Chapter Fourteen - Aleksandr
The meeting with Walter Lawrence happens on the second day of preparations.
He arrives at a neutral location, a restaurant I own, closed to the public, guarded at every entrance. He comes alone despite my invitation to bring counsel. Either he’s too broke to afford good lawyers or too broken to care about legal protection.
Probably both.
I’m already seated when he enters, nursing coffee I haven’t touched. He looks smaller than I expected. Diminished. The kind of defeat that settles into a man’s bones when power bleeds away and leaves only the shell of who he used to be.
“Mr. Sharov.” He extends his hand. I don’t take it.
“Sit.”
He does, movements stiff. Uncomfortable in his own skin.
I study him while he settles. This is the man who betrayed the Bratva, who cooperated with authorities, who thought he could walk away clean from the kind of associations that don’t allow clean exits.
This is Elena’s father. The man who kept her at arm’s length, who treated her like an embarrassment rather than an asset, who’s about to sell her to his enemy without a fight.
“You know why you’re here,” I say.
“Yes.” His voice is rough. “My daughter. The… marriage.”
“Your daughter broke into my facility, stole operational data, and put herself completely at my mercy. Marriage is how I’m choosing to resolve that situation.”
“I understand.”
Does he? I wonder. Does he understand what he’s handing over? What I’m taking?
“The terms are simple,” I continue. “Elena becomes my wife. In exchange, I stabilize what remains of the Lawrence holdings. Not destroy them, not absorb them completely, but bring them under my authority. You maintain nominal control, answer to me on major decisions, and your businesses survive.”
He nods slowly. “What will you do if I refuse?”
“Then I continue the current trajectory. Complete financial collapse within weeks. Your family name becomes a cautionary tale. Your assets are carved up and distributed among people who won’t be as generous as I’m being now.”
“Generous.” He laughs, bitter and hollow. “You’re forcing my daughter into marriage and calling it generous.”
“I’m offering her protection. Offering your family survival. Generous might be the wrong word, but it’s accurate compared to your alternatives.”
Silence stretches between us. He stares at the table, processing, calculating whether resistance gains him anything.
It doesn’t. We both know it doesn’t.
“She’s always been difficult,” he says finally. “Elena is too stubborn. Too smart for her own good. I tried to… guide her, but she never listened.”
“She shouldn’t have had to be guided. She should have been valued.”
He looks up sharply. “What?”
“Your daughter is wasted being treated like an afterthought. She has intelligence, resourcefulness, skills you never bothered to develop because you were too busy managing your legitimate children’s careers.”
“She’s illegitimate.”
“I don’t care about your family politics.
I care that you wasted potential that could have been useful to you and now belongs to me instead.
” I lean forward slightly. “Here’s what’s going to happen.
You will support this marriage publicly.
You will tell Elena—if she asks—that you approve, that it’s a good strategic alliance, that you’re grateful I’m protecting her. ”
“You want me to lie to her.”
“I want you to make this easier for everyone. Including yourself.” I slide a folder across the table. “Inside is the preliminary contract. Your businesses that will remain operational, the oversight structure, the financial arrangements. Review it, sign it, and we proceed.”
He opens the folder with shaking hands. Scans the pages without really reading them.
“She’ll hate me for this,” he says quietly.
“She already does. This just confirms what she’s always known—that you’ll sacrifice her to save yourself.”
The cruelty of the statement makes him flinch, but he doesn’t deny it.
“Don’t make issues,” I tell him, voice hardening. “Don’t try to interfere; don’t encourage her to resist; don’t give her false hope that rescue is coming. Accept this, support it, and I’ll be as nice to the Lawrence group as circumstances allow. Fight me, and I bury you completely.”
He stares at the contract. At the signature line waiting for his agreement.
“When?” he asks.
“Soon. You’ll receive formal invitation to the ceremony. Small, private, discreet.”
“After? Will I… see her?”
“That’s up to Elena. If she wants contact with her family, I won’t prevent it. I won’t force it either.”
He nods slowly. Picks up the pen I’ve left on the table. Signs without reading the rest of the document.
It’s crazy what power does. What fear accomplishes. This man is agreeing to marry his daughter off to his enemy, signing her life away because it means his businesses survive a few more years under new management.
He’s not even fighting. Not even pretending to care about her welfare over his own survival.
Elena was right to hate him.
I take the signed contract and stand. “We’re done here.”
“Can I—” He stands too, awkward and uncertain. “Can I speak with her? Before the wedding?”
“No.”
“Please. I should at least—”
“You should leave. Before I change my mind about keeping your businesses operational.” I signal the guard at the door. “Escort Mr. Lawrence out.”
He’s removed before he can argue further. I’m left alone with the signed contract and the cold satisfaction of knowing another piece has fallen into place.
Elena’s father sold her. Confirmed what she’s always suspected about her worth to her family.
When she learns that—and she will—it will break something in her.
I should feel satisfaction about that. About being right, about proving her family never deserved her loyalty.
Instead, I just feel anger at Walter Lawrence for being exactly the weak, selfish man I knew he was.
***
I oversee every detail of the wedding preparations personally.
The contract is reviewed line by line. I ensure Elena’s legal status is ironclad—protected under my name, shielded from any rival families who might still consider her a liability. No loopholes. No ambiguities. She becomes untouchable the moment the marriage is official.
Guards are assigned specifically for her protection. Men I trust, who understand that touching her without explicit permission means death. They don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t get familiar. Treat her with the respect due to someone who will soon carry the Sharov name.
The ring I order myself.
No jeweler’s consultation. No committee decision. I choose a simple platinum band, heavy enough to feel like a claim, elegant enough to suit her. Inside, I have it engraved with the date. Permanent. Unchangeable.
Mine.
When a tailor arrives to take measurements for Elena’s dress, I send him away and do it myself.
She stands in the middle of her room, arms slightly raised, while I measure her waist, her hips, the length from shoulder to hem.
My fingers linger at her wrist, feeling her pulse jump under my touch.
I note the curve of her waist, the way the fabric will need to accommodate hips that flare just slightly, the slender lines of her shoulders.
She’s beautiful. I’ve known this since the auction, but touching her—even clinically, professionally—makes the knowledge visceral.
She will belong to me soon. Legally, officially, completely.
The thought makes something dark and possessive coil low in my gut.
“Stand still,” I tell her when she shifts nervously.
“You’re taking too long.”
“I’m being thorough.” My hand settles at her waist, measuring the span. Her breath catches. “Nervous?”
“No.”
Liar. Her pulse is racing, her skin flushed. I can feel the tension vibrating through her.
I step back before I do something stupid. Before the professional detachment I’m maintaining cracks completely.
“We’re done,” I say, making notes on measurements. “The dress will be ready in time.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“You will.”
“How can you know—”
“I know you, Elena. What you like, what suits you, what will make you look exactly as you should on our wedding day.” I meet her eyes. “Trust me or don’t. Either way, the outcome is the same.”
She glares at me, furious and helpless. “I hate when you say that.”
“I know.” I move to the door. “Get some rest. Preparations accelerate tomorrow.”
I leave before she can argue further. Before I give in to the urge to stay, to push this conversation into territory I’m not ready to navigate.
***
The night before the date is finalized, I find her standing at the balcony doors in her room.
She doesn’t hear me enter. Too focused on the view outside—the gates, the guards, the security that keeps her contained. She’s wearing the robe again, hair loose, shoulders tense with tension that never fully leaves her.
I don’t announce myself. Just move closer, stopping a few feet behind her. Close enough that she can feel my presence, the heat of me pressing into her space.
She stiffens but doesn’t turn around.
“The date is set,” I say quietly.
Her shoulders tense further. She doesn’t answer.
“Three days. Saturday evening. It will be a small ceremony, with limited witnesses. Orthodox tradition modified for practicality.”
Still nothing. Just rigid silence.
“Your father has agreed. Signed the contracts. He sends his blessing.”
That breaks her silence. “Of course he did.” Her voice is hollow. “Why wouldn’t he? He gets to keep his businesses and all it costs is his unwanted daughter.”
“Elena—”
“Don’t.” She turns now, eyes bright with unshed tears she refuses to let fall. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what this is. What I’ve always been to him. To all of them.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She laughs, bitter. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I matter. Trying to earn a place in a family that never wanted me in the first place. The bastard daughter. The mistake. The one who has to work twice as hard for half the recognition.”
Her voice cracks, but she keeps going.
“Now I’m finally useful. Not because I’m smart or capable or worth anything on my own merits. Marrying me off solves your problems and his problems and everyone gets what they want except me.”
The pain in her voice makes something uncomfortable twist in my chest.
“You matter,” I say.
“To who? Not to you, anyway. You don’t care about me; you just want to keep me.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes!” The word comes out fierce. “There’s a fucking difference between being valued and being claimed like property!”
I move closer, closing the distance until I’m right behind her. Until the heat between us is palpable.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “There is a difference, but in our world, being claimed offers better protection than being valued ever could.”
“That’s—”
“True. You know it.” My hand settles at her waist, firm and anchoring. “Your family valued you just enough to use you when convenient. I’m claiming you completely. Which do you think keeps you safer?”
She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t move. Just stands there trembling slightly under my touch.
“I don’t want to be kept,” she whispers. “Safe or not. I want to be free.”
“Freedom is an illusion. Power is real. Protection is real. I’m offering both.”
“At what cost?”
“Everything. And nothing.” I lean closer, mouth brushing her ear. “You give me loyalty, obedience, your body, and your future. In exchange, I give you safety, purpose, and a life that matters beyond desperate attempts to prove yourself worthy.”
Her breath stutters. “That’s not—that’s not fair.”
“It’s the only offer you’re getting.”
My hand presses slightly firmer at her waist, feeling her body respond despite her mind’s resistance. The tension, the heat, the way she leans back almost imperceptibly into my presence.
“Three days,” I murmur against her ear. “Then you’re mine officially. No more pretending. No more fighting inevitability. You become Elena Sharov and everything changes.”
“Everything or nothing?” Her voice is barely audible.
“Both.”
I step back before I do something I’m not ready to do. Before control slips completely and I take what isn’t quite mine yet.
“Sleep,” I tell her. “You’ll need your strength.”
I leave her standing at the balcony, staring out at the gates that will keep her contained long after the wedding makes captivity permanent.