Page 20

The soft evening light filters through the curtains as I sit on the edge of the bed, the comforter cool against my fingers.

Days have passed since I first stepped into this house as Serge’s wife, and I’m still adjusting to the rhythm of living under the same roof. The mansion is quiet now, the children tucked away with the nanny for their nightly routine, and I find myself in the rare calm that comes when no one else is demanding my attention.

The door opens without warning, and Serge strides in, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. He’s still in his formal wear, his tie slightly loosened and his jacket slung over one shoulder. His eyes meet mine briefly before he moves to the corner of the room, unbuttoning his cuffs with deliberate ease.

“Long day?” I ask, my voice casual as I watch him from the bed.

He doesn’t answer immediately, his focus on removing his tie. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, steady. “The usual.”

He drapes the tie over a chair, then moves on to his belt, sliding it off with practiced efficiency. There’s something strangely intimate about watching him shed the trappings of his power, even though he’s still every bit the man who commands fear and respect.

I clear my throat, deciding to seize the moment. “I need to talk to you about something.”

He pauses, his hands hovering over the buttons of his shirt. “Oh?”

“It’s about the twins,” I say, my voice softening. “They’ll be four in a few days. I usually plan a little birthday celebration for them.”

His expression shifts, the faintest hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. “Four already,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

I nod. “Yes. It’s important to me that they have something special. Something that feels normal.”

To my surprise, he steps closer, his interest clearly piqued. “What do you usually do?”

“Nothing extravagant,” I reply. “A small party. Some decorations, a cake. They love anything with animals, so I usually make that the theme.”

He leans against the dresser, his arms crossing over his chest as he considers my words. “Animals, hmm? We can do better than a simple party, don’t you think?”

I blink, caught off guard by his enthusiasm. “What do you mean?”

He smirks faintly. “They deserve something memorable. We’ll get a cake, of course, but let’s add something more. Maybe a petting zoo, or—”

“A petting zoo?” I interrupt, my brows raising.

“Why not?” he replies, his tone almost playful. “Or perhaps something even better. We could bring in performers, magicians—whatever they’d enjoy.”

For a moment, I don’t know how to respond. This is a side of Serge I haven’t seen before, and it unsettles me almost as much as it intrigues me.

“They don’t need anything grand,” I say cautiously. “Just a little joy. That’s all I want for them.”

He nods, his expression softening slightly. “Then we’ll make it perfect.”

Before I can process his words, his phone buzzes on the nearby dresser. He picks it up, glancing at the screen, and his smirk deepens.

“Excuse me,” he says, stepping away as he answers the call. His voice drops into a smooth, controlled tone. “Yes?”

I can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but his responses are short, laced with amusement. “Is that so?” he murmurs, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Well, well. That’s unexpected.”

He ends the call and turns back to me, his smirk now fully formed, as though he’s just received the most interesting news of the day.

“What is it?” I ask, wary of the glint in his eyes.

Serge doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sets the phone down and takes a deliberate step toward me. “It seems,” he begins, his tone laced with mockery, “that your dear half brother, Lorenzo, has suffered an unfortunate end.”

I stiffen, my heart skipping a beat. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugs, almost casually. “He had a heart attack earlier today. Didn’t survive it.”

I stare at him, the words sinking in slowly. Lorenzo. My half brother. The man who had always stood as a looming figure of control in my family, distant yet omnipresent in his influence.

“And,” Serge continues, his smirk widening, “as the next of kin, all his assets and power transfer to you. Congratulations, Chiara. You’re now a very wealthy woman.”

His tone is mocking, but his words cut through the haze of shock settling over me. I sit back on the bed, my hands gripping the edge tightly.

“I don’t want it,” I say quietly, my voice trembling.

“That doesn’t matter,” Serge replies, his tone turning serious. “It’s yours now. Whether you want it or not, his legacy is tied to you.”

I glance up at him, my emotions warring between anger and indifference. “Do you think I care about his money, about his power?”

“No,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering. “It’s yours regardless.”

I shake my head, my lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m not going to grieve him, Serge. Lorenzo was never family to me. He barely acknowledged my existence unless it suited him.”

Serge watches me closely, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he says after a moment. “You shouldn’t waste tears on someone who didn’t deserve them.”

I look away, my gaze falling to the floor. There’s no sadness in me, no sense of loss. Just a hollow resignation, an acknowledgment that Lorenzo’s death changes nothing for me.

The silence between us stretches, heavy and oppressive. My gaze stays on the floor, the weight of Lorenzo’s death pressing down on me—not because I mourn him, but because his passing has brought an unwelcome shift to my life. One more thing to manage. One more legacy I didn’t ask for.

The soft rustle of fabric pulls my attention back to Serge. He’s standing at the dresser, unholstering the sleek black handgun tucked at his waist. His movements are unhurried, methodical, as if this is just another part of his routine. He sets the gun down, carefully dismantling it piece by piece before placing it inside the hidden compartment of the drawer.

“What do you plan to do now?” he asks, his voice breaking the silence but still quiet enough to feel deliberate.

I look up at him, startled by the question. “What do you mean?”

He closes the drawer, locking it with a subtle flick of his wrist before turning back to me. His blue eyes meet mine, sharp and unreadable. “You have influence now,” he says, leaning casually against the dresser. “Power. It’s yours whether you want it or not. So, what will you do with it?”

For a moment, I don’t know how to respond. The idea of wielding Lorenzo’s influence feels foreign, like wearing a coat that doesn’t belong to me. I could use it, I realize. I could take my children and disappear, build a new life far away from Serge and the suffocating grip of his world.

The thought is fleeting. He would never let me go, never let the twins slip through his fingers. And even if I somehow managed to escape, what kind of life would they have without their father?

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I’ll continue like this,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “As your wife.”

His brow lifts slightly, the faintest flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “You’ve accepted your role, then?”

“I haven’t accepted anything,” I snap, my tone sharper than I intended. “I’m staying because the kids are happy. When we live like a happy family, they smile more, laugh more. I’ll do anything to keep it that way. For their happiness.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. He studies me, his expression unreadable, before giving a single nod. “Good,” he says simply, turning back to the dresser.

His lack of argument unsettles me. I expected him to push, to gloat, to wield this as another form of control. Instead, his calm acceptance feels more disarming than any threat.

“But,” I continue, my voice softening slightly, “I need to attend to my family’s businesses.”

His shoulders stiffen, but when he turns back to me, his expression is calm. “Why?”

“Because it’s what I owe,” I say firmly. “If Lorenzo’s power and assets are mine, then I have a responsibility to maintain them. To make sure they don’t crumble.”

“You’re already stretched thin,” he counters, crossing his arms. “You have the twins, this house, and now the weight of his legacy. Are you sure you can handle all of it?”

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “I need your word that I’ll have the freedom to do so.”

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “You’ll have it,” he says after a moment. “On one condition.”

I tense, waiting for the inevitable strings attached. “What condition?”

“You stay in Chicago,” he says firmly. “Your businesses, your dealings, all of it—keep them here. If you leave the city, you do so with my approval.”

The terms are less restrictive than I anticipated, though they still feel like chains. “Why does it matter where I go?”

“Because I need you close,” he replies, his voice low. “The twins need you close. If you’re here, I can ensure your safety.”

“Or your control,” I mutter under my breath.

He steps closer, his presence towering as he leans down slightly, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Call it whatever you want,” he says evenly. “The answer doesn’t change. You stay in Chicago, Chiara.”

I hold his gaze, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. Finally, I nod, though the motion feels heavy with resignation. “Fine,” I say quietly.

“Good,” he replies, his tone softer now. He straightens, running a hand through his dirty blond hair as he steps back. “You’ll need a proper team. Lawyers, accountants. Whatever it takes to keep your new empire running.”

His matter-of-fact tone grates on me, but I force myself to remain calm. “I’ll handle it,” I say simply.

“I’m sure you will.”

He turns toward the window, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the city skyline as if already calculating his next move. For a moment, I watch him, trying to piece together the man in front of me. Serge Sharov is many things—ruthless, controlling, impossible to predict. But right now, there’s something almost human about him, something that makes me feel more uneasy than any of his calculated power plays.

“I don’t trust you,” I say suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

He glances over his shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good. You shouldn’t.”

His honesty stuns me into silence, and I look away, my hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly. The weight of the past few days presses down on me, the realization that my life has been irrevocably changed settling in my chest like a stone.

Lorenzo is gone, his shadow no longer looming over me. In his place is Serge, a man who has become both my captor and my partner.