dominik’s orders anymore. You actually want this.”
“She isn’t some nameless pawn in this game,” I say, my tone sharpening. “She’s her . That changes everything.”
Semyon exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you this—you’ve got a way of committing once you’ve made up your mind.”
“It’s not just about commitment,” I reply, my voice softening slightly. “It’s about ensuring that she understands where she belongs. With me.”
Semyon snorts, crossing his arms again. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know. Women like her don’t take kindly to being told what to do.”
“Good,” I reply, my tone laced with amusement. “I don’t want someone who’s easy to control. I want her fire, her resistance. It’ll make her eventual surrender all the sweeter.”
“You’re a damn romantic,” Semyon mutters, though there’s a trace of humor in his voice.
I laugh softly, returning to the mirror to inspect the final adjustments to my suit. The man staring back at me is ready—not just for the ceremony, but for the challenge that Chloe Hart represents.
“This isn’t about romance, Semyon,” I say, adjusting the lapel of my jacket. “It’s about what’s mine. I always get what’s mine.”
Semyon shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well, good luck. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” I reply smoothly, turning away from the mirror.
As I step out of the fitting room, a single thought dominates my mind. Chloe might think she can defy me, that she can outmaneuver me. She doesn’t realize one simple truth: she was mine from the moment we met.
I don’t lose.