Page 13 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

Gregory arrives an hour later dressed in a navy suit, carrying himself with the confidence I taught him. He's twenty-seven now, tall and lean, with dark hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing. When he walks into my office, he expects a business discussion. That's what we usually do.

Instead, I gesture to the chair across from my desk. "Have a seat."

He does, studying my expression with the careful attention I trained into him. "What's going on?"

I lean back in my chair and look at him, really look at him, and I'm reminded of the frightened twelve-year-old boy I met fifteen years ago. A car accident had killed his parents and left him orphaned, and no one in the family wanted to take responsibility for another mouth to feed. The Galkins were a large organization, but most of them were too focused on their own survival to care about one kid.

So I stepped in. Gregory had belonged to one of the smaller Galkin families, distant cousins I barely knew. But he was alone and scared, and something about the way he looked at me that day made me act. I took him in, paid for private schools, and provided opportunities most kids in our world never get. I protected him from enemies who would have used him against me, taught him the business slowly and carefully, and made sure he understood both the power and the danger of this life.

And somewhere along the way, I'd come to see him as a son. The only son I ever intend to have. He means more to me than most anything, and that's shocking since I never thought I could care so much about any human. The family business was my life.

He never called me father and I never asked him to. He was old enough to vividly remember his own parents, and I didn't want to insult him by asking him to call me Dad. Besides, I didn't want to be addressed as such, so it worked out for both of us. Gregory is the closest thing to a son I'll ever have. Which makes what I'm about to tell him even harder.

"I'm engaged," I say bluntly. "To Princess Anastasia Rostova."

Exactly three heartbeats pass before he responds. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open before he can regain his composure. I'm not sure what reaction I expected from him, but he quickly recovers and offers me a slight smile.

"Congratulations." His voice is steady, professional. "That's a powerful alliance."

"It's a fucking trap." I stand and walk to the window, unable to sit still. "Ivan Rostova backed me into a corner, and I had no choice but to sign the contract."

"There's always a choice." Gregory's tone is neutral, but I hear the edge beneath it.

I turn to face him. "Not this time. Not with a princess whose reputation affects every family's political standing. One mistake, and I'm bound to her."

"A mistake." He repeats the word slowly. "Is that what she is?"

"She's a spoiled brat who's used to getting whatever she wants." The words come out harsher than I intend. "She walked into my office uninvited, pushed every boundary I set, and now I'm stuck in an engagement I never asked for."

Gregory stands, his jaw tight. "You had sex with her?"

I turn rounded eyes on him. "Hell no! It was just a fucking kiss. One kiss to teach her a lesson. Well, she got the best of me, didn't she?"

"What are you going to do?"

I run a hand through my hair. "Marry the bitch, of course. There's really no other choice." I drop back down in my chair and look at Gregory. "I just wanted you to know so you wouldn't be blindsided."

"I appreciate that." Gregory's tone is tight, and I can tell he's not too pleased about this newest development either. With a nod in my direction, he excuses himself and closes the office door behind him as he leaves.

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on work and failing. The conversation with Gregory plays on repeat in my head, along with the flash of disappointment I saw in his eyes. By the time evening arrives, I'm in an even worse mood than when I woke up.

The drive to the Rostova estate takes forty minutes through city traffic. Their property sits on the outskirts, surrounded by high walls and security that rivals my own. Guards check my identification at the gate before waving me through, even though I'm expected and they know me from past visits.

The main house is massive, Old-World architecture mixed with modern security features. Elegant and imposing, exactly what you'd expect from a family with royal bloodlines. I park in the circular driveway and walk to the front entrance, where a butler opens the door before I can knock.

"Pakhan Galkin." He bows slightly. "Mr. Rostova is expecting you in the dining room."

I follow him through hallways decorated with expensive artwork and antiques, my footsteps echoing on marble floors. The dining room is formal, with a long table set for three and a chandelier hanging overhead. Ivan sits at the head of the table, dressed in a dark suit, looking every bit the powerful man he is.

And beside him, in a seat to his right, sits Princess Anastasia.

She's wearing a simple black dress that hugs her curves, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. No jewelry except small diamond earrings. She looks elegant and understated, nothing like the flirty princess who walked into my restaurant or the bold woman who invaded my office.

She looks furious.

"Samuil." Ivan stands and extends his hand. "Thank you for coming."

I shake his hand, my grip firm. "Ivan."