CHAPTER 3

Nikolai Volkov 

I watched her, amused.

Alessia Moretti had stormed into my penthouse like a woman marching to war, her chin high, her posture stiff with defiance. She reeked of desperation, though she was trying—badly—to mask it behind confidence.

And now, she stood in front of me, offering terms.

A marriage with a deadline.

One year.

I rolled the whiskey glass between my fingers, studying her. She doesn’t understand the game she’s playing.

“You think you can negotiate with me?” I asked, watching her closely.

Her brown eyes, warm but filled with fire, didn’t waver. “I know I can.”

Interesting.

Alessia had always been a contradiction. She despised me, but she was also the only one who had ever dared to challenge me. Even as a child, she’d looked at me with those same defiant eyes, full of hatred, full of fire.

And now, here she was, trying to outmaneuver me in my own game.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my gaze locked onto hers. “And what makes you think I’d agree to this?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Because you’re not the kind of man who keeps someone who doesn’t want to be kept.”

I chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You don’t know me as well as you think, printsessa.”

A flicker of something passed through her eyes at the nickname—annoyance, maybe. But she didn’t react. Instead, she squared her shoulders and said, “If you refuse, my father will fight this. My family won’t let you force me into this without resistance.”

I smirked. She thinks she’s clever.

I set my glass down and stood, towering over her. To her credit, she didn’t back away, even as I closed the space between us.

I reached out, trailing a slow finger down her jaw. She tensed, her breath catching. “You don’t seem to understand something, Alessia.” My voice was a whisper, dark and full of promise. “This deal isn’t about what your family wants.”

Her pulse fluttered against my fingertips.

I leaned closer. “This is about what I want.”

She swallowed hard. “Then what do you want?”

I brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her skin. “You,” I murmured.

Her breath hitched.

I could see it—the war inside her. The part of her that despised me, fighting against the part of her that was reacting to my proximity.

She wanted to hate me.

But hate was just passion turned inside out.

And I could use that.

I stepped back, watching the way her shoulders sagged with relief. Interesting.

“I’ll give you your year,” I finally said.

She blinked. “What?”

“One year. No more, no less.” I smiled, slow and deliberate. “But you’ll be my wife in every way that matters.”

She stiffened. “Meaning?”

“You’ll move in with me. You’ll take my name. You’ll play the role of the devoted wife.” I tilted my head. “No cheating. No scandals. No running.”

Her jaw clenched. “And at the end of the year?”

I smiled. “We’ll see if you still want to leave.”

She inhaled sharply. “That wasn’t the deal.”

I shrugged. “I don’t make deals that don’t benefit me, printsessa.”

She looked ready to argue, to fight. But she was smart enough to realize she had no choice.

Finally, she exhaled. “Fine.”

A slow smirk curved my lips.

"Why one year?" I asked.

She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides. “Because I refuse to be tied to you for the rest of my life.”

I exhaled slowly, dragging my gaze over her face, memorizing every flicker of emotion that passed through her eyes—fear, defiance, hatred.

I wanted it all.

I wanted her.

And I had no intention of letting her go.

But letting her believe she had control? That was a game I could play.

“A year,” I mused, running a hand along my jaw. “And what do I get in return?”

She blinked, clearly thrown off by my response. “You… you get the marriage. You get the truce with my father.”

I smirked. “You think I need a truce?”

She frowned.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I could burn the Moretti name to the ground if I wanted to. I could make your father beg at my feet. I could take everything from you, Alessia. And you think I need a deal?”

She swallowed. “Then why are you doing this?”

I reached out, trailing a finger along the edge of her jaw, watching as she stiffened at my touch but refused to move away.

"Because I want you," I murmured. "And I always get what I want."

Her breath hitched. Just a little. Just enough.

I straightened, stepping back just to watch the way she subtly exhaled, as if she had been holding her breath the entire time.

“Fine,” I said.

She blinked. “Fine?”

“A year,” I agreed. “But there will be rules.”

Her brow furrowed. “Rules?”

I smirked. “Rules that you will follow.”

Her lips parted slightly, her brows knitting together in suspicion. “Like what?”

I lifted a finger. “First—no other men. You are mine for the duration of this marriage.”

She scoffed. “You actually think I’d be running around looking for someone else while stuck in this nightmare?”

I ignored the bite in her tone. “Second—you live with me. Here.” I gestured to the penthouse. “No Moretti estate, no running back to Daddy whenever you feel like it.”

She inhaled sharply. “You want to trap me here?”

I smiled. “I want my wife where she belongs.”

She clenched her jaw. “Anything else?”

I took a slow step closer again, lowering my voice. “You will wear my ring, you will play the perfect Mrs. Volkov, and you will not do anything that makes me regret this deal.”

Her gaze burned into mine, defiant and unyielding.

"Do you agree, Printsessa?"

Silence stretched between us.

Then, finally, she exhaled. “Fine.”

A slow, satisfied smirk curved my lips.

This was only the beginning.

She thought she had made a deal.

But in reality?

She had just sealed her fate.