Page 35 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

ANNIKA

M y phone slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor.

For a second, I just stare at it, as if maybe I read it wrong. As if the words will vanish if I blink hard enough. But they don’t. They never do.

My breath catches. My ears ring. I don’t realize I’ve backed away until my spine hits the wall behind me. The air feels too thick, like the room’s shrinking, like the weight of his name alone has stolen all the oxygen.

“He’s out,” I whisper, barely hearing my own voice.

Liam’s already on his feet, crossing the room. “I know.”

“He won’t get near you,” Liam says firmly. “I won’t let him.”

My head shakes before I can stop it. “It’s not just him. You don’t understand—he doesn’t have to come after me. Not when Dariy can whisper in his ear again. Not when everyone in the bratva is going to fall in line now that he’s home. Dariy’s already dangerous. This just gave him his leash back.”

Liam steps closer. His hand finds mine, firm and warm, grounding me even as everything inside feels like it’s unraveling. “We’re not alone in this, Ana. You have me. You have my family. Whatever Dariy or Anatoly are planning, they’ll have to go through me first.”

“I want to believe that,” I breathe. “God, Liam, I want to believe you. But you didn’t grow up in that house. You don’t know what it’s like when he sets his mind on something. He can twist anything—anyone. He made me think I owed him my dreams. What happens when he decides I owe him my daughter?”

Liam’s jaw tightens. His eyes flash with something that might just be rage. “He’s not getting Lily. Over my dead body.”

“Exactly,” I say, my voice breaking. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

There’s a long silence between us. He pulls me into his chest, and I go willingly, letting him hold me even as my pulse thunders against his ribs. I close my eyes, trying to let his warmth steady me.

But the fear lingers—sharp, familiar, and cold.

Because Anatoly is out.

And despite what everyone has been telling me, I know my father better than anyone.

Anatoly Volkov does not forgive betrayal.

Morning light cuts across the living room floor in soft gold lines, but it doesn’t feel warm. It feels clinical. Cold. Like the world has already moved on, uncaring that my father is walking free again.

I sit curled on the couch, one leg tucked under me, Lily nestled in my arms as she drinks her bottle. Her little fingers clutch mine, her eyes fluttering between half-closed and wide awake. She’s so peaceful like this. So unaware of everything crashing down around her.

My stomach’s in knots. I haven’t eaten. I can’t. I keep going over the same thoughts in my head like they’re on a loop—Where is he now? What’s the first move? Is he going to come for me himself or send someone else? Would Dariy even tell him where I am?

Lily gurgles, pulling my attention back. I force a smile, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “You’ve got no idea how scary the world is, huh?” I whisper. “That’s probably a good thing.”

My phone rings.

The screen lights up with Ingrid Gunnerson. I hesitate, dread curling in my chest like something sharp.

I answer. “Hello?”

“Annika. Good morning,” Ingrid says briskly, like this is any other Tuesday. “I hope you’re well-rested because you’re performing tonight.”

I blink. “Wait—what?”

“At The Gilded Cage. Nine o’clock. I’ve arranged for a few industry friends to come by. Nothing huge, but important eyes. People who know people. You understand.”

I straighten a little. “Ingrid, I—I can’t. There’s been a development. I’m not exactly in a position to?—”

“You signed a contract,” she cuts in, voice hardening. “Unless you’d like me to forward you the breach of terms clause, I suggest you clear your calendar. If you don’t show up, you’re done, Annika. I won’t keep wasting time on someone who won’t show up for herself.”

“I’m not trying to waste your time,” I say quickly. “I just—there are safety issues right now. You don’t understand what I’m dealing with?—”

She hangs up.

I stare at the phone like it’s betrayed me.

“You’re not seriously considering this.”

Liam’s voice is low, tight. Controlled in that way it gets when he’s trying not to shout. I look up from where I’m bouncing Lily on my knee, trying to soothe her after the call. “You heard what she said.”

“Yeah, I did. And she can go fuck herself if she thinks that justifies sending you out into the open when Anatoly just got released from jail.”

I flinch. The name still lands like a slap.

“I signed a contract,” I mutter. “She has every right to drop me.”

“She doesn’t have the right to put your life at risk,” Liam snaps. “You’re not going.”

I go still. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I carefully set Lily down on her playmat, my hands suddenly trembling. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, Liam.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive, Ana.”

“And I’m trying to keep myself me.” My voice rises before I can stop it.

“You think I don’t want to stay here where it’s safe?

That I don’t feel like I’m walking around with a target on my back every second of the day?

But if I keep giving up every opportunity that comes my way because of who my father is, I’ll never have a life. I’ll just be his ghost!”

Liam’s shoulders tense. He drags a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before turning back to me.

“I get it,” he says, quieter now. “I do. But Ana, this is the worst possible time. You’ve got a daughter. A tiny, helpless little girl who needs you to come home. If you walk into that club tonight, I can’t guarantee that you will.”

I blink hard, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.

He crosses the room and crouches in front of me, not touching me yet, but close enough that I can feel the weight of his concern.

“You don’t have to let Ingrid push you around. Not when you’ve got leverage.”

I frown. “What leverage?”

“Miranda.”

I stare at him.

“If Ingrid’s playing hardball, Miranda can outmatch her. She got you that deal in the first place, right? She’s the one who brought you two together. If anyone can talk her down—or delay the performance—it’s her.”

I want to argue. I want to scream. I want to sing.

But he’s not wrong.

I glance at my phone again. Then at Lily, still babbling softly as she grabs at her bunny’s ear.

I don’t know what to do.

So I do what I do best. I focus on my daughter. Carrying Lily into the bedroom, my arms aching with exhaustion I can’t shake, I press a kiss to the crown of her head as I lay her gently on the changing mat. She smells like milk and sleep and the faint hint of baby shampoo.

She kicks her legs, gurgling as I wipe her down and swap her into a fresh onesie. I hum softly to keep her calm—one of the songs I used to sing under my breath in the Volkov halls when no one was listening. The kind of song I only let myself believe in when I was alone.

I settle Lily down on the bed, her tiny hands gripping the edge of her blanket as she babbles sleepily. I smooth her curls away from her forehead, then step toward the corner of the room where my phone sits charging.

The call to Miranda rings twice before it connects.

“Annika,” she says, her voice like silk and smoke. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I take a breath. “It’s about Ingrid.”

“Ah. So she did tell you about tonight.”

“She didn’t give me a choice,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “She called this morning and just informed me I’d be performing at The Gilded Cage. I tried to explain I wasn’t available, and she told me if I didn’t show, I’d be in breach and she’d drop me.”

Miranda hums, unbothered. “That sounds about right.”

I blink. “You think that’s okay?”

“I think it’s business,” she replies smoothly. “Ingrid’s… intense. But she gets results. She doesn’t like being told no. Most people in her position don’t.”

“I’m not saying no to be difficult,” I protest. “I have a life. A baby. Sometimes I just need to say no, but she doesn’t care. She threatens my entire career over one missed gig.”

“And you think she’s the only one who will?” Miranda says mildly. “Annika, this is the industry. No one coddles talent anymore. They expect you to perform, to be hungry. If you want to succeed, you have to show up even when it’s inconvenient.”

Something in my chest twists.

“I just… I thought this was supposed to be a fresh start,” I say quietly. “I thought this was supposed to be mine. But it feels like everyone still wants to pull the strings.”

There’s a pause.

Then Miranda says, “You still have more control than you think.”

I’m not sure if it’s meant to be comforting or a warning.

I clear my throat. “Right. Well… I gave you that Harborview intel. That deal helped Burns secure the vote, didn’t it?”

Miranda’s voice doesn’t change at all. “It didn’t hurt.”

“So why am I still being tested?” I ask, frustration bubbling up in my throat. “Why does Ingrid act like I have something to prove?”

“Because you do,” she replies simply. “You’re not just a Volkov trying to be a singer. You’re you. That means people are going to push you harder to see what you’re really made of. Harborview was a good step. But if you want this life, you have to take the next one. That’s how the game is played.”

Something about the way she says it sends a chill skittering down my spine.

I shift my weight, glancing at Lily, who’s now gnawing peacefully on her stuffed bunny. My fingers tighten around the phone.

“You seem very invested in all this,” I say slowly. “In Burns. In me. In Ingrid. Why?”

A pause.

Then, smooth as ever, Miranda says, “I like to see the right people win.”

But there’s something underneath it—something cold and calculated that sets my teeth on edge.

Why does she care so much about Burns?

Why push me to help him, then turn around and act like it’s just business?

What does she get out of this?

Before I can press her further, she adds, “I’ll talk to Ingrid.”

Relief flickers in my chest, but she keeps talking.

“Still… I’d be more concerned about Anatoly’s release if I were you. Things are probably already in motion.”

My breath catches.

“What—”

Click.

The call ends.

I stare at the screen, my heart hammering, the words looping through my mind like a broken record.

Things are probably already in motion.

What the hell does that mean?

I tuck the phone away with a trembling hand.

Things are probably already in motion.

The words echo in my head like a whisper I can’t silence.

I scoop Lily into my arms, pressing a kiss to her cheek just to feel her warmth. Just to anchor myself to something real. She blinks up at me with those soft blue eyes—Liam’s eyes—and coos, like the world hasn’t cracked open beneath us.

God, I wish I could borrow her innocence for just one second.

I move into the living room, still holding her close. Liam’s in the kitchen already, dressed for the day and pouring coffee like it’s any other morning. He glances over his shoulder and offers a small, tired smile.

“Everything okay?”

I nod, maybe too fast. “Yeah. Just talked to Miranda. She said she’d try to talk Ingrid down.”

His brow furrows. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” I say again, but quieter this time.

I settle onto the couch with Lily in my lap, her tiny hand gripping the collar of my shirt. I run my fingers gently through her hair, watching the muted news flicker across the TV. Local anchors, weather updates, stock tickers—I don’t process any of it.

I should tell him.

About the way Miranda’s voice dropped, about how something in her tone twisted just enough to feel like a threat in disguise. About how it didn’t sound like help—it sounded like a warning.

But I don’t.

What would I even say? That I have a feeling? That her tone was off?

Liam returns, handing me a cup of tea. I take it with a murmured thanks and sip without thinking, the heat grounding me just enough to stay still.

He settles beside me, his arm brushing mine. A simple touch, unspoken reassurance.

No. Not yet.

It’s probably nothing. It’s just my overactive imagination. Just my anxiety talking again.

Right?