Page 63 of Crimson Sin
The logic is flawless and infuriating. My mother's final demand, written in her elegant script across pages of legal documents, haunted my every decision for months. Marry before your thirty-third birthday or forfeit control of the empire. At the time, it seemed like another chess move in the elaborate game of succession she played even from beyond the grave.
But this changes everything. The woman I was beginning to care for is now legally bound to me, whether she chooses it or not. The freedom she fought so hard to claim has been stripped away by legal documents she never signed and never agreed to.
“You presume too much,” I snap, the words containing the violence staining in my soul.
“I did what had to be done,” she counters without hesitation. “A wife on paper is one thing. A legal wife is another. With Naomi bound to you in law, your empire cannot be challenged on grounds of legitimacy. There is no prenup. No exit clause. And with her missing, you cannot even annul it. You are hers and she is yours. The line is drawn.”
My chest tightens until breathing becomes a conscious effort. For the first time in years, I feel the walls of my empire turn against me, no longer protecting but confining. Naomi is missing, and now she carries my name in the eyes of the law. Every decision I make affects her, whether she knows it or not. Every enemy who wants to hurt me can target her with legal impunity, claiming they are simply going after my wife. And an heir would seal everything, making the bond unbreakable even by death.
The monitors behind me continue their endless loop, showing empty spaces where she should be. My wife. Not by choice, not by vow whispered in private moments of connection, but by legal decree orchestrated in shadows and signed without her knowledge.
I move toward Irina, each step heavy with threat. The distance between us shrinks, and I watch for any sign of fear and acknowledgment that she has overstepped bounds that should never be crossed.
“You think this guarantees order?” My voice is soft but lethal, with the promise of consequences she may not survive. “You think chaining her to me secures anything? She is gone. That certificate means nothing if I cannot find her.”
Irina meets my stare without wavering, her composure absolute. “It means everything. Because when you do find her, and youwill, there will be no dispute. No question about her place. She is your wife. She cannot walk away without consequence even if she wanted to. She belongs to you.”
The words slice through pretense and strike at truths I don’t want to acknowledge. Naomi belongs to me, by law.
I slam my hand against the edge of the console, the monitors shuddering under the impact. The pain radiates through my palm and up my arm, a welcome distraction from the chaos in my mind. “Get out,” I order.
Irina's eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move. Her voice remains steady, professional, as if she is simply discussing quarterly reports rather than the destruction of trust built over decades. “I will not apologize for safeguarding your empire.”
“Out,” I repeat with a growl pulled from the depths of my chest where fury and heartbreak war for dominance.
For a long moment, she holds my gaze, searching my face for understanding, or perhaps acceptance of the choice she made on my behalf. Then she inclines her head slightly, as though she has delivered her final argument in a case she has already won.
She turns and walks toward the door unhurriedly. At the threshold, she pauses, glancing back once, her expression blank in the green glow of the monitors.
“One day, Daniil, you will see I was right.” The door closes behind her, and silence swallows the room once more.
I stand motionless, every vein lit with fire. Naomi is my wife. Legally. Officially. And she is gone. My hands drag across my face. I whisper her name as if speaking it aloud might summonher back to me. She is the only truth I know. And now the world will know she is mine, whether she accepts it or not.
24
NAOMI
The streets of Chicago feel different tonight. The usual hum of traffic and chatter carries an undercurrent I can't shake. My skin prickles as though invisible eyes are crawling over me, watching every step. I tug the hood of my sweatshirt lower over my brow and push my glasses higher. The disguise is thin, but it makes me feel less exposed, less like Naomi Carter, and more like a shadow slipping through the city.
The concrete beneath my sneakers feels unforgiving with each hurried step. Every streetlight creates pools of yellow that I navigate around, preferring the darkness between. I pause at a corner, pretending to check my phone while scanning the reflection in a storefront window. Still there. The same figure I noticed three blocks ago, maintaining just enough distance to seem coincidental. My stomach clenches. This isn't my imagination. Someone is following me, and they're good at it.
I change routes twice, cutting through side streets and doubling back past a closed corner market. The narrow alleyways between buildings offer temporary refuge, but I know it's temporary. Each time I glance over my shoulder, I notice it. A presencelingering. Not close enough to be obvious, but steady and patient. And I know without a doubt that whoever it is, they aren't Daniil's men. His men don't stalk. They follow openly, letting the whole world know they belong to him. This feels different. This feels like danger.
My fingers tremble as I pull my phone from my pocket, my thumb hovering over Daniil's number. But what would I tell him? That I have a feeling? That my intuition is screaming warnings I can't articulate? He would send men immediately, turning the entire neighborhood upside down in search of threats that might not even exist. Or worse, he might lock me away somewhere I'd never see daylight again.
The cool air bites at my skin, and I wrap my arms around myself for warmth. The temperature has dropped since sunset, and my breath creates small puffs of vapor that dissipate quickly in the wind. I should have worn a heavier jacket, but I'd left the hotel in such a hurry after receiving that strange text message. The one that simply read:Look outside your window. When I'd peered through the blinds, I'd seen nothing unusual, but the feeling that someone was watching had been overwhelming.
My breath clouds in the cool air as I duck into an alley behind an old bakery. The smell of yeast and burnt sugar lingers faintly in the bricks, long after closing. It's a comforting scent under normal circumstances, reminiscent of childhood mornings and weekend treats. Tonight, it feels like a mockery of safety and warmth. My sneakers splash through a shallow puddle as I quicken my pace, hoping the narrow passage will give me cover. The water seeps through the fabric, chilling my feet and adding to my discomfort.
The alley is lined with dumpsters and fire escapes that create deep shadows perfect for concealment. Graffiti covers the brickwalls in layers of color and rebellion, but I barely register the artistic chaos. My focus remains on the mouth of the alley ahead, the promise of another street, and another chance to lose whoever is tracking me.
But when I reach the end, a sleek black SUV turns the corner and stops dead across my path. The vehicle is pristine, its paint job reflecting the streetlights like a mirror. Tinted windows hide whoever sits inside. This isn't some random car accidentally blocking my exit. This is deliberate.
The headlights flare, freezing me in place like prey trapped in a snare. My pulse hammers against my ribs, each beat echoing in my ears. The bright white light strips away the shadows I'd been using as protection, exposing me completely. I spin to retreat, but the sound of a car door opening cuts through the silence.
The door closes with a soft thunk that seems to reverberate through the narrow space. Footsteps close in, leather soles slapping softly against wet concrete. The sound grows louder, more menacing, until it stops just outside the glare of the headlights.
Viktor steps out. He is dressed in a tailored suit, his tie hanging undone around his neck as though the night has already unraveled him. A smug smile curls at his mouth. His steel-blue eyes gleam as they sweep over me.
