Page 7 of His Forced Bride
"Or are you sorry for your loss?"
The question reveals intelligence and perception I don't expect from a twenty-three-year-old fashion designer, even one raised in the shadow of her father's empire.
She understands that Semyon's death affects me as much as it grieves her, that our carefully negotiated alliance died with the two men now covered by white sheets.
"Both," I answer honestly.
"Your father was a good partner. My son was…" I pause, searching for words that acknowledge Dominic's flaws without dishonoring his memory.
"He had potential he'll never realize."
She studies my face with those remarkable eyes, looking for lies or manipulation or false comfort.
Finding none, she nods then lets her head drop, a gesture that somehow manages to be both acceptance and dismissal.
"The wedding is canceled," she says, as if I might not have reached that conclusion on my own.
"Yes."
"The contracts are void."
"Most of them."
This catches her attention, and I see the businesswoman surface beneath the grief-stricken daughter.
"Which ones remain binding?"
I glance around at the police officers and emergency workers who might be listening, then gesture toward a quiet corner where we can speak without an audience.
She follows, her bloody wedding dress trailing behind her across the broken asphalt.
"Your father's death leaves your company vulnerable," I begin once we're far enough from curious ears.
"Without his connections, without the protection his partnerships provided, you'll face challenges you can't handle alone."
"What challenges?" Inessa's eyes flick around like a frightened kitten ready to pounce.
It's really quite adorable, and she would be so very edible if she weren't half my age and the near widow of my only son.
I find the naivety endearing, but it's also dangerous.
She is so ignorant of everything Semyon meant to protect her from.
And sadly, the onus falls on me to educate her quickly before her downfall ruins my life.
"Your mother will move quickly to contest his will. She might try to claim half of everything you've built."
The possibility hits her visibly, though she tries to hide the impact.
I watch her mind work to understand as her eyebrows rise, and her posture shifts to a more defensive one, understanding how precarious her position has become in the span of a single evening.
"Beyond your mother's claims," I continue, "there are contracts that died with your father tonight. Business relationships that required his personal guarantee. Competitors who will see his death as an opportunity to destroy everything for you and for me. We're in this together now, whether you like it or not."
She stares at the blood on her dress, then looks back at me with anger in her eyes.
The steel in her resolve strengthens and she squares her shoulders.
"What do you want from me?" she asks.
