Marion placed her suitcase near the bed. “Dinner is at seven.”
“Does everyone here speak in commands?” Isla asked.
“Most people here learned that questions can be dangerous.”
“Are you afraid of him?” Isla asked the older woman.
Marion’s expression softened slightly. “I fear for anyone who underestimates him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No,” Marion replied. “But it’s the answer you need.”
When Marion left, Isla locked the door, though she knew locks meant nothing in a house like Viktor’s. She glanced out of the window. Guards paced the hedges. Cameras scanned the drive. The lake stretched beyond the estate, a freedom she could not reach. She had grown up in a place where the pipes froze each winter and the kitchen floor dipped near the sink. She had thought money equaled freedom. Now she understood money could build prettier prisons.
Dinner was served in a room that could host a political fundraiser. Viktor sat at the head of the table, the distance between them a testament to her place in his plans.
They ate in silence for eight minutes. Isla counted.
At minute nine, she put down her fork. “Was the man on the steps why you were late?”
Viktor didn’t look up. “You’re not my bride yet.”
“Fortunate for me.”
The server’s hand hesitated as he poured her water. Viktor noticed, and the server quickly retreated.
“You shouldn’t test me in front of the staff,” Viktor warned.
“You shouldn’t purchase people.”
“I didn’t buy you. I acquired a debt.”
“With me attached.”
“Yes.”
His honesty was more chilling than deceit.
“Why me? You’re wealthy. You could marry someone who wants your money.”
“Women who want my money usually crave my power. Women who desire power often come with fathers, brothers, lawyers, foundations, gossip columnists, and private detectives. I don’t need more alliances. I need a clean narrative.”
“And a waitress from Ohio is clean?”
“A waitress from Ohio with no criminal record, no public scandals, no political ties, and a family desperate enough to keep quiet.” He sliced into his steak. “Yes.”
Isla’s hands clenched in her lap. “You’re despicable.”
“Possibly.”
“Does anything offend you?”
“Squandered opportunity.”
“Lovely. I’ll embroider that on a pillow for our marital bed.”
Viktor finally looked at her. “There will be no marital bed unless you request it.”
Isla froze.
He resumed his meal as if he’d said nothing noteworthy.
For three days, she was draped in finery, groomed, trained, scrutinized. Marion taught her names, seating etiquette, the public smiles, how to stand with Viktor without appearing a hostage. A stylist arrived from New York, intent on “softening her silhouette,” until Isla asked if she was dressing a person or arranging furniture. The stylist didn’t return. A lawyer laid thick documents before her, more pages than any textbook she had owned. Isla read every clause. Viktor’s people seemed astonished that she understood legal language. Her father had taught her many terrible lessons, but avoiding contracts wasn’t one of them. Childhood was spent decoding loan terms while he watched football, pretending bills were just storms on the horizon.
The wedding was held in the mansion’s private chapel, although chapel seemed too generous for a room with stained glass, antique pews, but no deity. There were no flowers, save white roses she had not chosen. No music but a piano played by a woman whose eyes never left the keys. No family. No friends. No kiss.
Viktor wore black. Isla donned a dress that fit perfectly but felt like surrender.
When asked if she took Viktor Hale as her husband, she thought of Jude’s bruises and said, “I do.”
Viktor’s response was swift, devoid of hesitation.
After the papers were signed, the room emptied. Isla stood, pen still in her grip. Viktor gently took it from her fingers, setting it on the table.
“It’s done,” he said.
“I know.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I just married a stranger who coerced my family over dessert.”
“I offered consequences. There’s a distinction.”
“Not to those living under them.”
For a fleeting second, she thought she saw vulnerability in him, which made no sense. Men like Viktor Hale didn’t bleed where others could see.
That night, he escorted her to a larger suite down the hall.
“This is yours,” he said. “Mine is across the corridor.”
Isla blinked. “Across?”
“Yes.”
“So the heir speech was just theater?”
“It was for those listening.”
The words settled oddly.
“What people?”
Viktor glanced at the hallway camera, then back at her. “Not tonight.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait,” Isla said.
He paused.
“Why did you say it like that in your office? ‘Give me an heir.’ As if you were ordering coffee.”
“Because there are ears in this house I don’t fully trust, and they needed to believe in a monster.”
Isla stared at him. “Are you telling me you performed cruelty to comfort spies?”
“I’m telling you survival wears masks.”
“What is this?” she asked. “The monster or the man?”
Viktor regarded her for a long moment.
“I don’t know anymore,” he said, leaving her alone.