Page 20 of His Contract Queen

He wanted a wife, so he simply contacted someone in his orbit who happened to have a daughter shaped to his preferences—educated, well-mannered, politically appealing, pretty, easy to deal with—and demanded she be handed over without question.

The only sliver of control in this entire grotesque arrangement is that my father had the foresight to use Volkov’s demandagainsthim. To turn this acquisition into an infiltration and make Aleksandr’s entitlement the very weapon that will be used to undo him.

But that knowledge doesn’t soothe the rage simmering beneath my skin. It doesn’t make the humiliation sting any less or erase the fact that to Aleksandr Volkov, obtaining a wife was as effortless as acquiring a new car or a piece of land.

He wanted me, so he took me. That’s it.

I hate how easily the world allows men like him to do exactly as they please with no consequences.

I slam the pen down hard on top of his desk. The words are out before I can stop them, hot with unfiltered irritation slicing through every layer of my carefully constructed composure.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Oh, fuck.

Goddamn it.

How is he able to so easily get a rise out of me?

His mouth twitches just enough to betray the amusement he’s trying and failing to hide. He’s entertained. Of course he is. All of this is just one big game to him that he’s clearly winning. “Flatter myself?” he repeats. “I assure you, I rarely require assistance in that department.”

The arrogance drips from every syllable. Heat crawls up my neck, though not from embarrassment, exactly, but fury tightening beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.

I hate this.

I hate that he’s enjoying himself because I’m giving him exactly what he wants—proof that he can provoke me at will. That my reactions aren’t under my control like I’m pretending they are. Hewantsto see me break composure, wants to watch my mask slip and give him the confirmation that beneath all my restraint, I’m still volatile enough to fight back just like I did that very first day.

He leans back slightly in his chair, studying me with a kind of pleased curiosity as though I’m a puzzle piece snapping back into place exactly where he predicted it would.

I straighten, forcing my expression back into the opposite of what he just pulled out of me. “Forgive me… I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” he drawls, voice dripping with lazy satisfaction.

This bastard isdelighted.

I force myself to breathe. This means nothing. This marriage, this entire arrangement, is nothing more than a weapon that will be used to crack apart his entire empire until the whole rotten structure collapses beneath him. Once this is over and Aleksandr Volkov is either dead or dragged away in handcuffs under the consequences of his own brutality, I’ll walk free.

Thatwill be the moment I find all of this worth it when I watch that smug delight wiped clean off his face as he’s shoved into the back of a police car, wrists bound with eyes seething with fury because he never saw it coming.

Getting upset now is pointless.

“Am I dismissed?” I ask, voice flat.

His brow twitches, irritation flickering briefly across his expression. He doesn’t like losing control of the conversation when I step off the script he’s trying to write for me. He drums his fingers against the arm of his chair, slow and thoughtful, before shifting his body and crossing one leg casually over the other.

The picture of boredom slowly settles over him. “I suppose. Later this week, you and I will head to a jeweler to get your finger sized. Can’t have you walking around without a ring. Men might assume you’re still available.”

My hands fist instantly at my sides.

The reaction is instinctive. His eyes flick down, and a slow smirk crawls onto his face once again as he savors the moment.I swallow hard, pressing the venom back down into my throat where it burns like acid.

“Of course. I look forward to it,” I say, tone steady despite the annoyance radiating through me.

His eyes narrow slightly like he’s trying to decide whether I’m sincere or mocking him. Before he can come to a conclusion—or worse, probe me any further—I turn on my heel and leave his office.

The moment the heavy doors close behind me, I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I walk briskly down the corridor, ignoring the lingering thrum of adrenaline pulsing beneath my skin.

Soon, this will all be over.