Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Calina
Kira is saying something beside me, but I can barely register a single word.
My eyes are locked across the room on Maxim and Artyom. They’re standing face to face, postures rigid, looking like two predators seconds away from tearing each other apart. Artyom’s words from earlier keep echoing in my head, over and over.
“The real reason he’s collecting this debt as marriage is because he needs our family name to rise in the ranks.”
It all makes sense now. Why he insisted on marrying into our family. Why he didn’t even hesitate when I offered myself instead of Milana. He doesn't care which of the sisters he gets. He’s riding on our backs.
“Calina?”
Kira’s voice finally breaks through. I blink and turn to her.
“Sorry… what did you say?”
She gives me a worried look. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Her gaze shifts toward the two men. “Maxim and Artyom look like they’re about to kill each other.”
A bitter smile tugs at my lips. “I hope Artyom wins and puts a bullet in him.”
Kira’s eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t scold me. Instead, she gently touches my arm. “How are you holding up? Really?”
I let out a shaky breath and look down at the glittering diamond on my finger, and force a small smile for Kira. “I’m holding up fine.”
She looks at me with deep sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Calina. I keep telling Artyom to keep trying to find a loophole in that contract.”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to be done. There is no loophole.”
“But we can’t just let you marry that man,” Kira insists, voice low and urgent. “You’re being forced into this.”
“It’s my fate,” I say quietly. “The contract says he can collect whatever form of payment he wants. And he chose marriage into our family.”
Kira’s eyes flash with frustration. “What if you run away? I could help you. We could get you somewhere safe, somewhere he’ll never find you—”
“No.” I cut her off. “If I run, then Milana will be the one forced to marry him. I won’t let that happen.”
Kira sighs, shoulders slumping. “There has to be another way…”
For now, there isn’t.
Wanting to change the subject, I ask, “How is Milana?”
“She’s… fine,” Kira says carefully. “Well, not really fine. She’s worried sick about you. She wanted to come tonight but she’s not feeling up to crowds right now.”
I nod. “Tell her I said hello. And that I’m okay. I will give her a call, now that I have my phone.”
When we got taken by Maxim's men, I left my phone in my car. Kira brought it to me tonight.
We fall into easier conversation after that, about the house, how Maxim is already getting on my nerves, how cold and controlling the entire place feels.
I keep the worst parts to myself. I don’t tell her about the choking. I don’t tell her how my body betrayed me, how I moaned, how I’ve been dreaming about his hands on me again. I hate that I enjoyed it. I hate that I keep thinking about it. I hate that just the memory makes me wet and aching.
I catch Maxim’s eyes from across the room.
He’s watching me. Intently. That dark, heated stare sends a shiver down my spine. I quickly look away, focusing on Kira again.
She smiles softly. “Irina and I are having drinks on Wednesday. You should come. It would be good for you to get out.”
“I would love that,” I say honestly. “The company would do me good.”
We talk about the upcoming wedding then. Kira tries to get me excited, asking about flowers, centerpieces, colors, what kind of dress I want. I shrug.
“I honestly don’t care,” I tell her. “I don’t give a fuck what the flowers look like or what the centerpieces are.”
“Even if he’s not the man you wanted,” Kira says gently, “you should still have the wedding of your dreams.”
I shake my head. “I really don’t care, Kira.”
She squeezes my hand. “Okay. We’ll talk more about it when meet up.”
I nod, but my eyes drift back to Maxim across the room. He’s still watching me.
The silence in the car on the way back to the estate is deafening.
I keep my face turned toward the window, staring out into the dark city lights blurring past, my brother’s words still ringing in my head.
Maxim’s voice cuts through the quiet from beside me. “Are you alright?”
I snap without looking at him. “What the hell do you care?”
He doesn’t respond. The rest of the ride passes in heavy, suffocating silence.
When we finally arrive at the mansion, he follows me inside. I head straight for the stairs, but his voice stops me.
“I’m going to pour myself a drink. Do you want one?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you do,” I bite out.
His tone sharpens. “Watch your tone when you speak to me.”
That’s all it takes. “Or else what?!”
He raises his hand, and I flinch immediately. I squeeze my eyes shut, body tensing, shoulders curling inward, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the familiar crack of pain across my face or the back of my head. My heart hammers so hard it hurts.
But nothing comes. I slowly open my eyes.
Maxim is staring at me with a stunned expression, his hand frozen halfway to his head. He was just running his fingers through his hair. Not hitting me. Not even close.
The realization crashes over both of us at the same time.
“Did you think I was going to hit you?” He asks, voice low and dangerous.
I try to deny it, shaking my head quickly. “No. I didn’t —”
He blocks my path when I try to walk away, his big body filling the space. “You flinched. Did someone hit you?” His eyes darken. “Did your brothers—”
“No,” I cut him off. “It wasn’t them.”
He swears viciously under his breath. “Then who? Tell me who the fuck put that fear in you and I’ll kill them.”
I snap, voice cracking. “Mind your own damn business!”
I shove past him and run upstairs, tears burning my eyes. I slam the bedroom door behind me and lock it, then sink onto the edge of the bed, trembling.
The memories come flooding in.
My father never needed much of a reason to hit us. A wrong look. A word spoken out of turn. Milana being too slow or too quiet. He would backhand us across the face, drag us by the hair, use his belt until our backs and legs were covered in welts.
I learned early to step in front of my little sister, to take the worst of it so she wouldn’t have to. I still remember the sound of his voice when he was angry, the smell of vodka on his breath, the way he’d laugh coldly while we cried.
Artyom and Mikhail didn’t know for a long time. Father made sure we were too terrified to tell them. By the time they found out, the damage had already been done. After that, my brothers protected us fiercely, but the fear never fully left me. That instinctive flinch… it’s still wired into my body.
I hug my knees to my chest, staring down at the diamond ring on my finger.
Maxim isn’t my father.
But for one terrifying second tonight, my body didn’t know that.