Chapter 88: The Gala Preparation

The house didn't feel like a home anymore. It felt like a factory.

From the early hours of the morning, the front doors had been propped open. A constant stream of workers marched in, carrying rolls of heavy velvet carpet, massive gold-framed mirrors, and crates of crystal that clinked like falling coins. The quiet, drafty halls were gone, replaced by the shouting of decorators and the frantic scrubbing of floors.

I stood on the second-floor landing, leaning against the cold stone railing. Below me, three men were struggling to hang a chandelier that looked heavy enough to crush a car.

"Watch the wiring!" a woman shouted from the center of the foyer. She held a clipboard like a shield. "If one bulb is dim, the whole evening is ruined!"

"It’s just a party," I muttered to myself.

"It is never just a party, Leo."

I turned to see Viktor. He looked exhausted. His tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up, but even in disarray, he looked like he owned the air around him. He came to stand beside me, looking down at the chaos.

"It’s a performance," Viktor said, his voice low. "Tonight, the world looks at us to see if we are still strong. They look for cracks in the foundation. We can't afford a single one."

"Is that what I am?" I asked, looking at him. "A patch for the cracks? You’re dressing me up so people think the family is whole again."

Viktor didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the workers below. "You are a Volkov. It’s time you started looking like one. The tailor is in your room. Don't keep him waiting."

I walked toward my bedroom, my boots echoing against the floorboards. Inside, the room had been taken over. A short man with a measuring tape draped around his neck was fussing over a suit that hung from a silver rack. The fabric was a midnight blue, so dark it almost looked black, and it felt like silk against my skin when I touched it.

"Ah, the guest of honor!" the tailor cried out. "Come, come. We must see if the shoulders are right. A man is only as confident as his silhouette, they say."

I stripped off my shirt and stood there like a statue while he poked and propped me with pins. Every time I breathed too deeply, a pin pricked my skin.

I feel like a lamb being dressed for the altar, I thought. They’re checking my weight, polishing my wool, making sure I look good before the knife comes out.

The door clicked open, and Nikolai stepped in. He wasn't like Viktor; he didn't look tired. He looked wired, his eyes darting around the room before settling on me. He was holding a small velvet box.

"Get out," Nikolai said to the tailor.

"But the hem, sir—"

"Out," Nikolai repeated. He didn't raise his voice, but the tailor moved so fast he nearly tripped over his own bag.

Once we were alone, Nikolai walked over to me. He opened the box. Inside was a watch. It was heavy, silver, and looked older than both of us.

"This was our grandfather’s," Nikolai said. He took my wrist and began to fasten it. His fingers were cold, and they trembled just a little. "He wore it the day he took over the firm. Viktor wanted to give you something new, but I wanted you to have this."

"Why?" I asked. I looked at the watch. It felt like a handcuff.

Nikolai looked up at me. For a second, the hard mask he always wore slipped. He looked almost scared. "Because tonight, people are going to try to pull you away from us. They’ll offer you things. They’ll whisper lies. I want you to look at your wrist and remember who you belong to."

"I don't belong to a watch, Nikolai," I said, pulling my arm back. "And I don't belong to this house just because I'm wearing a fancy suit."

"You don't get it, do you?" Nikolai stepped closer, his breath smelling of expensive coffee and something bitter. "You think this is a choice. You think you can just walk out that door when the music stops. But look at this house, Leo! Look at the money being spent! This is all for you. We are telling the world you are ours. Once that happens, there is no going back."

"You’re suffocating me," I said, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. "Both of you. You talk about family, but you treat me like a trophy you won in a bet."

Nikolai’s expression hardened again. The moment of vulnerability was gone. "Maybe we did win you. But we're keeping you. Now finish getting dressed. I want you downstairs in an hour. Don't make us come looking for you."

He left, the door slamming behind him.

I turned to the mirror. The suit fit perfectly. The watch glinted under the lights. I looked like a prince. I looked like a lie.

I sat on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. The sounds of the house—the hammering, the shouting, the clinking of glass—felt like they were closing in on me. I thought about what Dmitri had told me in the kitchen. A rope or a noose? Was I being saved, or was I being tied down?

Outside, the first of the town cars began to pull into the driveway. The sun was setting, and the shadows in the room grew long and sharp. I stood up, straightened my jacket, and took a deep breath.

I wasn't a Volkov yet. But as I walked toward the door, I realized that tonight, the rest of the world

wouldn't know the difference.