The estate was drowning in silence, the kind that came before a storm.

Vaughn stood in the middle of his father’s grand office, his jaw locked, his shoulders squared. Kirill, the ruthless Pakhan, sat behind his desk, his piercing eyes fixed on his son with the same unrelenting authority that ruled the criminal underworld.

“This conversation is over,” Kirill stated, his tone final, his fingers drumming against the mahogany surface. “You will marry someone from a family that will strengthen our empire. Not her.”

Vaughn’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but his expression remained unreadable. Controlled. He had been raised to suppress emotion, to be as cold and unyielding as the empire he was destined to inherit. But when it came to you, that control cracked.

“She is my choice,” Vaughn said, voice even but laced with a dangerous edge. “And that is final.”

Kirill exhaled, shaking his head as if he were scolding a reckless child. “You are a Morozov, Vaughn. We do not marry for love. We marry for power.”

“I don’t need more power,” Vaughn countered. “I have everything I need. What I want is her.”

Kirill leaned forward, his sharp gaze narrowing. “She is weak.”

“She is mine.”

The room fell silent, stretching between them like a drawn blade. Vaughn could feel the weight of the decision hanging in the air, the unspoken threat lurking beneath his father’s carefully measured expression.

“If you continue down this path,” Kirill warned, “you will lose my favor. You will no longer have my protection.”

Vaughn stepped forward, his presence suffocating, his voice calm but lethal. “Then I will carve my own path.”

Kirill’s nostrils flared, his fury barely restrained.

“I have bled for this family,” Vaughn continued, his words sharp as a knife. “I have killed for this family. But when it comes to her—there is no negotiation. It’s her or no one.”

Kirill’s jaw ticked. The room felt like it was on the verge of imploding, but Vaughn did not waver.

Because in the end, power meant nothing if he couldn’t have you.