Page 82 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

“Prisoner?” I shake my head. “Have you even asked her what she wants?”

“We know what’s best for her,” Arman insists.

“No,” I say, moving to stand directly in front of Akim’s chair. “You know what’s best for your business. You’ve never once considered what’s best for Yulia.”

Akim rises to meet me, his height nearly matching mine. “Return my daughter to us, Yuri, and perhaps we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

The threat doesn’t faze me. Instead, something shifts inside me—a realization that crystallizes with perfect clarity.

I would go to war for her.

Not for the alliance. Not for the territory. Not even for the child she carries, though that alone would be reason enough.

For her. For Yulia.

Because somewhere between kidnapping her and falling into bed together, between watching her save my sister andbuilding her clinic, between fighting with her and fighting for her, I’ve come to need her in a way I’ve never needed anyone.

“Let me be very clear,” I say crisply. “Yulia stays with me. Our child stays with me. If you want a war over this, I’ll give you one, but ask yourself if you’re prepared for what that means.”

I step back, gesturing toward the door. “You have a choice to make, Fyodorov. Adapt to the new reality, or face the consequences. But either way, your daughter and my child remain under my protection.”

Akim’s face flushes with anger. “This isn’t over.”

“For today, it is,” I reply. “My security will see you out.”

As if on cue, the door opens, and two of my men enter. The message is clear. This meeting has concluded.

The four men rise in anger. Damien looks like he wants to say something more, but Akim places a restraining hand on his arm.

“We’ll be in touch,” Akim threatens.

I watch them leave until the door closes behind them. Only then do I exhale, the tension draining from my shoulders.

That’s when I hear it—a small sound from the hallway outside my second door. The private entrance that connects to the family wing.

I cross the room, yanking open the door to find Yulia standing there, her face pale, her hands gripping the doorframe for support.

She’s supposed to be resting upstairs—doctor’s orders. Instead, she’s here?

“Yulia,” I breathe, concern washing over me. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Her eyes are wide, luminous with unshed tears. “I heard... I heard everything.”

My heart sinks. The meeting was ugly, and the words exchanged were harsh. The last thing I wanted was for her to hear her family’s dismissal of her—their belief that she’s weak and gullible, incapable of making a decision for herself.

“Come here,” I say, guiding her gently into my office and closing the door. “You shouldn’t have had to listen to that.”

To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away from my touch. Instead, she lets me lead her to the couch against the far wall, sitting beside me when I settle her there.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, assuming her tears are from pain at her family’s words. “They had no right to speak about you that way.”

She shakes her head, a strange smile playing at the corners of her mouth despite the tears in her eyes. “No, that’s not—” She breaks off, taking a deep breath. “Is it true? What you said about me?”

Okay, now I’m confused. “Which part?”

“All of it,” she whispers. “That I’m strong. That I’ve built something. That I’m not... weak.”

The vulnerability in her voice tears at me. Has no one ever told her these things before? Has she never heard the truth of her own worth spoken aloud?