Page 93 of Porcelain Lies

“No.”

The word rings through the church like a gunshot. Sofia’s fingers go slack in shock. A collective gasp ripples through the crowd.

“What did you say?” Sofia’s voice trembles.

I turn to face her fully, observing the color drain from her face. “I said no.”

Murmurs break out among the guests. The priest fumbles with his bible, clearly unprepared for this deviation from script. Diana takes a half-step forward but stops when I raise my hand slightly.

“You can’t do this.” Sofia’s perfect mask cracks. Her voice rises, shrill and desperate. “The alliance—”

“Is terminated.” The words taste like freedom on my tongue. “Along with any other arrangements between our families.”

The church erupts in chaos. Novikov’s men surge to their feet. My own security responds instantly, hands moving to concealed weapons. But I keep my eyes locked on Sofia, savoring the moment her victory crumbles.

“You’ll regret this,” she hisses, backing away from me. Her designer dress rustles against the church floor. “My father will—”

“Your father will do nothing.” My voice carries over the growing commotion. “Unless he wants certain documents about his business practices reaching the FSB.”

Sofia’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. Tears smear her perfect makeup. Good. Let everyone see her true face.

I straighten my tie and turn to address the stunned congregation. “The wedding is canceled. Please enjoy the reception without us.”

I stand my ground while scanning the increasingly agitated crowd. Novikov’s men are pushing forward, their faces twisted with rage. My security team forms a barrier, weapons at the ready.

“Blyad,” Diana mutters beside me. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

I adjust my cuffs, deliberately casual. “Would it have changed anything?”

“No, but I could have brought popcorn.” She eyes Sofia’s crumpling form.

The church fills with shouting — accusations, threats, demands for explanation. I ignore them all. Let them rage. The Bratva’s expectations, the carefully arranged alliances, the years of political maneuvering — none of it matters anymore. My phone burns in my pocket, those two words from Stella giving me strength.

I’m pregnant.

Sergei Novikov storms up the aisle, his face purple with fury. “Ty che, blyad?You dare humiliate my daughter like this?”

“Your daughter humiliates herself.” I meet his glare steadily. “The arrangement is over.”

“The consequences—”

“Are mine to deal with.” I cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Unless you’d prefer we discuss your Iranian connections? I’m sure the Americans would be very interested.”

He pales, taking an involuntary step back. Smart man. The folder of evidence I’ve collected over the years would bury his entire operation.

Sofia’s theatrical sobs echo through the church as her bridesmaids cluster around her. The sound grates on my nerves, but I keep my face impassive. This display is exactly why I could never bind myself to her — there’s not an authentic bone in her body.

My security chief appears at my shoulder. “Car’s ready, Boss.”

I nod, already moving toward the side exit. Diana falls into step beside me. Behind us, the chaos continues to unfold — exactly as I knew it would.

But for the first time in years, I feel truly free.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stella

The words on my tablet blur together as I stare at them without comprehension.

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