Page 27 of His Contract Queen

The outline of her hand will fade by tonight, but unfortunately, not before this meeting.

My jaw tightens slightly at the thought of walking into that room marked. Malyshko notices everything. He will clock it immediately and file it away behind that irritatingly neutral expression of his and wait for the moment it becomes useful to use against me. Or I will need to explain myself and confess that I’ve recently acquired a wife.

I exhale slowly, eyes returning to the road as the estate disappears behind me.

I will need some kind of explanation. Admitting to the truth that a woman has managed to occupy space in my home where no one has been allowed to linger for years is not an option. Not to Malyshko or to the Pact. Most certainly not to myself.

By the time I pull into Malyshko’s estate, I’m already wound up tightly.

The gates move slowly as they part, the intricate metalwork illuminated by the cold white security lights that sweep across the hood of the car like an interrogation light. Armed guards stand posted on either side of the opening, their silhouettes rigid, rifles resting low at their sides but ready.

My tires crunch softly over gravel as I drive forward, the sprawling estate unfolding ahead of me in calculated grandeur. The house rises from the darkness like a fortress, its angular architecture softened by the expensive landscaping that fools no one familiar with men like us. Nothing here exists without purpose.

My eyes flick to the rearview mirror.

Headlights flare behind me as Bashir and Shkanova, my enforcers, roll in behind me in close formation. I slow once I roll up to the circular drive. As soon as I park and cut the engine, silence floods in instantly. For a moment, I remain seated with both hands resting on the wheel, watching my reflection ghost faintly across the windshield.

Both of my enforcers climb out of the car behind me. Bashir adjusts the front of his coat, broad shoulders stretching the dark wool, before coming toward my car. Shkanova lags a step behind, his posture relaxed in that deceptive way of his as he scans the outer walls of Malyshko’s estate.

I adjust myself as I climb out of the car, trying to ease the ache between my legs with a brief squeeze meant to dismiss the sensation before it draws any more attention than it already has.

It doesn’t help.

If anything, the friction makes it worse, an irritating reminder of just how thoroughly my control has slipped tonight. I exhaleslowly, forcing my expression back into something neutral before either of my enforcers can read too much into it.

The cold night air bites through my coat as I slam the door shut.

Bashir’s eyes flick to my face immediately. They linger for half a second too long on my cheek before snapping away again. He says nothing, he knows better than to, but the subtle pull of his brows tells me everything I need to know about his silent assessment.

Cameras pivot overhead as we move toward the entryway. Dozens of motion sensors embedded discreetly along the exterior walls blink faintly red in the darkness, tracking our approach with clinical precision.

Malyshko’s paranoia remains impressive.

I roll my shoulders once, loosening tension I refuse to acknowledge. The meeting ahead demands focus, not the lingering thoughts of heated eyes and a hand striking my face hard enough to leave a mark.

“Stay close,” I murmur as we step onto the stone landing.

Both Bashir and Shkanova answer quietly in acknowledgment, their footsteps falling into practiced rhythm behind mine.

Whatever Malyshko has called this meeting for isn’t trivial. I refuse to walk into this distracted.

However, as much as I pride myself on being the type of man who would never allow himself to be distracted by a woman, my thoughts betray me. They drift uninvited back to my estate, to the upper floor where I know with absolute certainty Katerina is pacing her room. I can picture it with unsettling clarity. She won’t be sleeping tonight. Not after what happened.

Fear will have settled in by now.

I wonder what she’s expecting.

For me to punish her? Make an example out of her so thoroughly she never forgets where she stands again? Or do I do something far worse—do I do nothing? Let her think she got away with it. Let the silence stretch long enough between us to suffocate her. For anticipation to do the work punishment never could and convince her that every passing footstep outside her door is me coming to finally collect the debt she owes just like I did with her father.

Fear matures beautifully when given time.

Or perhaps this is the time I test her instead. See how far she’s willing to go now that she’s crossed the line. It would intrigue me more to see whether tonight was her lashing out in desperation to try and gain control again or something else entirely.

Part of me doesn’t want her submission. It wants to see how far she’ll go before she realizes she’s standing up against a man who has never once lost control of any situation. How would my caged bird react then?

A slow pulse of heat settles low in my gut at the idea.

“Aleksandr.”