Page 122 of His Forced Bride

In the next image, she's sliding an envelope across the table. In the third, they're shaking hands over what looks like a business agreement.

The timestamp shows they were taken three days ago.

Two days before I broke down calling her and she showed up, claiming desperate maternal love.

"Who is he?" I manage to ask, though I already suspect the answer will destroy whatever remains of my world.

I don't want to believe any of this at all, but the evidence isn't in her favor.

It's ripping my heart out almost as much as it did the day my father died.

"Arkady Volkov," Yuri tells me, and he sounds absolutely certain.

"He works for Kozlov."

The photographs slip from my numb fingers and scatter across the desk.

A Kozlov—and my mother, sitting across from each other as if they're old friends.

She's conducting business with the very people who want my business destroyed.

"What was she giving him?"

Simply asking the question admits that I believe it's true, and I do.

Yuri has no real reason to lie to me about this. He already has everything.

My company is his for the taking, and with my name on a marriage certificate I signed willingly, he can take all of it without argument.

He doesn't need me to believe all of this, but he's here trying to help me.

As much as that pains me, I still have to know.

"She's paying him off. My guess is several million rubles."

Her betrayal feels like a tidal wave sucking me under, and every breath becomes heavier than the last.

Not only had my mother abandoned me eleven years ago—she'd returned to sell me to the highest bidder.

The woman who'd held my face in her hands and promised to protect me was here to coerce me through manipulation.

"She was never coming to take me home," I say, understanding flooding through me with sickening clarity.

"She wants my businesses and she wants to destroy you?" I look up at him, and he has an expression of compassion.

For the first time since I've ever known him, Yuri Gravitch looks like he cares.

"Among other things. Your shares in the company, your inheritance from your father. You represent considerable value to the right buyers. Alive, you're useful as leverage. Dead, she inherits everything as your next of kin."

"And she can devastate your businesses too…" I mumble, leaning back onto the desk for support as my legs begin to feel weak.

The clinical nature of it makes my stomach revolt.

My own mother had calculated the worth of my blood.

She was counting on it, hoping she could swoop in like a vulture after my death to take everything I have.

She'd looked into my eyes and lied with perfect composure while already counting the money she thought she was inheriting.