All Chapters of THE PRICE OF THEIR NAME : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Leo VanceI spent the next morning in the small, glass-walled studio the Volkovs had built into the residence—a space designed for inspiration, but which felt like another type of cage. I was trying to sketch, trying to find the emotional truth of the last few days, but all I could produce were fractured lines and violent, meaningless bursts of color. The internal chaos was still there, now overlaid with the cold, absolute certainty of Ivan's confession: my survival was contingent on their control.Around noon, Dmitri entered. He wasn't wearing a suit, just a dark, fitted sweater, which somehow made him seem even more physically formidable. He carried a small folder, but his eyes weren't on the papers; they were entirely on me, assessing the quality of my distress."The stagnation is unacceptable, Leo," Dmitri stated, walking over to examine the canvases stacked against the wall. He moved with a heavy, proprietary grace. "Four days of guaranteed financial security and a complete elimi

I was sitting in the small, glass-walled studio the Volkovs called my workspace. It was late. The lake outside was completely dark, and the silence of the Residence pressed in on me like a physical weight. I had managed to steal an hour when I knew Dmitri and Ivan were on separate, secure calls—a tiny window of unsupervised time.I had their laptop, the one they used for 'managed' communication. My hands were shaking as I typed simple, desperate queries into the search bar. Recourse for minority shareholder after capital injection. How to fire a financial advisor with unlimited power. Breaking a gallery funding contract.My mind was frantic, racing like a trapped animal. I needed one small crack, one tiny legal loophole to get my gallery back, to get myself back. After the absolute horror of talking wedding invitations with my mother while Ivan played his psychological games through the wall, I knew I couldn't live this double life. My body was their property, yes, but my future could

Leo VanceA few days later, the Integration Phase was technically over, but my new reality was just beginning. I was back in the city, working on the blueprints for the 'Sculpture' installation at the gallery. I was functional, compliant, and deeply, terribly owned. The constant, suffocating feeling of their presence had settled into my daily life.Today, Ivan was my sentinel. He wasn't in the gallery, but across the street in a black sedan with tinted windows. I knew he was there because he texted me every fifteen minutes with simple, non-negotiable updates: 3:15 PM: Your heart rate is elevated. Reduce social interaction. 3:30 PM: Maintain focus on the geometric stability of the plan. Avoid distractions.I was alone in the quiet main office, spread out with blueprints, trying to lose myself in the geometry that now dictated my art. The door opened, and Liam, a young, charming curator from a downtown gallery, poked his head in. Liam had always been flirtatious, but usually harmlessly

I was alone, late in the evening, in the glass studio at the Residence. I wasn't sketching the Sculpture anymore; I was polishing it. I had switched from charcoal and paper to a 3D modeling program, meticulously refining the cold, clean lines of the marble form Dmitri had demanded. I wasn't designing art; I was designing my own beautifully crafted cage.My mind was calm, almost unnervingly so. The anxiety that had defined my life for the last three years—the constant, frantic worry about money and failure—was gone, wiped out by the terrifying finality of the Volkov shield.A few minutes later, Ivan walked in. He wasn't dressed for work; he wore a simple, soft knit shirt and dark trousers. He looked relaxed, yet his presence instantly filled the room with his focused, intelligent energy. He didn't hover by the door like a sentinel; he walked right up to the work table and looked down at the model of the Sculpture."The geometry is perfect now, Leo," Ivan observed, his voice quiet, almo

I was back in the room, the one they called my room, though nothing in this building truly belonged to me. The shame of my attempted escape was a physical weight, pressing me into the deep cushions of the armchair. The simple freedom of a two-dollar espresso—all of it felt like a fragile dream that had been violently erased.My mind was repeating Dmitri’s final words in the drawing-room: "You are permanently secured by the unity of us."I had surrendered. I had said the words. I acknowledged that their prison was my only safety. But acceptance felt like lying down in a coffin. It was quiet, it was safe, but it was suffocating.Why do they care so deeply? My mind was turning over the central question, the one that broke through the fear. The sheer effort they expended—the money they spent to crush Liam's career, the complex surveillance network to track a ten-block walk, the relentless psychological warfare—it was all too much for a simple transaction. A contract could secure my art. A