Page 63

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hands shaking as the truth settles over me. I'm not a guest here.

I'm a prisoner. Again.

The sound of a key turning in the lock makes my spine go rigid. I stand, squaring my shoulders as the door swings open.

Father steps inside, immaculate as always in his charcoal suit. His silver hair is perfectly combed, his expression carefully neutral. But I know that look—the same one he wore when I was sixteen and refused to attend cotillion with the Volkov boy. The same one that I declared when I chose computer science as my major instead of the “appropriate” liberal arts degree he'd chosen.

“Katarina.” His voice carries that familiar note of paternal authority that used to make me shrink. Not anymore.

“Why is my door locked?” I don't move from where I stand beside the bed, keeping my voice level despite the rage building in my chest.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click. The sound feels final.

“For your protection. After yesterday's events?—”

“Bullshit.” The word cuts through his practiced concern. “If this were about protection, I'd be in my own apartment with my own security team. Not locked in my childhood bedroom like I'm twelve years old.”

Father's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. There's the real him lurking beneath the gentle facade.

“You've been through a traumatic experience. The Ivanovs?—”

“The Ivanovs returned me, as agreed. The trauma is over.” I cross my arms, holding his gaze. “Unless you're planning to create new trauma.”

His eyes narrow. “You've changed.”

“I grew up. You just refused to notice.”

“This independence of yours.” He takes a step closer, and I catch the scent of his expensive cologne. “I allowed you too much freedom. Let you build that little company and live independently. I thought perhaps you'd come to your senses eventually.”

My heart pounds, but I keep my face expressionless. “My little company is worth fifty million dollars.”

“And what good is money without a proper foundation? Without family alliances?” His voice hardens. “You're twenty-eight, Katarina. Unmarried. No children. No real connections to our world.”

There it is. The truth I've been dreading since I woke up in this room.

“I have connections. I have a life.”

“You have illusions.” He straightens his cuffs, the gesture deliberate. “The Petrov family has been very patient.”

The name hits me like ice water. “No.”

“Anton Petrov is still interested despite your previous reluctance.”

“I will not marry Anton Petrov.” The words come out steady. “I will never marry him.”

Father's expression doesn't change, but something cold flickers in his eyes. “You will.”

The certainty in his voice makes my stomach drop. Not a suggestion. Not a request. A decree.

“You can't force me.” But even as I say it, I'm looking at the locked door, the sealed windows, understanding exactly how trapped I am. “I'm not a child anymore. You can't just?—”

“I can do whatever is necessary to protect this family's future.” He adjusts his tie with practiced calm. “The Petrov alliance strengthens our position significantly. Your marriage ensures stability for everyone.”

My chest tightens. “I don't love him. I don't even like him.”

“Love is a luxury we cannot afford.” His voice carries the weight of finality. “Anton is a good match. Powerful family, strong connections. He'll take care of you.”

The word “take” makes bile rise in my throat. Like I'm property to be managed.