Chapter 17 : The Contract

THE MORNING OF - 9:00 AM

The sunlight coming through the curtains felt wrong.

Too bright. Too cheerful.

Like the world didn't understand that today was the day Kyrian's life going to turn upside down.

He'd been awake since 4 AM, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe properly.

His head throbbed. A dull, persistent ache behind his eyes that his medication couldn't touch.

His body felt heavy. Like gravity had increased overnight.

A soft knock on the door.

"Rian? Can I come in?"

His mother's voice.

"Yeah."

Arina entered carrying a tray—tea, toast, some fruit she'd cut into small pieces.

She took one look at her son and her expression crumpled.

"Oh, baby."

Kyrian was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in yesterday's clothes, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes.

He looked exactly like someone who'd given up.

Arina set the tray on the nightstand and sat beside him.

"You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know. But you need to eat anyway." She picked up the toast, tore off a small piece, and held it out.

Kyrian took it mechanically.

Chewed. Swallowed. Tasted nothing.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Arina spoke quietly.

"You know... your father and I, we were like this too."

Kyrian looked at her. "Like what?"

"An arranged marriage. A family alliance." She smiled sadly. "I didn't want to marry him. I was eighteen. I had plans. Dreams. And then our families decided we'd be married and that was that."

"How did you..." Kyrian's voice cracked. "How did you survive it?"

"I didn't. Not at first." Arina handed him another piece of toast.

"I was angry for a long time. At him. At my parents. At the world. I made his life difficult on purpose."

"Did it help?"

"A little. Made me feel less powerless." She paused. "But eventually, I realized something."

"What?"

"That I could spend my life fighting what I couldn't change, or I could figure out what I could change.

What I could control."

Kyrian's hands clenched. "There's nothing I can control about this."

"Maybe not the marriage. But everything after?" Arina turned to face him fully. "Baby, you're strong. So strong. Stronger than you know."

"I don't feel strong."

"Strength isn't about not being scared. It's about being terrified and doing what you need to do anyway." She touched his face gently. "Your father made me fall in love with him. Eventually.

After years. But you know what?"

"What?"

"I made him fall first. And harder."

Her smile was fierce. "I made him work for every smile, every kind word, every moment of peace. I made him earn me."

Kyrian looked at his mother—really looked.

This woman who always seemed so soft, so gentle.

But underneath was steel.

"You think I should do that? Make Lorenzo earn me?"

"I think you should stop thinking about what you can't do and start thinking about what you will do."

Kyrian was quiet, processing.

"I don't know what I'll do, Mama.

I'm so tired. I want to run away from all of this."

"I know, baby. I know." Arina pulled him into a hug.

"But you're a Volkov. We don't run. We stand our ground."

"Even when the ground is crumbling?"

"Especially then." She pulled back, looking at him seriously.

"And I'm so proud of you. No matter what happens today."

Kyrian's eyes burned. "I only have one wish right now."

"What's that?"

His voice dropped, cold and flat.

"I want to kill him. I want Lorenzo Moretti to suffer for what he's done to me. To us."

"Kyrian—"

"I know that's wrong. I know it's impossible. But that's what I want."

Arina's expression was pained.

"Don't say that, baby. I know the circumstances aren't good. I know this feels like the end. But you can—"

"No, Mama. Please." Kyrian stood up, pulling away. "Don't. Don't tell me I can make this work. Don't tell me it'll be okay. Just... don't."

Arina wanted to argue. Wanted to comfort. Wanted to fix this.

But she couldn't.

So she just nodded.

"Okay. Okay, baby. No more." She stood too. "Now go take a shower.

I'll prepare your clothes myself.

Something that makes you feel strong."

Kyrian nodded numbly and walked toward the bathroom.

At the door, he paused.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For trying."

"Always, baby. Always."

He closed the bathroom door behind him.

The bathroom was all white marble and gold fixtures.

Expensive. Cold. Impersonal.

Kyrian stood in front of the mirror, hands gripping the sink.

The person staring back at him looked like a stranger.

His hair, usually styled perfectly for photoshoots, hung limp and dull.

His skin was pale—paler than usual. Almost translucent.

Dark circles under his eyes made him look sick. Fragile.

His lips were chapped from biting them all night.

This is what defeat looks like, he thought.

The face in the mirror had lost something.

Not just sleep. Not just health.

Its light. Its fire. Its fight.

No.

Kyrian straightened slowly.

He looked at himself—really looked.

"You're still here," he whispered to his reflection. "You're still breathing. Still thinking. Still you."

He leaned closer to the mirror.

"I swear to you, Lorenzo Moretti..."

His voice was quiet but sharp as a blade.

"I will do everything in my power to make your life miserable. Every. Single. Day."

The face in the mirror stared back at him.

Exhausted.

Broken.

But not defeated.

Not yet.

"You think you've won because I'm signing that contract today. You think marrying me means owning me."

He touched the mirror, his palm flat against the cold glass.

"But you don't know me. You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know that I can smile while planning your destruction. That I can say 'yes' while meaning 'fuck you.'"

His reflection's eyes were hard now..

"You wanted me? You're going to get me. All of me. The anger. The bitterness. The rage."

He pulled back from the mirror.

"I can't kill you. I can't stop this.

But I can make sure you regret every single day of this marriage."

The words felt like a vow.

A dark, twisted version of wedding vows.

I promise to hate you.

I promise to fight you.

I promise to make you wish you'd never touched me that night.

Kyrian turned on the shower.

He let the water run cold—so cold it hurt.

He stepped under it fully clothed, letting it shock his system awake.

He needed to feel something other than helplessness.

Even if it was just freezing water.

He stood there until his teeth chattered. Until his fingers went numb. Until the cold replaced the fear.

Then he stripped off his wet clothes, adjusted the temperature, and actually showered.

Washed his hair. Scrubbed his skin. Tried to wash away the past three days.

It didn't work.

But at least he was clean.

When Kyrian emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, his mother had laid out clothes on the bed.

Not a suit. Not formal wear.

Simple black pants. A soft white silk shirt. A black blazer.

Clean. Elegant. But understated.

"I thought..." Arina gestured to the clothes. "I thought you should look like yourself. Not like... like you're playing a part."

Kyrian touched the silk shirt.

"Thank you."

She handed him his medication case.

"Don't forget."

Two suppressants. One stabilizer.

He took them without argument.

Then he got dressed slowly, like each piece of clothing was armor.

The pants. The shirt. The blazer.

His mother had also laid out simple jewelry—a thin silver chain his grandmother had given him.

Small stud earrings.

He put them on.

When he looked in the mirror, he looked... better.

Not happy. Not okay.

But like someone who could walk into that room and not completely fall apart.

"Your hair," Arina said gently.

Kyrian ran a hand through it. Still damp. Still a mess.

"Leave it," he said. "I don't care."

"Rian—"

"I'm not styling my hair for him. I'm not making myself pretty for this."

Arina understood. She nodded.

"Okay."

A knock on the door.

Kirill's voice. "Come downstairs"

Kyrian's stomach dropped.

Arina squeezed his hand. "You can do this."

"Can I?"

"You're a Volkov. We survive.

That's what we do."

Kyrian took a deep breath.

"Okay. Let's get this over with."

THE LIVING ROOM

The entire family was gathered.

Kirill in a dark suit, looking older than he had three days ago.

Ivan in black, his expression murderous.

And sitting on the sofa, a leather folder.

The contract.

Kyrian stared at it like it was a snake.

"They're on their way," Kirill said quietly. "They'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Here?" Kyrian's voice rose.

"They're coming here?"

"It was part of the agreement. The signing happens at our home.

Neutral ground."

"This is MY home! It's not neutral!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I tried—"

"It doesn't matter." Kyrian sat down heavily. "Nothing matters anymore."

Ivan sat beside him. "You don't have to do this. We can still run.

All of us. Right now."

"And go where? Live how?" Kyrian shook his head. "No. I'm tired of running. Tired of being afraid."

"Then what will you do?"

Kyrian looked at his brother.

"I'll sign. I'll marry him. I'll do what I have to do."

"And then?"

"And then I'll make him regret ever learning my name."

Ivan's expression shifted—concern mixed with something like pride.

"Okay. Okay, then. We do this together."

"Together," Kyrian echoed.

They sat in tense silence.

Waiting.

The minutes ticked by like hours.

Finally—the doorbell.

Everyone froze.

"I'll get it," Kirill said.

He walked to the door and opened it.

Standing there were Vincenzo, Isabella, Dante with his briefcase.

And Lorenzo.

Lorenzo was dressed in all black—suit, shirt, everything. He looked like he was attending a funeral.

Maybe he was.

His eyes found Kyrian immediately.

And for a moment—just a moment—something flickered in his expression.

Surprise? Concern?

Because Kyrian looked terrible.

And Lorenzo knew it.

"Come in," Kirill said stiffly.

The Morettis entered.

Lorenzo walked straight to where Kyrian sat and stopped a few feet away.

"You look unwell," Lorenzo said quietly.

Kyrian laughed—sharp and bitter.

"That's what happens when you don't sleep for three days because someone is forcing you into marriage."

"Kyrian—" Arina started.

"It's fine," Lorenzo said. He didn't look away from Kyrian. "He's right."

That surprised everyone.

"Shall we?" Vincenzo gestured to the dining table where Dante was setting up papers.

Everyone moved to sit.

Kyrian sat at one end. Lorenzo at the other.

As far apart as possible.

But not nearly far enough.

Dante opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick document.

"This is the marriage contract," he said formally. "It outlines all terms, conditions, and protections for both parties."

He slid it across the table to Kyrian.

"You should read it. All of it. Before signing."

Kyrian stared at the document.

His vision blurred.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't—

His mother's hand on his shoulder.

His brother's presence beside him.

His father's steady gaze.

Survive. That's what we do.

Kyrian picked up the contract and began to read.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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