Page 57 of His Contract Queen

The look on his face melts back into one of cool indifference shortly after. “I will not support you when things go south.”

When, not if.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say evenly. I intend to do everything in my power to prove him wrong.

His eyes drift from mine again, down to the envelopes sitting on my desk. The silence stretches between us long enough that I can hear the faint tick of the clock behind me. Every tick snaps a little bit more of my patience.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost gentle. It throws me off completely. “Be very careful about mistaking yourself to be invincible… It would be a shame to learn you aren’t when you have so much that can be taken from you.”

My brows pull together before I can stop them.

The warning is clear enough on the surface without his having to specify, the implication pointing in the same direction. Katerina. If this plan goes sideways—if the military pushes back harder than we expect, and the government decides to make an example out of her by turning the backlash into something we can’t contain, she will be the first thing they reach for to prosecute.

I’ve been obsessively planning for exactly that scenario since the moment she told me she wanted to do this publicly. Contingencies upon contingencies worth of false trails, offshore accounts in her new name, safe houses in three countries, extraction routes that don’t touch any of my known properties, private security already on standby in case we need to disappear her for a while.

I’ve mapped every avenue they might try to take her from me, even the illegal ones. I’ve spent sleepless nights running those scenarios until my head felt close to exploding, until I could recite every possible failure point backward.

But the way Malyshko says it… makes it sound like he is speaking from experience. Not about this specific scenario but one in general of losing something valuable.

His father, maybe?

The thought drags a cold finger down my spine.

Regardless of his convictions, he is still human. Carrying guilt over his father’s death is to be expected, no matter how justified it may have been. It’s just… odd to see the walls he surrounds himself with lower enough to show it.

Especially with someone like me.

He is young, inexperienced in many ways despite the indifference and aloofness he protects himself with.

I shake off the unsettling feeling that comes with witnessing a thread of humanity within him. There is more important work to be done. “Thank you for the warning.”

He nods, moving away from my desk then. He pauses only when our shoulders nearly brush on his way out the door.

“Good luck,” he says.

And then he is gone.

16

KATERINA

Ifind Aleksandr still in his office once the estate finally settles back into its normal rhythm.

After watching him disappear with that man toward his office, I had taken the opportunity to head upstairs and change into less formal clothing. I’d peeled it off with shaking fingers, the silk whispering accusations over my skin as it pooled at my feet the same way those icy grey eyes had.

By the time I came back down to the main floor, the tension had suddenly dissipated.

Whoever that man was, he had been incredibly unsettling. Asking any of Aleksandr’s staff about it only resulted in dismissive stares and murmured deflections as they moved around me to resume their busy schedules.

Heading to Aleksandr’s office now, I find myself wondering if that man had been part of that secret society Aleksandr mentioned. He certainly fit the bill with how he’d made everyone feel. Even Aleksandr who never flinches, had straightened his spine just a fraction when their eyes met.

The only thing that has me questioning my own intuition is how young he looked. He couldn’t have been more than thirty-five at the most. Certainly not in the range of Aleksandr or the other graying, battle-scarred men I’d imagined when Aleksandr first described being a part of such an underground institution.

But then again, perhaps secret societies weren’t all that concerned about age-related power imbalances. To them, I suppose influence within the dark markets, control over the invisible levers that move billions and end careers, is what earns you your place at those meetings.

When I reach his office, I push the door open without knocking.

The room is dim except for the sun coming in from the windows behind his desk. He sits in his chair behind it, both elbows braced on the rests with head bowed over a tablet he clearly isn’t reading. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his forearms, ink curling around thick wrists and disappearing beneath the fabric.