Page 44 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“That’s not what this is,” she protested, but even as she said it, she could hear how defensive she sounded.
“Isn’t it?” He stepped closer, and she was reminded forcefully of why Viktor was the brother her cousins sent when they needed someone to be very, very scared. “You’re playing house with the man who bought you like a piece of property, Irina. You’re helping him run his operations, sleeping in his bed, letting him train you like some kind of pet project.”
Each word landed like a blow, not because they were untrue, but because they stripped away all the complexity and emotion and left only the ugly facts. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand that you’ve forgotten who you are,” Viktor interrupted. “You’re a Nikolai. You don’t belong here, playing at being useful to a man who sees you as a trophy.”
“He doesn’t see me as a trophy,” she said, her voice rising despite her efforts to stay calm. “He trusts me. He values my input. He’s teaching me to defend myself instead of just surrounding me with bodyguards.”
“He’s conditioning you,” Viktor corrected coldly. “Making you dependent on his approval, his attention, his validation. It’s classic manipulation, Irina, and you’re falling for it.”
The accusation stung because part of her wondered if he might be right. Had she been so starved for recognition, for achance to prove herself useful, that she’d mistaken basic respect for something more? Was the pride she felt in her work here just another kind of cage?
“I can get you out,” Viktor continued, his voice gentling slightly. “Tonight, if you want. We have safe houses in three different cities, places where you can disappear until we sort this mess out. You’d be free, Irina. Really free, not just playing at it.”
The offer hung between them, exactly what she’d been dreaming of when this whole nightmare started. Freedom. Independence. A chance to build a life on her own terms instead of as someone’s sister or wife or possession.
But as she looked at Viktor, as she saw the same overprotective gleam in his eyes that she’d been fighting her whole life, she realized that his version of freedom would just be another kind of prison. He wasn’t offering to help her build an independent life; he was offering to hide her away until the men in her family decided it was safe for her to come out again.
“What about what I’ve built here?” she asked. “What about the fact that I’m finally doing something that matters?”
Viktor’s expression hardened. “You think playing secretary to a criminal enterprise matters? Irina, you’re smarter than this.”
“I’m not playing secretary,” she shot back, her temper finally getting the better of her discretion. “I caught discrepancies in their inventory system that could have cost them millions. I’ve streamlined their logistics processes. I’ve—”
“You’ve made yourself indispensable to your captor,” Viktor finished. “It’s Stockholm syndrome, Irina. You’re identifying with him because you feel helpless.”
“I don’t feel helpless,” she said, and realized it was true. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel helpless. She felt capable, useful, and valued for her mind rather than just being protected because of her gender. “I feel like I finally found somewhere I belong.”
“You belong with your family,” Viktor said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice now. “You belong with people who love you, not with someone who bought you at an auction.”
The reminder of how this had all started hit her like cold water, but instead of making her want to run, it made her want to fight. Because Viktor was reducing everything that had happened between her and Matvei to that single transaction, ignoring all the complexity and growth and genuine connection that had developed since then.
“Maybe I belong where I choose to belong,” she said quietly. “Maybe what matters isn’t how something starts, but what it becomes.”
Viktor stared at her for a long moment, his expression cycling through disbelief, anger, and something that might have been grief. “He’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he?”
Before she could answer, the sound of voices echoed from nearby, getting closer. Viktor’s head snapped toward the sound, his body tensing like a predator ready to flee.
“This isn’t over,” he said, already backing toward whatever route he’d used to get in. “When you come to your senses, when you realize what he’s really doing to you, call me. I’ll come for you, no matter what.”
Then he was gone, melting back into the shadows with the same silent grace that had gotten him past Matvei’s securityin the first place, leaving Irina alone with her racing heart and the uncomfortable weight of his words.
She pressed her back against the concrete wall, trying to process everything that had just happened. Viktor’s accusations echoed in her head, making her question everything she thought she knew about her situation, about her feelings, about the choices she’d been making.
Was she really falling in love with Matvei, or was she just grateful for the first taste of independence she’d ever had? Was the pride she felt in her work genuine, or was she just so desperate for validation that she’d accept it from anyone who offered it?
And more importantly, what was she supposed to do with the growing certainty that leaving with Viktor would feel like running away from the first real life she’d ever built, even if staying meant admitting that she’d fallen for a man who’d bought her like property?
The voices were getting closer now, and Irina pushed herself away from the wall, straightening her clothes and trying to compose her expression. Whatever she decided, whatever Viktor’s words meant for her future, she couldn’t afford to fall apart here, in the middle of Matvei’s operation.
But as she made her way back toward the observation room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had just become infinitely more complicated.
And she still had no idea what she was going to do about it.
Chapter 16 - Matvei
The phone call came at seven in the morning, cutting through the peaceful quiet of the mansion like a blade. Matvei had been watching Irina sleep, something that had become an unexpected pleasure over the past few weeks. She looked younger in sleep, softer, the sharp intelligence that always burned in her ice-blue eyes replaced by something that looked almost like contentment.
