CHAPTER FOUR

INARA’S POV

The grand drawing room of the Volkov estate was washed in the sharp, merciless light of noon. Sunlight filtered through the towering stained glass windows, casting ruby and sapphire patterns across the polished parquet floor. The room was heavy with the smell of steeped black tea, old leather, and the suffocating, silent tension of two noble houses negotiating a scandal.

I sat on the far end of a stiff, velvet upholstered settee, my spine straight, my hands folded tightly in my lap. I wore a dark grey dress a color usually reserved for mourning. It felt appropriate. Beside me, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed, were my stepmother Sofia and my half sister Elizaveta. Elizaveta was dressed in a soft, pale blue gown that made her look small, fragile, and utterly helpless. Her eyes were still red rimmed, her head bowed in quiet, performative shame.

Across the low mahogany tea table sat Lord Aleksander Maksim’s father and Maksim himself.

Maksim wore a tailored dark green tunic, his collar high and rigid. He looked handsome, polished, and thoroughly miserable. Not once since entering the room had he looked directly at me. His gaze remained steadfastly fixed on the silver tea service resting between us, or on the hem of Elizaveta’s skirt.

"The situation, while deeply unfortunate, requires a swift and decisive resolution," Lord Aleksander declared, his dry, raspy voice cutting through the quiet room. He took a slow sip from his porcelain teacup before setting it down with a delicate clink. "The wedding is less than two weeks away. Invitations have been sent to every major family in the province. The cathedral is reserved. The dowry agreements have already been drafted and signed by our banks."

My father, Viktor, sat in his high-backed armchair at the head of the arrangement. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his expression unreadable. "A public cancellation would invite unbearable speculation, Aleksander. The rumors would destroy both our families' standings in the capital."

"Which is precisely why a cancellation is out of the question," Lord Aleksander replied smoothly. He turned his sharp, hawk-like gaze toward my father. "The alliance between House Volkov and House Petrov must stand. It is the foundation of our trade agreements in the timber route."

"And how do you propose we maintain the alliance when the bridegroom has spent the last month in the bed of his betrothed's sister?" I spoke up, my voice cutting through the diplomatic chatter like a silver blade.

Sofia gasped softly, pressing a lace handkerchief to her mouth. Elizaveta let out a small, quiet whimpering sound, bowing her head lower.

Lord Aleksander barely blinked, turning his stern eyes toward me as if I were an insolent child who had spoken out of turn. "Inara, your pain is understandable. But emotional outbursts will not serve us here. We are discussing the future of two great houses."

"I am not throwing an outburst," I said, keeping my tone dead pan, entirely devoid of the tears they all seemed to expect from me. "I am stating a fact. The engagement is broken."

"The engagement between you and Maksim is formally dissolved, yes," Lord Aleksander conceded coldly. He turned back to my father, dismissing me entirely in the space of a single breath. "Which brings us to the obvious solution. Maksim will fulfill the contract. But he will marry Elizaveta."

The room seemed to pause, suspended in a horrific, predictable silence.

Maksim finally shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat, his voice tight as he spoke up for the first time. "I wish to fulfill the alliance with House Volkov. I am prepared to take Elizaveta as my wife on the appointed day. She has... she has agreed."

Elizaveta looked up through her pale eyelashes, a faint, tentative flush rising on her cheeks. She reached out beneath the edge of the table, her small hand creeping over to touch Maksim’s sleeve. Maksim didn't pull away. He covered her hand with his own, holding it tightly.

My stepmother let out a ragged breath, leaning over to kiss Elizaveta’s temple. "Oh, thank God," Sofia whispered softly. "A sensible path forward. The scandal can be suppressed. We can tell the court that the match was reassessed for compatibility months ago."

I looked at my father. I waited for him to pause, to hesitate, to show even a single grain of hesitation before handing my former life over to the daughter he actually loved.

Viktor looked at Maksim, then at Elizaveta’s glowing, tear-stained face. A soft, relieved tension drained from his broad shoulders.

"It preserves the political union," my father agreed quietly, nodding his head. "Elizaveta is young, but she possesses a gentle nature. She will make a fine bride for House Petrov."

They began to talk numbers.

They sat three feet away from me and casually discussed shifting the dowry from my name to my sister’s. They discussed altering the embroidery on the banners. They discussed how to re-frame the announcement to the public so that Elizaveta would look like a blushing, innocent bride who had simply caught the heart of a noble lord, while I was quietly erased from the narrative.

I sat there while my entire existence was restructured into a neat little footnote. The anger that had been absent the night before was finally beginning to wake up, deep within my chest, a low, burning spark in an icy room. But I didn't scream. I didn't cry. To scream would mean giving them a reason to call me hysterical; to cry would mean giving Elizaveta another reason to feel like a victim.

I stood up slowly.

The rustle of my heavy grey skirts made the conversation stall for a brief second.

"Inara?" my father asked, his brows drawing together in mild irritation at the interruption. "Where are you going? We are not finished settling the details of the transition."

"You have settled them," I said, looking down at him. "You settled them the moment you realized my sister’s happiness could be purchased with my humiliation."

Maksim’s head snapped up, his jaw clenching. "Inara, please—

"Do not speak my name, Lord Petrov," I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to make him flinch. "You are my brother-in-law now. Act like it."

Without waiting for my father’s permission, I turned and walked toward the grand double doors of the drawing room. The heavy oak doors echoed with a dull thud as I pulled them open and stepped out into the vast, empty hallway.

I climbed the stairs to my bedchamber on the third floor,

Once inside my room, I closed the door and turned the iron key in the lock. The quiet wrapped around me like a shroud. I walked over to my vanity table, where a velvet-lined jewelry box sat open. Inside were the gifts Maksim had given me over three years of courtship: a delicate silver necklace adorned with sapphires, a pair of teardrop pearl earrings, an embroidered hair comb swept with gold leaf.

I picked up the box, walked over to the fireplace in the corner of my room, and unlatched the bronze clasp.

One by one, I pulled the trinkets out. I didn't toss them carelessly; I held each piece for a fraction of a second, remembering the sweet words he had spoken when he gave them to me, the promises of a quiet life, the gentle kisses on the back of my hand.

“You are my sanctuary, Inara,” he had told me on my twentieth birthday, fastening the sapphire chain around my neck. “My life only makes sense when you are in it.”

Liars always used such beautiful words.

I tossed the silver chain into the glowing red embers of the hearth. The thin metal hissed as it hit the heat, the velvet lining of the box burning away instantly. I dropped the pearl earrings next, watching the delicate surfaces scorch and blacken under the heat of the flames. Finally, I dumped the entire contents of the box into the fire, watching the gold, silver, and ribbon melt together into an unrecognizable, ruined mass.

I stood over the hearth, the heat scorching my face, until every last trace of his affection was turned to ash.

I was no longer Maksim’s betrothed. I was no longer the prospective lady of House Petrov. I was simply the unwanted daughter in a house that belonged to someone else.