11. Eduard
EDUARD
The study door swings open under my hand, and I step inside just behind Rurik. My pulse is still elevated from the sprint through the estate, from the moment I saw Emma’s empty room on the security feed and realized she’d used the chaos to slip away.
And there she is.
Emma stands behind the massive desk, her gray-green eyes wide but defiant as she watches us enter. She doesn’t try to bolt for the window or make some desperate play for freedom. She just stands there, chin lifted, shoulders squared, like she’s ready to face whatever comes next.
The sight of her sends conflicting emotions through me. Relief that she’s safe and unharmed. Frustration that she took such a reckless risk. And something darker, more possessive, that tightens in my chest at the thought of how close she came to getting past our security.
Artur moves into the room behind us, his expression hard as he takes in the scene. The door clicks shut, and he positions himself in front of it, blocking the only exit. The message is clear. Emma isn’t going anywhere.
“Well,” Artur says, his voice carrying an edge I recognize as impatience. “Look what we found.”
Emma’s gaze flicks to him then back to Rurik and me. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to explain or justify. She just watches us with that sharp intelligence I’ve come to expect from her, calculating her next move even though she knows her escape is over.
Rurik moves first, his steps measured and controlled as he approaches the desk. His pale blue eyes sweep across the surface, taking in the scattered photographs and documents Emma was clearly examining before we arrived. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, the only visible sign of his anger.
He reaches past Emma without looking at her, his hand going to the desk drawer.
I watch as he pulls it open and retrieves a leather-bound ledger I recognize immediately.
My father kept one just like it. Records of deals, contacts, debts owed and paid.
The kind of information that could destroy families if it fell into the wrong hands.
Emma’s eyes follow Rurik’s movements, and I see the moment she realizes what she was looking at, what she almost found. Her expression shifts, just slightly, from defiance to something more calculating. She’s filing this information away, storing it for later use.
Rurik slides the ledger back into a hidden compartment I didn’t even know existed then closes the drawer with deliberate care. The soft click of the mechanism engaging sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
The tension thickens. None of us speak. The only sound is our breathing and the faint hum of the estate’s climate control system.
Emma managed to reach the most private part of our home during the chaos.
This study, this room we’ve kept locked and preserved, is where we keep memories and our fathers’ things.
She walked through corridors we rarely use, past security we thought was impenetrable, and found her way to the one place that holds our most guarded secrets.
I should be furious. Should be thinking about how to tighten security and how to prevent this from happening again. But part of me can’t help being impressed. She’s resourceful, intelligent, and brave to the point of recklessness. Everything we said we wanted in a wife.
Even if she’s currently trying to destroy us.
Rurik turns to face Emma fully, his expression unreadable. “You have thirty seconds to explain what you were doing in here.”
Emma’s chin lifts higher. “Looking for answers.”
“Answers to what?”
“What you’re hiding. Why you bought me.” Her voice is steady, controlled. “I’m not going to apologize for trying to understand the men who claim to own me.”
Artur laughs, sharp and bitter. “Claim to own you? Sweetheart, we paid ten million dollars for you. That’s not a claim. That’s a fact.”
“Don’t call me that,” Emma snaps, her eyes flashing as she turns toward him.
“Then stop acting like you have any fucking choice in this situation.” Artur pushes away from the door, moving closer. “You’re here because we want you here. You stay because we allow it. And you sure as hell don’t get to go snooping through our private shit without consequences.”
Emma’s hands curl into fists at her sides. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her weight shifts slightly onto the balls of her feet. She’s preparing to fight if she has to. The realization sends heat through me that has nothing to do with anger.
“What are you going to do?” Emma challenges. “Lock me in my room? Chain me to the bed? Beat me until I learn my place?”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, stepping forward before this escalates further. “Nobody’s beating anyone.”
“Then what?” Emma’s gaze swings to me, and I feel the impact of those gray-green eyes like a physical touch. “What happens now, Eduard? You drag me back to my cage and pretend this didn’t happen?”
“That’s exactly what happens,” Rurik says quietly. His voice is calm and controlled, but I hear the steel underneath. “Guards will escort you back to the east wing. The door will be secured. And you will not leave that room again without explicit permission from one of us.”
Emma’s expression hardens. “So I’m a prisoner.”
“You’ve always been a prisoner,” Artur says, his tone sharp. “The only difference is now you’ve proven you can’t be trusted with even the smallest amount of freedom.”
Something flashes across Emma’s face. Pain, maybe, or fury. It’s gone so quickly, I almost think I imagined it. Then she moves.
She doesn’t run for the door or try to fight her way past us. Instead, she grabs one of the framed photographs from the desk and hurls it at Artur with surprising force.
He dodges easily, the frame shattering against the wall behind him. Glass sprays across the floor, glittering in the lamplight.
“Feel better?” Artur asks, his voice dangerously soft.
“Not even close,” Emma snarls.
Artur moves fast, closing the distance between them in two strides. His hand wraps around Emma’s wrist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to control. “You want to throw things? Fine. Let’s take this somewhere you can’t destroy irreplaceable family history.”
He starts pulling her toward the door, but Emma jerks free with a sharp twist of her arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Then walk on your own.” Artur gestures toward the hallway. “Either way, you’re leaving this room.”
Emma doesn’t move. She stands her ground, her chest heaving with barely controlled fury. For a moment, I think she’s going to attack him. The tension between them crackles like electricity, dangerous and volatile.
Then she shoves him.
Both hands against his chest, hard enough to make him take a step back. Artur’s eyes flash with something dark and heated. He grabs her wrists again, this time pinning them between their bodies as he crowds into her space.
“You really want to do this again?” His voice is low, rough. “Because I’m more than happy to remind you how that ended last time.”
Emma’s face flushes, but whether it’s from anger or something else, I can’t tell. “Let go of me.”
“Make me.”
They’re seconds away from either fighting or fucking, and neither option is acceptable right now.
I move between them, my hand on Artur’s shoulder. “Enough.”
He doesn’t release her immediately. His dark eyes stay locked on Emma’s face, reading something there I can’t see. Then he lets go and steps back, his jaw tight with frustration.
Emma immediately puts distance between them, moving toward the opposite side of the room. Her hands are shaking slightly, though she tries to hide it by crossing her arms.
Guards appear in the doorway, drawn by the sound of breaking glass. They look to Rurik for orders, their expressions carefully neutral, even though they must have heard at least part of the confrontation.
Rurik studies Emma for a long moment, his pale eyes assessing. I can see him weighing options, considering consequences. Finally, he speaks. “She doesn’t go back to the east wing.”
The words hang in the air. Artur’s head snaps toward Rurik, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it. Emma’s eyes narrow, suspicion replacing some of her anger.
“What?” she asks.
Rurik’s gaze doesn’t leave her face. “You’ve proven you can’t be trusted alone. The alarm gave you an opportunity, and you took it. That won’t happen again.”
“So what’s the alternative?” Emma’s voice is sharp. “You’re going to watch me twenty-four hours a day?”
“Yes.”
The single word drops like a stone. Emma’s eyes widen fractionally, and I see her processing the implications. No more privacy. No more time to plan escapes or search for weaknesses. Constant supervision by the three men she’s sworn to destroy.
“You can’t be serious,” she says.
“I’m completely serious.” Rurik moves closer, his presence commanding even in stillness. “You will stay with us. In our wing. Where we can keep an eye on you at all times.”