Chapter Eighteen - Alexei
The knock comes just after dawn. I’m at my desk, still wearing last night’s shirt, the half-drained glass of vodka beside me. One of my men slips inside, face tense, jaw locked. He doesn’t speak right away—he doesn’t have to. I already know it isn’t good.
“The Council’s summoned you,” he says finally.
A coil tightens in my gut. The Council doesn’t summon without reason. Lately, reason has a name: Vivienne.
I stand, sliding the glass aside, and the man shifts uneasily under my stare. “What do they know?”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t told. Only that they expect you in an hour.”
That’s all I need to hear.
I leave the office and head down the hall to her room. The door is locked, though I have the key. She’s inside, hiding from me, from herself, from the mess we’ve made. I don’t blame her. I unlock it, step in.
She’s curled in the armchair, legs tucked beneath her, hair messy, eyes red. She doesn’t rise when she sees me.
“I have to go,” I say. My voice is flat, stripped down. “Stay here. Don’t leave this room.”
Her mouth parts, ready to ask, to argue. I cut her off with a look. “No one comes in. No one. Do you understand?”
She nods, though suspicion lingers in her eyes. I close the door, lock it from the outside, and walk away before I change my mind.
***
The Council’s chamber reeks of smoke and power. Men sit around the long table, all of them old enough to remember the wars that built this empire. Their eyes track me as I enter, cold and knowing.
“Alexei,” one of them greets, voice slick with false courtesy. “Sit.”
I don’t. I stay standing. “You called me. Speak.”
The man smiles, sharp and cruel, and slides a folder across the table. “We’ve been thorough.”
I glance down. The folder is open, pages spilling with photographs, documents, records. Vivienne’s face stares back at me in black and white, grainy but unmistakable. Next to it, her father’s name.
My blood runs cold.
“Forged identity,” another voice cuts in. “Intercepted messages. Her father’s file.” He taps a page with a thick finger. “She’s not who she claims to be. You brought her into your house.”
The weight of their stares presses against me. The words that follow are casual, effortless. “The answer is obvious. She’s a liability. A traitor’s daughter. Kill her.”
There’s no hesitation. Not from a single one of them. To them, she’s already dead.
I force my hands to stay loose at my sides, though rage coils hot in my chest. “She’s under my protection.”
One of them laughs, sharp and bitter. “Protection isn’t binding.” He leans forward, eyes glinting. “Marriage is.”
The room stills. The suggestion hangs heavy in the air, daring me to move, to choose.
My mouth opens before thought catches up. “She’s already my wife.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Every eye shifts to me, searching for the lie. My pulse pounds steady, my face unreadable.
A wife is untouchable. That’s the code. Kill her now and it’s an insult to me, to the order itself. To strike at her would be to strike at me.
Slowly, one of the older men nods. “Then it seems she’s no longer in question.”
The matter closes just like that. A single lie locking chains around both our throats.
***
Back at the house, the silence feels heavier. I unlock her door, step inside. She rises instantly, eyes flashing when she sees my face. She knows. She always knows.
“What did you do?” Her voice is sharp, cracking with fury.
I don’t answer fast enough. She crosses the room in two strides and slaps me, her palm cracking against my cheek. Heat blooms across my skin, but I don’t move, don’t stop her.
“You think you own me now?” she spits. “You think you can claim me, control me, cage me with your lies?”
My jaw clenches. “You’d be dead.” Her breath catches, but I keep going, voice low, steady. “They found out. They know who you are. They wanted you erased. A liability. A traitor’s daughter.”
Her face pales, but she doesn’t look away.
“I did what I had to do,” I finish.
Her silence cuts deeper than her slap. Her chest rises and falls, breath sharp, lips pressed tight, eyes burning with words she won’t say.
I step closer. She doesn’t retreat.
“You’re alive,” I murmur. “Because of me.”
Still she doesn’t answer. The silence between us stretches, jagged and raw.
She muffles a scream, spins on her heel and drops onto the bed with a gasp.
“Unbelievable,” she hisses. “Get the fuck out.”
I don’t move.
“You made me your wife without asking,” she says. The words are low, steady, sharper than any knife.
I stand across from her, hands loose at my sides. “I made you untouchable.”
Her laugh is bitter, breaking at the edges. “Untouchable? You made me your pawn. Do you understand the difference?”
I take a step closer, then stop. “You’d rather be dead?”
Her throat works, but she doesn’t answer. Silence fills the room, thick and merciless.
I lean against the desk, watching her, forcing my voice softer. “The Council won’t question it now. No one can touch you without crossing me. Without breaking the code. That’s all that matters.”
She shakes her head slowly, eyes wet though no tears fall. “You keep saying that like it’s a gift. Like I should thank you.”
I say nothing.
She sets the journal aside, stands, brushes past me toward the door. For a moment her hand lingers on the knob, her back stiff, her shoulders trembling.
Then she whispers, so quiet I almost miss it: “I don’t know if I hate you for saving me… or for making me yours.”