Chapter 3
Scarlett
"Scarlett! Scarlett! Where the hell are you?"
Father's roar thundered through the hallway. I quickly shoved the pregnancy test into the toilet and flushed it away, then took three deep breaths in the mirror, forcing myself to produce a carefree smile.
"In the bathroom!" I called back. "Coming right out!"
Two lines. Two unmistakable pink lines.
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror. Well done, Scarlett. You've really outdone yourself this time.
Sleeping with a complete stranger and getting pregnant with his child. If this were a movie, I'd definitely be mocking the heroine for being such an idiot.
"At least that night was memorable," I muttered to myself.
Come on, Scarlett, chin up. The sky's falling? Perfect—at least now you can see the stars.
This baby might have excellent genes, considering the father's... well, remarkable stamina.
Oh God, this is not the time for such thoughts.
I pushed open the bathroom door to find Father standing in the hallway, his face black as a thundercloud.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" He jabbed at his watch. "Ciara's dress designer has been waiting for you for two solid hours! The invitation samples have arrived and need final approval! Don't you dare think about shirking your responsibilities!"
"Sorry, Father." I rubbed my temples. "I'm just not feeling great..."
"Not feeling great?" His voice jumped an octave. "Who the hell is? Who in this family is feeling great right now? Ciara's out there busting her ass for us, and you? All you do is cause trouble and live it up—what else you got? Get your butt downstairs! Now! Right this second!"
I couldn't blame Father for his outburst. Over the past two months, the atmosphere at home had grown increasingly sinister.
Father was constantly making mysterious phone calls in his study, his voice alternating between rage and desperation.
Half our household staff had been dismissed, even the gardener had been let go.
"The Volkov family is our only hope," Father lowered his voice, and I caught a weariness in his eyes I'd never seen before. "You must cooperate with everything. If you sabotage this now, you know the consequences."
"Father," I ventured carefully, "what's really happening to our—"
"That's none of your concern!" He cut me off sharply. "You only need to fulfill your duties as a maid of honor. Now, immediately, go try on that dress!"
I bit my lip and turned away. Typical. If you can't solve the problem, pretend it doesn't exist.
On my way to see Ciara, my mind was completely consumed with thoughts of the baby.
I knew exactly who the father was.
That man with ice-blue eyes that could freeze souls yet ignite everything they touched. I didn't know his name—he was a complete stranger to me.
What was I supposed to do?
"Miss, you look rather pale," the makeup artist observed with concern. "Would you like to rest for a moment?"
"No, thank you." I forced a smile. "Probably just haven't been sleeping well lately."
The morning sickness was becoming increasingly severe. I had to carry mints everywhere, frantically chewing them whenever nausea struck. Fortunately, everyone was too preoccupied with wedding preparations to notice my condition.
"Scarlett." Ciara entered, flawless as always. "Does the dress fit?"
"It's fine." I examined myself in the mirror—a mint green bridesmaid dress with a fitted waist. Thank God the wedding was only two weeks away. Any longer and I wouldn't be able to fit into it.
"You've been acting strangely lately," she frowned at me. "Always distracted."
"Maybe I'm jealous that you're getting married," I joked. "After all, you're about to become Mrs. Volkov."
Her expression stiffened momentarily. "It's my duty."
"Of course." I turned away, unwilling to witness that martyred expression. "You're always fulfilling your duty."
The following days felt like a waking nightmare.
Father grew increasingly volatile, erupting over the smallest infractions.
I began desperately searching for that man, employing every method I could think of.
I even hired a private investigator, taking that cufflink—engraved with a wolf design—and making inquiries everywhere.
Nothing turned up.
I attempted to slip out several times to continue my search, but Father intercepted me every time.
"Where do you think you're going?" He blocked the doorway.
"Just getting some fresh air..."
"You're not going anywhere! The engagement party is tomorrow, and I won't tolerate any mishaps!"
I was essentially under house arrest.
The absurd part was that I had no idea who to turn to for help. Tell Father I was pregnant? He'd kill me. Tell Ciara? She'd simply declare it the consequence of my irresponsible behavior.
"It's all right, sweetheart," I whispered each night, caressing my still-flat stomach. "Mommy will figure something out. Even though Mommy has absolutely no idea what to do right now..."
The engagement party arrived.
Emerald Heights had been transformed into something magnificent. Crystal chandeliers blazed so brilliantly they nearly blinded you, champagne towers rose like glittering mountains, the air thick with silk, perfume, and the tinkling of glasses.
I wore my bridesmaid dress, the waist cinched uncomfortably tight, making breathing difficult and causing a strange heaviness in my lower abdomen.
I smiled mechanically, exchanging pleasantries with every guest. Mrs. O'Brien was promoting her Harvard-educated son again, Mr. MacDonald was fishing for information about our family's financial situation—everyone wearing social masks, offering hollow congratulations.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed, "please welcome tonight's guest of honor—Mr. Leonid Volkov!"
The grand doors slowly parted.
I held my champagne flute, casually turning my head.
Then the entire world stopped.
The man who entered wore an impeccably tailored black evening suit, his bearing regal as a monarch's, each step radiating invisible authority.
As he moved into the light, his face became fully visible under the brilliant illumination—devastatingly handsome yet cold as marble sculpture.
A razor-sharp jawline, thin lips pressed into a firm line, an aristocratic nose. ..
Those eyes. Ice-blue, like the heart of Siberia's most merciless glaciers—piercing, fathomless, utterly devoid of warmth. They swept the room with contemptuous indifference and absolute control.
It was him!
It was actually him!
"Mr. Volkov, what an extraordinary honor..." Father's smile bordered on obsequious as he guided my sister forward for introductions, while I remained frozen in place, not daring to move a muscle.
I stared at him without blinking, watching him acknowledge my sister with a cold nod.
The next moment, Father dragged me before him. "This is my younger daughter, Scarlett."
His gaze swept over me. In that instant, I clearly saw his eternally frozen eyes flicker with the faintest tremor.
Immediately, that tremor was consumed by something far more intense—almost searing—an undisguised, predatory assessment and possessiveness, laced with complex emotions I couldn't decipher, like invisible shackles instantly binding me, rendering me completely immobile.
The champagne flute slipped from my grasp, shattering against the marble floor. The crystalline sound rang out with shocking clarity in the hushed hall.
Everyone turned to stare at me.
"Scarlett!" Father hissed. "What are you doing?"
"I... I'm sorry..." I stammered an apology, crouching to collect the fragments, not even registering when glass sliced my finger.
"Don't." A hand seized my wrist. "You'll hurt yourself."
It was him. Leonid Volkov. My sister's fiancé. My child's father.
His touch still burned, still sent tremors through my entire body. But now, those tremors were born of terror.
"Thank... thank you." I jerked my hand away, unable to meet his gaze.
"Leonid," Ciara approached, threading her arm through his. "Please forgive my sister's clumsiness."
"It's nothing." His voice was terrifyingly composed. "I've heard so much about her."
Heard so much? We were far beyond "hearing about each other"! We had...
"Excuse me." I spun around and fled, Father's muffled fury echoing behind me, but I was beyond caring.
I burst into the powder room, slammed the lock, and rushed to the sink as violent retching consumed me. Nothing emerged except acidic bile scorching my throat.
This has to be a nightmare. It simply has to be.
The man who had bewitched me, the father of my unborn child, is my sister's fiancé?
"Dear God, is this some kind of cosmic joke?" I demanded of my wrecked reflection. "This melodramatic nonsense—even trashy novels wouldn't dare attempt such a plot!"
Calm yourself, Scarlett. You must remain calm.
Perhaps he didn't remember me? After all, we'd both been drinking that night, and the lighting was quite dim...
No! He remembered! I could read it in his expression—he remembered everything perfectly.
So what now? Confess everything?
"Hey, sis. Your fiancé slept with me two months ago, and I'm carrying his child."
She would kill me. Father would kill me. The entire family would brand me a disgrace.
I turned on the tap, frantically splashing icy water on my face, desperate to clear my head. I looked up at the mirror—at that ghastly pale woman with smeared makeup staring back at me.
I was finished. Scarlett Donelli, you are absolutely finished.
The secret growing inside me was no longer merely a complication—it had become a time bomb capable of obliterating me, destroying Ciara, perhaps even annihilating the entire Donelli family. And I held the detonator, lacking even the strength to cast it aside.
Escape? Yes, flee! Leave this place! Leave Boston! That was the only coherent thought remaining in my mind.
I drew several steadying breaths, hastily repaired my appearance with tissues, struggling to look composed. I had to return, find an opportunity to slip away...
I smoothed my disheveled hair and straightened my dress, took a deep breath, attempted to project serenity, and opened the powder room door.
The scene that greeted me left me paralyzed with shock.
The ballroom's atmosphere had transformed completely. What had been festive and harmonious mere moments before now carried an ominous silence punctuated by agitated murmurs. Every face was turned toward the massive screen, expressions ranging from shock to disgust to barely concealed delight.
I followed their collective gaze—
The screen displayed a continuous loop of compromising photographs and grainy video footage! The woman featured... was Ciara! And the man was definitely not Leonid!
My mind went completely blank. What was happening?
I spotted my sister at the crowd's center, white as death, swaying dangerously. She was attempting some explanation, but her words were lost beneath the surrounding whispers and gasps of outrage. Father clutched his chest, his eyes reflecting pure despair and disbelief.
What... what in God's name was occurring?
Before I could process this succession of revelations, an ice-cold, powerful hand clamped around my wrist with bone-crushing force.
I looked up in terror to meet Leonid Volkov's glacial blue stare.
Without warning, he yanked me against him. I stumbled into his chest, trapped within his iron embrace around my shoulders, completely helpless. His frigid cedar scent mingled with subtle whiskey notes enveloped me like a prison, radiating menace.
In the deathly hush and countless horrified stares, Leonid's voice rang out with crystalline clarity, each word striking like ice against marble—cold, resolute, absolutely final.
"The engagement remains."
He paused, his arctic gaze sweeping the assembly before settling on my bloodless face, delivering his ultimate decree, "She will become my wife."