Chapter 14
HELENA
The interrogation room is designed to break human beings.
It’s shivering cold, and there are no windows, only a two-way mirror that stares back at me like a dead eye.
My wrists are raw where the cuffs dug in. They took my purse and my shoes. I’m left sitting here barefoot on the dirty linoleum, hugging my knees to my chest, trembling.
International Trafficking. Twenty years.
The words replay in my mind, a loop of terror. I think about my father hiding with the Italians. I think about the life I fought so hard to save, dissolving into nothing. I’ll rot in a cell. I’ll be an old woman before I see freedom again.
The door buzzes and swings open with a heavy, metallic clang.
I flinch, sitting up straighter. I expect Agent Miller with his sneer and his handcuffs, or a lawyer telling me to plead guilty.
Instead, Konstantin walks in.
He enters with the casual, terrifying grace of a predator entering a cage he owns. He’s holding a thick file folder. The door closes behind him.
"You," I whisper. I stand, chair screeching against the floor. "You let them take me. You stood there and watched."
"Sit down," he says calmly, pulling out the chair opposite me.
"No! Get me a lawyer! You said you owned this city. You said you were the King. Why am I in here?"
"Because you are a criminal," he says, tossing the file onto the table. "And criminals go to jail."
He sits down, unbuttoning his suit jacket, untouched by the chaos drowning me. He crosses one leg over the other, inspecting the shine on his shoes.
"I’m here because you forced me to sign those papers," I remind him, slamming my hands on the metal table. "You drugged me. You made me authorize that shipment!"
"Can you prove that?" he asks, looking up. His blue eyes are empty of sympathy. "Can you prove you were drugged? Or will the court just see the signature of the CEO of Blackwood Shipping on a manifest for illegal chemicals?"
My mind races, looking for an escape. I can tell them, I think desperately. I can tell the judge he forced me.
But then the crushing reality settles in. Who would believe me? I’m the CEO. The buck stops with me. The signature is mine. The shipment was on my company’s boat. To the law, ‘I didn't know’ isn't a defense; it's negligence.
And accusing Konstantin Morozov, a man with an army of lawyers, without a shred of physical proof? It would sound like the desperate ramblings of a guilty woman trying to pin her crimes on a shareholder.
I have no toxicology report. No witnesses. Nothing but my word against a mountain of paper evidence.
I go still.
"The Atlantic Loop," he says, tapping the file. "Federal prison time for that is twenty years. Minimum. You’ll be forty-five when you get out… if you survive inside. Prisons here aren’t kind to women like you, Helena. You’re soft. You’ll break in a week."
"You did this," I realize, the horror dawning on me. "You tipped them off."
"I didn't tip them off," he corrects me. "I just didn't stop them."
He leans forward.
"The agents outside? They’re real. The warrant? It’s real. You’re in very deep trouble. And your father... he can't help you. He’s hiding in a hole with the Italians. He saved himself, like he always does."
"Then help me," I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. I hate the weakness in my voice, but I’m terrified. I can’t go to prison. "Please."
"I can't," he says, leaning back. "Legally, I’m a shareholder. If I interfere, I become an accomplice. Unless..."
He lets the word hang in the air.
"Unless what?" I ask, desperate.
"Unless our relationship changes."
He reaches into his pocket and extracts a small, black box that he sets on the metal table.
Next to it, he places a single sheet of paper.
The heading all but glares at me.
State Registry - Marriage License.
It isn't just an application. It has the raised, gold seal of the High Court stamped at the bottom. The Registrar’s signature is already scrawled on the officiant's line, approving the union in advance.
Scanning the document, my heart nearly skitters out of my chest at his signature already in place. Konstantin Morozov.
It’s written in bold, black ink. Sharp and jagged like the man himself. He signed it before he even walked into this room. He didn't hope I would surrender. He knew it. He was so certain of my weakness that he prepared the paperwork in advance.
The room spins.
"What is this?"
"Spousal privilege," Konstantin says, as if he’s discussing a business merger. "A wife cannot be compelled to testify against her husband. But more importantly, Helena, once we’re married, your assets become legally entangled with Morozov Holdings."
He leans forward, voice low.
"My lawyers will argue that the shipment falls under international jurisdiction due to my diplomatic contracts. They’ll tie this case up in litigation for ten years. You’ll be free while they drown in paperwork."
He points a finger at me.
"But if you’re single? You’re just a CEO who signed a false manifest. There’s no delay. You go to jail today."
"You want me to marry you?" I gawk at him like he’s insane. "I’m sitting here charged with trafficking, and you’re proposing?"
"I’m not proposing. I’m negotiating."
He opens the velvet box.
Inside sits a ring. It’s a massive, dark sapphire surrounded by black diamonds, set in heavy platinum. It glitters under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"The agents outside are waiting for my signal," he says. "If I walk out of here alone, they process you. You go to a holding cell. Tonight, you sleep in a cage with general population. Tomorrow, the press destroys your name. Your life ends."
He slides the paper toward me.
"But if we walk out of here as Mr. and Mrs. Morozov, the warrant disappears."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because a wife cannot testify against her husband," he says smoothly. "And without your testimony, their case collapses. But more importantly, Miller knows better than to arrest my wife."
He holds out a pen.
"Prison," he says. "Or the Penthouse. Choose."
My heart hammers like a trapped bird beating itself to death. I look at the door. For a terrifying second, I can see my future.
I see the steel bars. I feel the scratch of a gray uniform against my skin.
I smell the bleach and the unwashed bodies of a cell block.
I see myself sitting on a cot, staring at a wall for seven thousand days, watching my skin wrinkle and my hair turn gray while the world forgets that Helena Blackwood ever existed.
I’ll die in there. I’m not built for cages. I’ll wither and rot, and my father will never know. I’ll be erased.
The air in the room suddenly feels too thin. The walls are closing in, squeezing the light out. I’m drowning on dry land.
A violent war rages inside me. Don't do it, my pride screams. Go to prison. Keep your soul. Be the martyr. But my survival instinct screams louder, clawing at my throat.
I try to be brave. Try to tell myself I can survive twenty years. I’m a Blackwood. I’m strong.
My hands tremble, revealing the awful truth.
I’m not a soldier. I’m a businesswoman. I deal in contracts, not violence. Konstantin is right. I’ll break. I’ll be chewed up and spat out, and the company, my mother’s legacy, will be auctioned off to the highest bidder anyway.
If I sign, I lose my freedom to him. If I don't, I lose my life to the state. It’s a choice between a slow death and a quick surrender.
My focus drifts from the ring to the door. Back again and again.
I think about the cold metal of the handcuffs. About twenty years in a concrete box. About my father, out there somewhere. If I go to prison, I can't find him. I can't get answers. I can't scream at him for what he did.
Konstantin has backed me into a corner so tight I can't breathe.
"This is a trap," I whisper, my voice shaking. "You planned this. You set up the shipment and waited for the warrant. You engineered this whole thing to force me into a marriage."
"I’m a strategist," he taunts. "I told you. I don't leave things to chance."
He checks his watch.
"They’re returning in sixty seconds to fingerprint you. Once ink touches your fingers, the offer expires."
Footsteps sound in the hallway. They’re coming.
Panic floods through me. I can’t breathe or think. The only thing I know is that I can’t go through that door in handcuffs. I can’t let them take me.
Konstantin is calm, waiting. He’s the devil, yes. But he’s the only thing standing between me and the void. The only hand reaching into the dark water to pull me out, even if that hand is holding a blade.
I have no leverage. No allies. And no time.
The terror of the cage outweighs the terror of the man.
I look at the pen. Then at him.
He isn’t offering me a lifeline. More like a different kind of sentence.
"If I sign this," I whisper, "I belong to you."
"In every way that matters," he confirms. His attention drifts to my lips, then to the pen. "Sign, Helena."
"I’ll never forgive you for this," I say, tears spilling down my cheeks.
"I don't need your forgiveness," he says. "I need your signature."
My vision blurs with a fresh wave of hot tears. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to run, to fight, to throw the pen in his face. But fear is a heavier weight. And right now, it pins me to the chair.
I don't want to die in prison. I don't want to die, period.
I press the pen to the paper. The nib scratches against the fiber.
Helena Blackwood.
With every swoop, I sign my life away. The ink flows black and permanent, binding me to the monster.
Konstantin takes the paper before the ink is even dry and slides it into his breast pocket, close to his heart.
Then, he picks up the ring.
"Give me your hand."
I extend my left hand, trembling.
He slides the ring onto my finger. The heavy band fits perfectly, sliding over my knuckle to claim me.
"Done," he says.
The heavy metal door buzzes.
Agent Miller walks in, his face set in a grim sneer, handcuffs dangling from his belt. "Time's up," he barks. "We need to process the suspect. Get up, Blackwood."
I flinch, shrinking back into my chair.
Konstantin stands.
He buttons his jacket, his presence suddenly expanding to fill the room. He turns to the agent. "There’s no suspect, Miller.”
Miller stops, catching sight of the ring glittering on my finger. Instantly, the pretense falls away. The aggression vanishes from his face. The righteous lawman facade crumbles, replaced by a nervous, almost servile hesitation. He lowers the handcuffs.
What the hell?
"She signed it?" His voice has lost all its gravel. It’s respectful.
"She did," Konstantin says. "The warrant is void. Make it disappear, as we discussed."
"Consider it done, Mr. Morozov," Miller says, bowing his head slightly. "I'll handle the digital logs personally. The Director won't look twice. You know he owes you for the election matter."
"Good," Konstantin says. "Your debt is cleared."
I stare at them.
"You..." I whisper. "You know him."
Miller doesn't look at me. He focuses on the floor, unable to meet my eyes.
"You work for him," I say, raising my voice. "You aren't arresting me. You're on his payroll!"
Konstantin turns to me. "Everyone has a price, Helena," he says coldly. "Agent Miller’s price bought us the privacy we needed to finalize our union."
I examine Agent Miller, a man with a federal badge, bowing to a mob boss.
The realization crashes over me, colder than the interrogation room. Konstantin doesn't need to own the entire police force. He doesn't need an army. He just needs one.
One agent in Homeland Security. One clerk in the courthouse. One judge with a gambling debt.
He has hands everywhere. He’s a spider sitting in the center of a web that stretches across the entire city. No matter where I run, no matter which door I knock on for help, the person on the other side could be his.
I thought I was signing a marriage license to escape a system that failed me. But the system didn't fail. It worked exactly how he designed it to.
"You monster," I lunge at him, forgetting the ring. "It was all a lie! You terrified me. You put me in a cage to—"
He catches my wrists easily and pulls me into his chest.
"I did what was necessary," he growls, his face inches from mine. "I secured my asset, and I secured my wife."
He looks at Miller.
"Leave."
"Yes, Sir," Miller says. The federal agent turns and walks out, closing the door behind him.
And just like that, we’re alone again.
"We’re leaving," Konstantin says. He holds out his hand to me. "Come, wife."
I stare at his hand. The hand that orchestrated my terror. The hand that paid men to hunt me down just so he could be the one to save me.
I stand. My legs are weak, but I force them to move. I place my hand in his. His fingers close over mine tightly.
We walk out of the interrogation room, past the empty front desk. There are no other agents, no clerks. Just an empty building he probably rented for the afternoon.
We walk out into the blinding afternoon sun.
The SUV is waiting at the curb.
Lev opens the door, offering a respectful bow. "After you, Mrs. Morozov.”
The name hits me like a slap. They all knew. Lev knew. The agents knew. Everyone knew I would sign except me.
Konstantin helps me inside, then climbs in after.
The door slams shut.
"You see?" he says, leaning back, satisfied. "I keep my word. You’re safe."
My cheeks burn.
"You’ve spent every moment since you arrived looking for an exit, Helena," he continues. "You’ve been looking for a loophole, a weakness, a way to run back to your old life."
He leans forward.
"I just removed the door. There are no more exits. There’s only me."
He reaches out, his thumb tracing the sapphire on my trembling hand.
"And you are mine," he adds. "Don’t mistake this for a temporary arrangement. There’s no divorce in my world. You’re with me until I put you in the ground."
The police are gone. The threat is over. I should feel relieved.
Instead, my gaze drifts to the ring on my finger, the metal catching the light with every small movement.
Because the truth is worse than arrest. I didn’t escape.
I married the devil.