She was standing in front of him, and he hadn't breathed right since she walked through the door.
Anastasia Ivanova.
Too young. Too honest. Too fragile for the world he lived in.
Which was exactly why he needed her.
Not for love. He didn't believe in that—not anymore.
But for balance. For something real to anchor him before he turned completely into his father.
When she looked at him now, it wasn't with awe or fear. It was with sharpness, suspicion, and something else—
Clarity.
She sees me.
That was the problem. That was the risk.
She could undo him. Break the dam inside him with just a few more words.
He kept his stance still. Calm. His father had taught him to never blink first, never show vulnerability. Not even in a boardroom. Not even in a church.
Especially not in front of a woman.
But his mother had taught him something else.
"Look a woman in the eyes," she used to say. "If you're not lying, you won't need to speak much."
So he looked at Nastya. Didn't blink. Didn't waver.
And for the first time in years, he wasn't playing anyone.
He was asking.
Choose this, he thought. Even if you don't understand it yet. Even if you're scared.
Because he was scared too.
And if she walked away—if she turned and left—he wouldn't stop her.
But he wouldn't forget her, either.
Not ever.
She stared at him like he was speaking another language.
Marriage?
Not love. Not romance. Not even pretense of it.
Just a contract. A bargain between two broken people from different worlds—one of them with too much power, and the other with none.
Nastya had never imagined her life would take a sharp turn like this.
She thought of Lena. Of the rent unpaid. The medications too expensive. The long shifts at the bar, the leering men, the nights she walked home gripping her keys like a knife.
She thought of her mother—once a proud voice on stage, now barely able to whisper. She thought of the nights she cried in the bathroom at the Volkov Institute, wondering if it was all worth it.
And she thought of Anton Reznikov—rich, dangerous, unreadable. And yet… the first man who looked at her like she was real. Not just something to use or ignore.
"This isn't normal," she said finally, her voice quiet but steady.
"You know that, right?"
"Normal hasn't worked for either of us," he replied.
She looked down, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. There was no pressure in his voice, no threat, but the intensity of it filled the room.
"Why me?" she whispered.
"You could have anyone."
"Because you didn't ask for me," he said.
"And that's the only reason I trust you."
Her breath caught. She hated how much that hit.
Silence again. She let it stretch. She needed to.
Then:
"What are the terms?" she asked.
Anton didn't smile, but something in his shoulders eased.
"Six months. You stay in my house. Attend a few events. Nothing public at first. Just appearances. In exchange, I'll cover your mother's care, your tuition, everything. No strings beyond what we agree to."
"And after six months?"
"You leave. If you want. With a new name, a full account, and a clean exit."
Nastya stood there, heart thudding like a drum in her ears.
She didn't know what the right answer was. But she knew the world rarely offered second chances.
And this man, for all his silence, was offering one.
She looked him in the eye again.
And this time, she didn't look away.
She didn't answer him right away.
Instead, she walked a few steps deeper into the room, slowly, her boots silent on the floor. Her eyes traced the lines of the space—everything clean, cold, and sharp-edged. No family photos. No color. No softness.
Just like him.
She turned to look at the fire. Watched the flames move behind glass, perfectly contained.
Anton didn't speak. Just let her move.
He doesn't pressure, she realized.
That's the scariest part.
She wasn't used to choice. Not real ones.
Most of her life had been surviving the fallout of other people's decisions: her father leaving, her mother getting sick, the scholarship barely stretching far enough, the bar owner who paid in cash and silence.
She wanted control. She wanted change.
But this?
This felt like walking into a lion's mouth and daring it not to bite.
"Do you even believe in marriage?" she asked, not turning around.
"No," he said simply.
"But other people do. And I need them to believe we're something we're not."
She turned back to him slowly. Her voice was lower now. A little rough.
"What happens if I say no?"
"You leave. No hard feelings."
"And if I say yes?"
His gaze didn't waver.
"Then your life becomes something else. For a while. Dangerous, maybe. Confusing. But… taken care of."
That last part struck her.
She hadn't been taken care of in a long time.
She thought about Lena again. Her mother's medicine. The tuition bill that sat, unpaid, in her bag.
She took a breath.
Her voice was thin, almost a whisper.
"I'll need to think about it."
H
Anton gave a single nod.
"I expected you would."
He didn't look disappointed. He didn't try to convince her.
He just walked toward the desk, picked up the glass again, and let the silence settle between them like dust.
"Take as long as you need," he said.
"But don't take too long. This world moves fast."