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“Pregnancy,” Victor clarifies with brutal directness. “Terminating one would only cause unnecessary delays.” He takes a sip of vodka, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Consider it my wedding present.”

Talon's hand moves to his thigh, where I know he keeps a concealed weapon. I press my foot against his under the table, a silent warning. We can't afford a confrontation. Not yet.

“How considerate,” I say, my voice dripping with false gratitude as I set down my fork. “Though I assure you, such measures are unnecessary.”

“Indulge me. I prefer certainty in all matters related to my family's bloodline considering your recent revelations about your cousin.”

“Of course,” I acquiesce, forcing a smile that feels like shattered glass. “Whatever puts your mind at ease.”

Victor's attention shifts to Dmitri, something passing between father and son in that silent exchange. “You've been uncharacteristically quiet, my son. Are you not pleased with your bride-to-be?”

Dmitri studies me across the table. “She's everything you promised, Father.” His voice reveals nothing of his thoughts. “I look forward to...continuing our family's legacy.”

“It occurs to me, Vesper, that your grandfather should be present for tomorrow's ceremony. I think it would be...appropriate for him to witness. His granddaughter fulfilling her destiny. Joining our families as was originally intended. Arrange it.”

Dmitri's eyebrows lift slightly. The first genuine reaction I've seen from him all evening.

“As you wish, Victor,” I force from my lips.

“Please, we are family now, child. You may call me father.”

VESPER

I've experiencedmany forms of violation in my life, but this might be the most civilized.

Two female guards escort me back to my quarters, their expressions blank as they flank me through Victor's palace. My new ring weighs heavy on my finger, the massive diamond catching the light with every movement. beautiful shackle. Neither woman speaks as we walk, the only sound is the rhythmic click of our heels against the marble floors.

“Where's Talon?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual despite the anxiety churning in my stomach.

“Mr. St. James has been relocated to more appropriate accommodations,” the taller guard responds without looking at me. “Mr. Petrov felt it unsuitable for your security detail to remain in your personal quarters.”

Of course he did. First, Oz and Zaire. And now, Talon. Isolation at its best.

When we reach my door, the guards position themselves on either side, a clear indication they won't be leaving. The message is unmistakable. I'm no longer a guest but a prisoner in gilded shackles.

“The physician will arrive momentarily,” the shorter guard informs me as she opens the door. “Mr. Petrov requests your full cooperation.”

I step into my room and freeze. Where my luxurious bed once stood now sits a gynecological examination chair, its stirrups extended like metal arms waiting to embrace me. Beside it, a small table holds an array of medical instruments, neatly arranged. The sight sends ice coursing through my veins.

A sharp knock at the door startles me from my horrified contemplation. Without waiting for my response, the door swings open to reveal a mountain of a man, his shoulders nearly touching both sides of the door frame as he enters. His coat stretches tight across his broad chest, and a stethoscope hangs around his neck like an afterthought.

"Miss Rossi," he greets me, his Russian accent so thick it turns my name into something almost unrecognizable. "I am Dr. Lebedev. I will examine you now.”

There's no warmth in his assessment, no bedside manner, just the cold efficiency of a man accustomed to following orders without question.

"Please remove clothing from waist down and sit at the end of the table," he instructs, gesturing toward the stirrups with a meaty hand. "We will be quick."

I remain frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. The doctor sighs, impatience flickering across his broad features.

"I will give privacy," he says, moving toward my bathroom. "Two minutes."

The bathroom door closes behind him with a soft click. I glance toward the main door where I know the two guards stand just outside, ready to intervene if I resist.

My fingers tremble as I approach the chair, bile rising in my throat. This is just another tactic. Victor’s way of asserting control, a silent reminder that my body now belongs to the Petrov empire.You’ve survived worse,I tell myself.Much worse.

With stiff, mechanical movements, I slide off my underwear, leaving the midnight blue dress pooled around my hips as I perch on the edge. The cold metal bites into my skin, and a violent shiver rips through me. I fix my gaze on the ceiling, forcing each breath to remain steady as I count the delicate swirls etched into the plaster overhead.

Then, vibration. Soft, almost imperceptible, against my wrist.