Chapter 2
LYRA
Sophia's face does something complicated. The math is simple enough even for her.
She just publicly insulted the woman standing under Julian Volkov's protection, and there are five hundred witnesses.
Something about his presence makes it clear just how small she and Alexander are.
"Apologize." He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't repeat himself.
"Julian," she says, her composure cracking along every seam, "we were just talking. You know, girl stuff. Nothing you need..."
He waits.
That's all he does. He waits, and the silence does something to her that shouting never could.
"I... She's... This isn't..."
Sophia is reduced to a stammering mess. I've never seen someone lose the English language that fast.
But he doesn't stop there.
"Your contracts with Volkov Industries end tonight." He doesn't blink. "All of them. Your access to this building, this company, and every subsidiary under our umbrella is terminated, effective immediately."
Her eyes flash. "You can't do that!" Her voice climbs an octave as her eyes dart to Alexander.
He stands perfectly still, quiet and chastened. I've never seen him like this before.
"Alex, tell him he can't do that!" she demands.
But Alexander doesn't say a single word.
Two years, this man lectured me about loyalty.
I'd laugh if I weren't busy watching him fold.
Julian looks past her to the security guards standing nearby. "Please escort Ms. Harrington from the premises, and make sure she is locked out of the system."
The two men in dark suits gesture for her to come with them. Sophia takes a step back, then another, her heel catching.
"Alex!" she hisses. "Do something!"
Alexander finally finds his voice, and he uses it on me.
"This is absurd." He gestures at me without looking at me, like I'm a catering error. "Julian, whatever she's told you, Lyra is no longer associated with this family. Or this company."
Alexander steps forward, suddenly finding his spine. "You can't just walk in here and start issuing orders. I've been running this company for three years. Where the hell were you this whole time?"
"Cleaning up messes," he says. He doesn't offer any further explanation as he turns to face his brother, the room turning with him.
"You were interim CEO, Alexander. Don't confuse temporary custody with ownership.
" His voice stays quiet, which somehow makes it carry further.
"I've resumed control of this family's affairs, as of tonight.
The public spectacles, the mismanagement.
It stops now. The rest we will discuss where our father's name isn't watching. "
It's not a full declaration of war.
It's worse. It's a man informing his brother that the war is already over, and Alexander just hasn't read the paperwork yet.
The silence that follows is heavy and awkward. No one is even bothering to pretend they're not watching.
Julian turns to me, his hand finding the small of my back again. Warm. Steady. Through silk that suddenly feels like nothing at all. He guides me toward the cluster of charity representatives watching with undisguised awe.
"Lyra will be resuming her role at the foundation. She is instrumental to our company's philanthropic mission. You will all be working with her directly."
I spot Margaret in the crowd. She looks like she wants to start applauding.
But something suddenly occurs to me: I didn't agree to any of this.
"Julian." I keep my voice low, but I don't soften it. "You can offer me a position. You cannot announce my acceptance."
Something sparks in those gray eyes. Interest. Maybe more than interest.
"You're right," he says, and for a second I think I've won. "So refuse me. Right now, in front of them. Tell these people the literacy program stays shelved, and walk out."
I open my mouth.
Marcus in Queens. Dad's surgery. The hole I've been sinking into for three weeks.
I close it again.
"That's what I thought," he says.
"Don't." I turn to face him fully, and whatever is on my face makes him actually pause.
"Don't mistake this for surrender. I'm saying yes because it serves me.
My father gets his surgery. My kids get their books.
You get the best event planner in this city.
" I step in close enough that only he can hear the rest. "But if you ever put words in my mouth in public again, Julian Volkov, I will make you regret it in ways your enemies haven't thought of yet. "
A slow blink. The first one I've seen him take all night.
Then the smile arrives. The whole thing, at last. And God help me, it was worth the wait.
"There she is," he says softly, like I've just confirmed something he suspected. "The position is real, Lyra. So is the salary. The terms, we discuss at dinner. Tomorrow, eight o'clock. My driver will collect you."
Terms. There it is. Nothing this man hands you comes free; the bill just arrives later, and by then you've already spent the money.
I hate him for knowing I can't say no.
I hate myself for realizing I might not have anyway.
As my mind races, Julian leans down, his breath warm against my ear.
"Breathe, Lyra."
"I'm breathing fine," I lie.
"Good girl," he murmurs. Then, with his thumb tracing one slow, deliberate line across the small of my back: "Wear the green dress."
He's gone before I can answer, swallowed by a tide of investors, leaving me holding a champagne glass I don't remember emptying.
That's when I feel it. Another pair of eyes, cold where Julian's were burning.
Across the ballroom, Alexander is watching me over the rim of his glass. He isn't angry anymore. He's smiling, slow and deliberate, the way he used to smile right before he took something apart just to prove he could.
And I understand, with a chill no amount of champagne will fix, that whatever war just started between the Volkov brothers, I'm the battlefield.
They should both remember something about battlefields, though.
That's where wars are lost.
“You planned this, didn’t you? Tonight. All of it.”
We’re out on the balcony moments later, where it’s quieter and calmer.
Manhattan hums beneath us, as the muffled strings of the quartet bleed through the tall glass doors. Compared to being the ballroom, being on the balcony feels like coming up for air after being trapped underwater.
Julian leans against the stone railing, his glass of champagne dangling from his fingertips untouched.
He watches me carefully, as if he’s trying to size me up.
There’s no rush to his gaze—it’s like everything is happening on his time.
The Manhattan skyline casts amber light across the angles of his face.
I still can’t get over what just happened. Alexander and Sophia have been the bane of my goddamn existence for the last few months. And Julian just… disassembled them.
He considers my question, pausing to give it some thought before responding. I get the sense that this is how he handles most things.
“I was the one who invited you here, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it,” I reply instantly. “I’m asking if you orchestrated Sophia’s termination and planned to announce here tonight. Was any of that spontaneous, or was I walking into a script from the very beginning?”
Something shifts in his expression. I sense two things: One, that he’s not used to people talking to him in such a way; two, that he appreciates it. The faintest whisper of a smirk forms at the corner of his mouth, and he looks away for a long moment, as if reflecting.
“Sophia’s behavior tonight was her own. So, yes, that part was spontaneous, if that’s the word you prefer to use.”
“And everything else?”
“I’ve been planning my return for months. Your presence here tonight was important to me.”
“But why? You don’t even know who I am.”
“I make it a point to learn about everyone in my organization. I know who is competent and who is not. And you, Lyra, are most definitely on the competent list.
“You’ve built something real here, but you were driven out by people who couldn’t match you. That’s something they don’t tell you about running an organization—you want talent, obviously, but talent attracts the scorn and envy of the less talented. What happened to you was an inefficiency.”
“An inefficiency.” I almost laugh at his choice of words. “Quite a romantic way to put it.”
“I’m not much for romance, Lyra.”
“I’m getting that.”
The wind picks up, carrying the faint sweetness of the rooftop gardens above. I pull my wrap tighter as I try to get a handle on the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my head.
“I can’t come back to the company. I appreciate what you did in there—I really do—more than I know how to say, honestly. But working for the Volkovs almost destroyed me. Sophia and your brother made sure of that.”
“But you came tonight.”
“I did. But that was only because I was specifically invited. And this event—” I gesture toward the interior, “—was my last project. I wanted to see it through.”
“Sophia is blacklisted from every Volkov subsidiary—effective tonight. She will not set foot in any building connected to this company, my company, ever again. And Alexander won’t be a problem for you either. I’ll make sure of that personally.”
“But you can’t guarantee it.”
“I can. And that’s what I’m doing right now.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “He’s not going to just disappear,” I say. “You know that.”
“Do I?”
“You say you know the strengths and weaknesses of your employees, right? And I imagine that’s especially true of your own family. Alexander’s gift is controlling the narrative. He’s good at that. Damn good. Especially in the media. He’ll make himself the victim and you the villain.”
Julian’s mouth twitches.
“Let him.”
I tilt my head to the side; not sure I heard him correctly.
“You’re not concerned?”