Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Igor
I could only watch Elena leave, powerless to stop her.
In my hand was the necklace she'd thrown at me—the one she used to treasure, too precious to wear.
She would always open her nightstand drawer to check on it, eyes lighting up as she told me what it meant to her.
Now she'd hurled it at me with such finality, as if declaring the end of everything.
Cold night wind swept through the garden. Before I could gather my thoughts, familiar footsteps approached from behind.
"Igor."
Natasha's voice shattered the silence. I turned to see her standing at the garden entrance, brown eyes blazing with fury. Her body was rigid, chest rising and falling as she struggled to contain her rage.
"Let's go inside," I said, keeping my voice calm and composed, as if nothing had happened.
"That's it?" She stepped closer, voice low but ice-cold. "You chase after another woman in front of everyone at our engagement party? What the hell are you doing, Igor? You left me standing there like a complete fool!"
I took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. She was right. I'd humiliated her at the worst possible moment, when I still needed her cooperation. She was my fiancée in name, and my behavior had damaged both families' dignity.
"I'm sorry." I met her eyes. "I lost control. That's on me."
"Igor, do you have any idea how many people were whispering back there?" Her voice mixed anger with hurt. "They're speculating about your relationship with that waitress, questioning whether our engagement is even real."
I moved closer, trying to project sincerity. "I know. Listen, it was just an accident. Let's go back and show everyone that everything's fine."
The fire in her eyes began to fade.
"Do you really understand what this alliance means for you?" she asked, her voice turning calm.
"I do." That wasn't a lie. "So trust me, Natasha. I promise tonight won't happen again."
My jaw tightened, fists clenched. For the family's future, for my inheritance, for the entire Eastern European power structure, I had to learn to sacrifice certain things. I forced myself not to think about Elena.
She studied me for several seconds, then finally sighed. "You better mean it, Igor. I've been told I'd marry you since I was sixteen. I've spent ten years preparing for this role. I won't let anyone destroy it—including you."
"It won't happen," I promised curtly.
We walked back to the ballroom together. Natasha took my arm, her movements still graceful, smile perfectly intact—the social mask she'd cultivated over years. If not for her fingers digging in too tight, nails nearly piercing my jacket, no one would know what had just transpired.
The hall blazed with light, elegant music still flowing. I scanned the room and caught my father's cold stare. His face was thunderous. Natasha's parents looked equally displeased.
"Everything alright?" Father's voice was terrifyingly calm, but I could hear the deliberately suppressed rage beneath.
"Of course." Natasha jumped in, voice light and natural. "Just a waitress who dropped some bottles. Igor was concerned she might be hurt, so he went to check. Right, darling?"
She turned to me, eyes flashing warning and reminder. She was covering for me, protecting our mutual dignity.
"Yes." I nodded, sounding natural. "It's handled. The girl was just shaken up."
Alexander's expression softened slightly, but the distrust didn't completely fade. "Compassion is admirable in young people, but you two are tonight's stars. Don't get too distracted with all these important guests watching."
"You're absolutely right," I said. "We'll be more careful."
Natasha's mother approached, taking her daughter's hand and rescuing us from the awkward moment. "Come on, there are still many guests waiting to congratulate you both."
The next two hours were endless torture.
Natasha and I stood among the guests, accepting wave after wave of congratulations.
Women inquired about wedding dates and venues while men discussed the business arrangements between our families.
Natasha kept her arm linked with mine, smile sweet and proper, occasionally leaning against my shoulder.
To outsiders, we appeared to be loving fiancés, full of anticipation and tenderness.
"Igor, Natasha, let's toast." Father raised his champagne glass with ceremonial gravity. All conversation ceased, every eye focused on us.
We approached the main table, feeling like we were under stage lights. I raised my glass, trying to make my voice sound sincere and joyful.
"Thank you all for being here tonight to witness the union of the Vorontsov and Ivanov families. This engagement carries both families' hopes and blessings, representing our bright expectations for the future."
Applause erupted, champagne glasses chiming in crisp succession like a carefully orchestrated symphony.
I drained my glass, liquor burning my throat with searing pain from inside out.
But that pain couldn't match the agony in my chest—a tearing sensation from every choice I was making in this moment.
Elena, where are you now? Are you okay?
Finally, after midnight's chimes, guests began departing. Natasha and her parents left as well. I prepared to leave, desperate to rush out immediately and find Elena.
"Igor." Father's voice stopped me cold.
I halted and turned around. "Father."
"Where are you going? In such a hurry?" His tone sounded casual, but that casualness was the most dangerous thing of all.
"Handling some business. Family business," I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
"What business?" His voice turned arctic, temperature plummeting. "Can't Artyom handle it?"
"Salvatore might be making moves. Artyom needs me to confirm." I met my father's eyes directly.
He stared at me for several seconds, gaze sharp as blades.
Finally, he spoke. "Day after tomorrow, we're having dinner with the Ivanovs at the estate to discuss wedding dates and arrangements. You will be there. No more scenes like tonight."
"I understand."
"Tonight, you embarrassed both families. If Natasha hadn't been smart enough to cover for you—but next time, you better think carefully about what matters more."
"I understand, Father."
"You better really understand." He stepped closer, eyes cold as if looking at a stranger. "Because if you sabotage this engagement, it won't just damage our family empire—it'll cost you your inheritance."
A clear threat. Father had plenty of legitimate sons of age who'd been eyeing this position. He could replace me with a more obedient heir at any time.
"It won't happen," my voice sounded firm. "I won't disappoint the family. I know my responsibilities and duties."
He studied me for several seconds, then nodded. "Go. But remember—day after tomorrow."
"Yes."
Finally, I could escape. I strode quickly to the parking garage and got into my black Ferrari. Gripping the steering wheel, engine roaring, I shot into the black night.
Snow was falling harder, windshield quickly accumulating thick ice that the wipers couldn't clear despite their frantic motion. But I didn't care. I just wanted to reach Elena, to hear her voice.
I drove recklessly, speeding through red lights, ignoring police sirens behind me. From Long Island to Brooklyn in under thirty minutes. The car skidded to a stop outside her apartment building, tires slipping on snow with a harsh screech.
I jumped out, rushed into the shabby building, and used my key to unlock her door. The living room was dark. Elena wasn't back.
I flicked on the lights, taking in the familiar small space.
Nothing seemed missing, which gave me brief relief.
But when I walked toward the bedroom, my entire world stopped.
The bedroom was empty. Elena's usual clothes were gone, her books vanished, and even the photo of her and her parents had been removed.
On the nightstand sat all the gifts I'd given her, neatly arranged.
My eyes stopped on a pair of earrings—ruby-studded earrings. I'd never given Elena earrings. No, this had to be what I'd asked Artyom to buy yesterday—the idiotic gift that perfectly demonstrated how little I knew her. Elena didn't even have pierced ears.
"Damn it." I cursed under my breath as unprecedented panic crashed over me like a tsunami.
My hands trembled as I picked up the unfamiliar black wallet beside them. It was exquisite, obviously handmade, with my initials "I.V." engraved on it. I traced every inch—each stitch revealed patience and love. How much time and devotion had gone into this work?
I opened the wallet. Inside was a small note in Elena's handwriting.
[For Igor, commemorating our six months together. I hope every time you open this wallet, you'll think of me. Love you always, Elena.]
Unbearable pain struck. My chest felt like someone had plunged a knife in, then twisted the blade. I tried to breathe, but the agony had stolen all the air.
Elena had prepared this gift, waiting for our anniversary. She'd imagined us embracing somewhere, celebrating our six months together. She'd poured countless hours and hope into this wallet, expecting it to be treasured.
And what the fuck was I doing? I was with another woman, betraying our love for family interests.
I slipped the wallet into my jacket pocket, close to my heart. Then I pulled out my phone and called her number.
A cold mechanical voice informed me her phone was off. I called again and again. Same result, same despair. That icy recorded voice was driving me insane.
I texted her: [Elena, text me back. I need to hear from you.]
[Please, let me explain.]
[I'll handle everything. Give me time.]
[I love you, Elena.]
All messages vanished into silence. Elena was gone, completely gone. I forced myself to calm down and dialed another number.
"Boss?" Artyom's voice came through.
"Find her now. Elena Jensen. Where did she go? Check her credit cards, phone records, surveillance footage—everything!"
"Yes! How many men do you need?" He grasped the urgency immediately.
"Everyone! Use every resource we have!" I hung up, unconsciously gripping the phone harder.
Where would Elena go? Would she come back? Or had she given up on me completely, deciding to disappear from my life forever? These questions screamed in my head as my sanity crumbled piece by piece.
Artyom's report shattered my last hope. They'd pulled surveillance from across the city—airports, train stations, bus terminals—investigating Elena's movements from every angle.
They checked her credit records, traced her last phone signal.
But every effort pointed to the same conclusion.
Elena had vanished. Her trail had been deliberately erased.
"FUCK!" I roared, hurling my phone against the wall. The screen shattered, parts scattering across the floor.
The apartment fell into dead silence, only my ragged breathing echoing in the air.