Page 61 of His Contract Queen

Her eyes narrow as she takes in my gown and the diamond at my throat. I move slightly to conceal the USB from sight.

“Guests aren’t allowed back here,” she says. Her tone is clipped and professional, but there’s an edge beneath it. One that tells me she’s used to dealing with drunk VIPs and entitled celebrities and knows exactly how to shut them down.

I plaster on my best innocent smile, the one I perfected to use at my father’s functions when I needed to charm a general or a minister into agreeing to whatever terms were currently being negotiated.

“Sorry,” I say, letting my voice go light and breathy. “I was trying to find tonight’s playlist. I wanted to request a song during one of the awards. Someone I know is being honored tonight and I thought… well, it would be nice to surprise him with his favorite song.”

Her expression doesn’t budge. “You’re not supposed to be touching the equipment. Who let you in here?”

I take a small step forward, hands raised slightly in surrender. “Sorry, it was a dumb idea. I’ll leave.”

I tilt my head back just enough to look over my shoulder at the USB, finding it thankfully blinking green.

“Step away from the console,” she says. “Now.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Really. I’ll go right now. I just?—”

Her eyes narrow at me, suspicion hardening into certainty as recognition clicks into place. “Wait a minute… you’re Katerina Borchin. You’re on the banned guest list. You’re not supposed to be here at all.”

My smile falters.

Banned?

He had the audacity to actually ban me? After selling me off?

I almost scoff in disbelief. Adding my name to a list to keep me from coming to an event like this is downright insulting.

Did his paranoia finally get the better of him? Cause him to worry I might escape the Volkov estate and come for him? After whatever Aleksandr did to him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d barely left the house since then. Nor would it surprise me to find out he had every guard on his security team working overtime to protect the grounds.

The woman in front of me reaches for her radio.

I move without thinking.

My hand snaps out and grabs her wrist before she can key the mic. I twist it in a sharp motion the way I’ve seen Volkov enforcers do once or twice. She gasps as the radio clatters to the floor, a pained groan leaving her.

I kick it away and spin her until her back is against the wall and my forearm is across her throat. Not hard enough to choke but enough to get my point across that this is not up for debate.

Her eyes go wide.

“Don’t scream,” I hiss. “You won’t like what happens if you do.”

She freezes.

My eyes narrow at her. “You’re going to stay right here and not touch anything in this room that looks out of place. When this is all over, you’re going to walk out and pretend you saw nothing. Because if you don’t and you run to security to tell anyone what you saw tonight, I will make sure you pay for it. Am I understood?”

She swallows hard and nods slightly.

A booming voice echoes from down the hallway. “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in welcoming Colonel Ramil Borchin to the stage.”

Applause erupts faintly.

Shit.

I shove away from her and quickly head for the door. My hand slaps onto the frame when I pass through it, stopping me long enough to look over my shoulder at her one last time. “Remember what I said.”

She nods meekly, slumping into a chair nearby.

Satisfied, I turn and leave. My heels are loud as I run back to the stage, the sound of them easily drowned out by the crowd growing louder the closer I get. Stage hands shoot me looks as I pass by them, though none of them reach to stop me.