บททั้งหมดของ Chained To The Don: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

LARISA'S POV The idea doesn’t come to me suddenly.It settles.Marriage has always been a tool. An instrument refined over generations, used to end wars, seal alliances, bury grudges. Men like Nikolai pretend they’re immune to it, but history says otherwise. Even the most violent empires were stabilized by weddings.Especially the violent ones.Nikolai doesn’t leave room. He doesn’t compromise. He doesn’t bend. That makes him dangerous, but it also makes him predictable. Men like that don’t see traps until they’re already standing inside them.A wife doesn’t restrain him.But the expectation of one does.I sit at my desk, folder open, scanning familiar details. Age. Education. Bloodline. Temperament. A girl raised to smile when spoken to, to listen more than she speaks. Her father has always wanted legitimacy. Respectability. He pretends it’s for his family, but it’s for himself.Perfect.I close the folder and pick up my phone.Before I dial, I let myself consider the risk, brief

NIKOLAI'S POV The convoy moved through the city streets in near silence, blacked-out SUVs slicing shadows across the asphalt. Sergei sat beside me, calm, alert, the way he always was, eyes constantly scanning. His posture said more than words could.“All heads in attendance?” I asked.“Every one who matters. You’ll notice the absences before anyone speaks,” he replied.I didn’t respond. Observation was always louder than words.The estate rose ahead, massive and heavily guarded. Even from the road, I could read the layout, the paths, the gates, the walls, all monitored. Sergei had already noted the patrol shifts.Inside, the hall was buzzing. Heads turned as we entered. Curiosity, caution, loyalty, they all mingled. I took my seat at the head of the table; Sergei fell into the chair beside me, silent.Artem Volkov leaned back, smirking. “Punctual today, Sokolov. Surprising.”“Better late than dead,” I replied evenly.Mikhail Reznikov adjusted his cuff. “Dead is usually reserved for

NIKOLAI'S POV The drive back from the meeting felt like it was dragging time itself. Every street, every shadow, every flicker of light seemed to echo her presence: Anastasia Korovin.She was familiar. Too familiar. That pull—the way her authority had dominated the room, the way her eyes had met mine, struck something raw inside me, something I couldn’t name. I remembered her. Somewhere. Some time. And I could feel it, deep in my bones.By the time we reached the estate, the need for answers had become unbearable. Not tomorrow, not in hours, I needed answers now.I stormed through the main hall, ignoring staff who flinched at my sudden presence. Boots against marble echoed like warning shots until I reached Larisa’s study.“Mother,” I barked, my voice sharper than I intended. “We need to talk. Now.”Larisa looked up calmly from her papers, but her eyes betrayed nothing—nothing but the faint flicker of recognition. “Nikolai… back early,” she said carefully. “I wasn’t expecting you for

ANASTASIA'S POV I close my eyes briefly.“Darya,” I say. “You’re brave or stupid.”“Tonight?” she replies. “Probably both.”She steps into the room, shrugging out of her coat. Her gaze sweeps the space quickly, windows, corners, exits—before landing on me.Then she notices the ring.She stops.Slowly, deliberately.“Oh,” she says softly. “He came.”I don’t answer.“That’s a yes,” she continues. “You look like he rearranged the air.”“What are you doing here?” I ask.“You didn’t respond to my message.”“I was busy.”“With Nikolai Volkov,” she says plainly.That snaps my attention to her. “You knew?”“I suspected,” she corrects. “I confirmed it when his convoy bypassed outer surveillance without resistance.”I scoff. “So you followed him.”“Of course I did.”She walks closer now, eyes flicking back to the ring. Her expression doesn’t change—but something sharpens behind it.“He left that,” she says.“Yes.”“And you didn’t throw it at the wall.”“No.”Darya exhales slowly. “That’s progr

ANASTASIA'S POV The next dayI didn’t hesitate when I woke up.There was no dramatic moment of doubt, no internal argument about whether I should go or not. The decision had already been made the night before, sitting quietly in my chest, solid and unmovable.Nikolai Volkov had looked at me like he already knew me.Not curiosity.Not interest.Recognition.People didn’t look at strangers like that.The Sokolov estate rose before me like a fortress—cold stone, iron gates, quiet menace. The kind of place built to remind visitors that power lived here and would outlive them.The gates opened without delay.That alone told me enough.Someone had been expecting me.I stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance, heels clicking softly against marble. Before I could reach the door, a woman appeared, as though summoned by my presence.She was elegant in a way that felt deliberate. Controlled. The kind of beauty that had never been allowed to soften with age. Her eyes swept over me