Page 73 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and I realize it's the first real smile I've seen from her in days. "I'd love to come. What time should I be ready?"

"Ten o'clock. Wear something nice but not too formal. You'll be walking through a working club, not attending a gala."

"I can manage that." She sets her book aside and stands, smoothing her hands over her dress. "Thank you for inviting me."

"You're my wife." The words come easier now than they did when I said them to Gregory. "It's time you saw more of what that means beyond this estate."

I'm waiting in the main hall when Ana descends the staircase at exactly ten o'clock. She's wearing a black dress that hugs her curves without being overly revealing, paired with heels that bring her closer to my height. Her hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders, and she's applied just enough makeup to enhance her features while somehow miraculously looking natural.

"You look beautiful." The compliment slips out before I can stop it, and I see the pleased flush that colors her cheeks.

"Thank you." She accepts my offered arm, and we walk out to the waiting car together.

Ana sits beside me in comfortable silence, occasionally glancing out the window at the passing lights. I find myself studying her profile, the elegant line of her neck, and the way her fingers absently play with the small clutch in her lap. She's nervous… or maybe excited. Since becoming engaged to me, she's had practically no social life. Just the Women's Circle, which I imagine can't be all that fun.

"The club is one of the most profitable in the city." I break the silence, giving her something to focus on besides her nerves. "We cater to a specific clientele who value discretion and quality. The managers have been with me for years, but I still personally inspect every quarter to make sure everything stays on track."

"And you want me to just follow you around while you do all this?"

"I want you to observe." I meet her gaze directly. "You have good instincts, Ana. I saw that when you helped with the household staff. I'm curious to see what those instincts tell you about the club."

The car pulls up to the entrance, and I see Ana's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the building. The exterior is elegant but understated, with subtle lighting and a discreet sign. A line of well-dressed patrons waits behind velvet ropes while security checks identification and maintains order.

We bypass the line entirely, security nodding respectfully as we pass. Inside, the club opens into a massive space with high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and a color scheme of deep burgundy and gold. The main floor holds dozens of tables where patrons drink and talk, while a raised platform at the far end features a live band playing smooth jazz. A grand staircase leads to the second level where private rooms and VIP sections overlook the main floor.

The noise level is significant but not overwhelming. Conversations blend with music and laughter, creating an atmosphere of controlled energy. Staff members move efficiently through the crowd, delivering drinks and clearing tables. Everything looks exactly as it should, but I've learned over the years that appearances can be deceiving.

"Mr. Galkin." The club manager appears almost immediately, a thin man in his fifties with sharp eyes and an efficient manner. "We weren't expecting you until later in the week."

"I decided to move up the schedule." I don't offer an explanation, and he doesn't ask for one. "This is my wife, Princess Anastasia. She'll be accompanying me tonight."

"Of course. Welcome, Princess." He bows slightly, then gestures toward the back. "Shall we start with the office? I have all the reports ready for your review."

We spend the next hour going through paperwork. The numbers are solid, showing consistent profit margins and no unusual discrepancies. Ana sits quietly beside me, occasionally leaning over to look at a particular report when I point something out, but mostly just observing.

After the office, we move through the club itself. I check the bars, examining the quality of the liquor and the cleanliness of the equipment. I speak with bartenders, asking about their shifts and any problems they've encountered. I inspect the kitchens where food is prepared for the VIP sections, making sure health standards are being maintained.

Ana stays at my side through all of it, her presence drawing curious glances from staff and patrons alike. She doesn't interfere or ask unnecessary questions, but I can see her taking everything in with those sharp blue eyes.

We're standing near one of the main bars when Ana leans close and speaks quietly in my ear. "The young woman at the end of the bar. The one with the dark hair. She's nervous about something."

I follow her gaze and spot the bartender in question. She's young, maybe early twenties, and she's moving with slightly jerky motions that suggest stress. "What makes you think that?"

"Watch her hands. She keeps glancing at something under the bar, and every time the manager walks past, she tenses up." Ana's voice is barely audible over the music. "I think she broke something expensive and is trying to hide it."

I observe the bartender for another minute and realize Ana is right. The woman is definitely concealing something, and the anxiety is written all over her face. I motion for the manager to join us, then walk over to the bar with Ana still at my side.

"Is there a problem?" I ask the bartender directly, keeping my tone neutral rather than accusatory.

Her face goes pale, and I see her swallow hard. "I… there was an accident earlier. One of the bottles broke. I was going to report it at the end of my shift."

"Show me."

She reaches under the bar and produces the shattered remains of what I recognize as a very expensive bottle of scotch, easily five hundred dollars’ worth of liquor now soaking into bar towels. The manager's expression darkens, but I hold up a hand before he can speak.

"Accidents happen." I look at the young woman directly. "But hiding them makes things worse. Next time something breaks, you report it immediately. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."