Chapter 5

Lena's POV

Grecia’s eyes never left me as she stepped into the room, carrying herself with an authority that didn't need to be announced; everyone simply obeyed her.

The two men holding my father loosened their grip slightly, though the knife remained pressed against his throat. My father looked pale beneath his beard, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.

Without another word, Grecia walked past Nikolai straight toward the bed, followed by the silent sound of the women behind her.

My stomach twisted into knots as she pulled back the blanket to expose the stained sheet. The dark brown mark stood out sharply against the white fabric like evidence.

One of the older women nodded immediately and announced, "She's pure."

The words hit me like a slap. It didn't matter that they weren't true, because nobody in this room cared about the truth.

They cared about ownership, and about proving that I belonged to someone else now. Grecia gathered the sheet carefully as though it were sacred, and the women crowded around her, examining it with satisfied smiles.

Seeing this, my father visibly relaxed as the knife disappeared from his throat. He looked relieved, as if this entire humiliating spectacle had just been a test I was expected to pass.

"Good," Grecia said simply. "The agreement stands. Get dressed."

I looked down at the wrinkled yellow dress I had changed into the night before. "I am dressed."

A few of the women laughed, but Grecia didn't. "You are Volkov property now. You will dress appropriately."

Before I could protest, three women moved toward me. Their hands were everywhere at once, pulling me from the bed, steering me toward a chair, and opening wardrobes I hadn't even noticed.

It happened so quickly I barely had time to react, and I hated every second of it.

At the garage, I wore oil-stained jeans, work boots, and shirts with rolled sleeves because nobody cared enough to tell me otherwise. Here, it felt like every piece of fabric carried a mandate.

The dress they forced onto me was dark blue, with long sleeves and a high collar that reached almost to my throat. The material was expensive and softer than anything I had ever owned, but it felt like a uniform chosen for me without my consent.

When they were finished, I barely recognized the woman staring back from the mirror. My hair was pinned up, the bruises on my arms were hidden, and the grease stains beneath my nails looked entirely out of place. I looked less like Lena Orlov and more like a purchased object displayed in a glass case.

The realization sat heavily in my chest, but Grecia seemed satisfied. "Much better."

I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought of her opinion, but I stayed quiet. Survival first; anger later.

The women led me downstairs through hallways larger than my father's entire clubhouse. Every surface gleamed, from the marble floors reflecting the sunlight to the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings.

The deeper we went into the mansion, the worse the feeling in my stomach became. When we entered the main hall, I nearly stopped walking.

The room was packed with people, men in expensive suits, women draped in jewelry and Bratva soldiers lining the walls.

Right in the center stood a long table, and spread across it for everyone to see was the sheet. Heat rushed into my face and I felt physically sick, but the room erupted into applause.

Several women approached me immediately with plastered smiles. One kissed my cheek, another squeezed my hands, and a third congratulated me as though I had won an award, murmuring praises about being a good wife who honored her husband and ensured a strong Volkov line.

I smiled because I had no choice, but inside, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin. Nobody cared how I felt; they only saw proof that the king's new bride had fulfilled her purpose.

The celebration dragged on for hours. Champagne flowed and conversations filled the room, while I stood there feeling increasingly detached from it all.

My eyes kept drifting toward Nikolai, who remained near the back of the hall speaking quietly with Dmitri. He wasn't smiling or celebrating; he looked bored, as if the tradition irritated him as much as it did me. For some reason, that made me even angrier.

Eventually, the gathering began to break apart. The guests returned to casual chatter, servants cleared the glasses, and the sheet finally disappeared.

When it was time for my family to leave, I found my father standing near the entrance. An awkward silence settled between us before he rubbed the back of his neck. "You'll be fine here."

I almost laughed. ‘Fine.’ That was the word he chose, not ‘sorry’, not ‘forgive me’, and not ‘I should have protected you’.

"You should be careful," he continued. "Listen to your husband. Don't cause problems. Your life is in his hands now."

I stared at him. The man who was supposed to be my father couldn't even pretend to care. He just looked uncomfortable, like I was a responsibility he was glad to hand off.

"I know," I said, my throat tightening. He nodded once and left without a hug, a goodbye or a backward glance.

Alexei approached next, his expression completely unreadable. For several seconds he simply looked at me before speaking. "Don't disgrace us. Be obedient and be useful. Give them children."

Immediate disgust flooded through me. "I hate you."

His eyes flickered for a split second before the emotion vanished. "You don't have to like your duty."

I wanted to slap him, but instead, I turned away. That seemed to bother him more than any insult could have. A few minutes later, the Night Wolves departed through the gates. Nobody waved, and just like that, I was alone.

The drive to Volkov Manor passed in total silence, with Nikolai sitting beside me in the back seat while black SUVs surrounded us on all sides. I stared out the window as the city gradually faded into quiet roads and dense trees.

The farther we traveled, the more isolated everything felt until enormous iron gates opened automatically ahead of us.

My stomach sank. The estate looked less like a home and more like a kingdom, a beautiful prison.

The stone mansion rose above private gardens that stretched across acres of land, a cage disguised as a palace.

As the car stopped, another vehicle pulled up behind us and Irina stepped out. Her platinum hair caught the afternoon sunlight, and her heels clicked sharply against the stone driveway as she approached.

I instantly regretted looking at her when she flashed a false smile. "Welcome home."

I climbed out of the vehicle, and Irina looked me up and down. "You should understand something. You aren't really a wife."

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

Her smile widened. "It means you're breeding stock."

The words landed like poison. I glanced toward Nikolai, expecting him to say something, correct her, or tell her to stop. Instead, he simply looked at me, then at Irina and back to me.

"Show her to her room," he said, and walked away into the mansion.

A strange disappointment settled in my chest as Irina laughed softly and told me to come on. I followed because I had nowhere else to go. She led me through endless hallways before stopping outside a massive bedroom equipped with floor-to-ceiling windows, a fireplace, and a bed large enough for four people.

Irina leaned against the doorway with a smirk. "My room is bigger. Just thought you'd want to know."

Slowly, she stepped closer until her fingers slipped into my hair. I froze.

"If you ever need help performing your duties," she whispered, her voice low and smooth, "you can come to me. The wife duties. If you need advice about Nikolai."

For a second, I didn't understand what she meant. Then the realization hit me, and my stomach dropped. She was implying that she had shared his bed. But that made no sense; everyone said she was practically his sister. Yet looking at her now, I couldn't see a single resemblance in her face or eyes.

Irina’s smile widened as though she knew exactly what conclusion I’d reached, and then she turned and walked away.

I stood alone in the center of the enormous room, confused, disgusted and completely overwhelmed.

For the first time since leaving the clubhouse, a painful ache settled in my chest. I didn't miss the violence, Alexei or my father.

I just missed the garage, the smell of oil and the sound of engines. The only place where I had ever belonged, and a place I realized I might never see again.