Page 134 of Royal Bargain

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Let them believe I walked right into their trap.

Let them underestimate me.

The metal door creaks behind me as I step inside, the scent of salt and rust clogging my nose.

This is where it started. The original battleground. The place where we buried the treaty in blood.

It’s poetic, in a sick kind of way.

My boots echo against the concrete floor as I weave through the abandoned machinery, eyes scanning every shadow. Heart hammering.

Then I see her.

Ana.

She’s standing near the far wall, lit by a narrow shaft of moonlight filtering through the broken windows. Her hair’s wild, lip split, hands bound in front of her—but she’s upright.

Alive.

And not alone.

Anatoly Volkov stands behind her, tall and unflinching, the very picture of smug control.

But it’s the way she’s standing—still, close to him, not fighting—that stops me cold.

My heart stutters in my chest.

No.

No, fuck no.

She’s not?—

Did she… ?

A chill rips down my spine.

Oh my god. She played me.

She came to me with tears in her eyes and my daughter on her hip and a sob story about needing protection—and all along, she was working with him?

My grip tightens on my gun. My stomach lurches.

And then, I see it.

The subtle press of steel at her side. The angle of Anatoly’s arm, his fingers curled just so.

The gun.

Pressed right into her ribs.

My whole body shudders.

Fuck.

She’s not betraying me.

She’s being held.

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