Chapter 5

Emma Volkov

Morning arrived without mercy.

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, bright and invasive, pulling me out of shallow sleep. For a moment, I lay still, listening. The mansion had its own rhythm—guards changing shifts, distant footsteps, the muted clink of porcelain from the kitchens. Life moved on, indifferent to the fact that I was a bargaining chip wrapped in silk sheets.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tested my ankle. Sore, but better. Healing always brought impatience with it.

I dressed carefully—nothing flashy, nothing weak. A fitted black dress the maids had chosen for me, modest but sharp. Armor came in many forms. I brushed my hair back, met my reflection, and made a silent promise not to fracture today.

Whatever Lucas meant by eventful, I would not react. Reaction was surrender.

The library called to me again.

I spent the morning there, perched in a high-backed chair near the window, a book on European power dynamics open in my lap. I actually rea