Page 100 of His Stolen Bride

Vladimir takes one step forward. “I know what she is.”

He says it like it’s a compliment, like he’s proud of the way he reduces women into objects he can count. “Tell me,” he says, voice almost playful. “Did she beg you for protection when she realized I was coming?”

“She didn’t beg,” I answer. “She planned.”

Vladimir’s eyes narrow. “Planned?”

“She walked into your plan because she wanted you talking,” I say. “And you couldn’t shut up.”

His smile shifts. “You think that changes anything?”

“It does,” I say. “Because it means you lost to her first.”

Vladimir’s nostrils flare. “She’s mine.”

“No,” I say.

He laughs again, but it’s brittle. “The contract was first. Her father owed me. He signed.”

“Her father is dead,” I say. “And his signature doesn’t make you a husband.”

Vladimir’s gaze darts to the side, to the desk drawer, to the phone. He’s calculating. He’s looking for a way out.

“You think you’ve won,” he says. “You think this is a clever operation. Bribed men, turned dogs, shut doors. You’re proud.”

“I’m efficient,” I correct.

Vladimir’s eyes flicker with hate. “Bring her.”

“No,” I say again, and I don’t raise my voice.

He steps forward again, closer, and now I can see the sweat at his hairline. I can smell his cologne. “You can’t keep her,” he says. “Not forever. She’s a problem you married to look strong. You don’t even want her.”

I feel the urge to break his jaw. “You don’t get to decide what I want.”

Vladimir’s grin turns ugly. “Then what do you want, Morin?”

I pause.

This is where men like him expect posturing. They expect threats and the same ugly language they use. I keep it simple. “I want you gone,” I say. “And I want her freed from the contract.”

Vladimir’s eyes widen, just a fraction. “Free.”

“Yes.”

He scoffs. “You think you can do that? You think you can erase the way this world works?”

“I’m doing it right now,” I say.

Vladimir’s hand twitches toward the desk drawer.

Enzo shifts in the doorway.

Vladimir sees it and his mouth tightens. “You bought them.”

“I did,” I say.

“You can’t buy loyalty,” Vladimir spits.