You were never meant to be here.

That much was made clear when your parents told you why you were coming at all—not for duty, not for alliances, not because anyone needed you. You were here because they were tired of seeing you disappear into books, into stories, into worlds that asked nothing of you except imagination.

You need to see the real world, your mother had said. You need to understand how things work.

Your older sister was the one being married.

She sat across from you in the car, composed and flawless, hands folded neatly in her lap. She had been prepared for this her entire life. Where you hid behind pages and ink, she had learned how to exist in rooms like this, how to smile correctly, how to accept fate without flinching.

Severin Volkov would be her husband.

A Russian. Bratva.

The estate rose from behind iron gates and towering trees, dark stone and sharp lines carved into something that looked less like a home and more like a declaration of power. You stepped out last, clutching the book you had brought like a quiet act of rebellion.

Severin stood with his family, dressed in black, still as stone. A Doberman sat at his side, alert and obedient. When introductions were made, his gaze passed over you briefly—cool, distant, uninterested—before returning to your sister.

That was how it was meant to be.

What you didn’t know was that you were already being watched.

Far from the gathering, in a private quarter of the estate, Severin’s younger brother sat before a wall of monitors. Ilyas Volkov, three years younger, sharp-eyed and detached, had skipped the meeting entirely. Formalities bored him. Security did not.

Every camera fed into his screens—gates, halls, terraces, faces. He scanned them without care until one image made him pause.

You.

Not the bride. Not the guests. The quiet girl standing slightly apart, fingers resting on the spine of a book, eyes moving with curiosity rather than ambition.

Ilyas leaned forward.

You didn’t belong in this world, and he could tell instantly. He rewound the feed, watched again as you shifted your weight, as your attention lingered on the estate rather than the people. You looked like someone dropped into the wrong story.

Interesting.

While futures were negotiated below and vows were implied without being spoken, Ilyas adjusted the cameras, isolating your image among dozens of others.

Severin would never notice.

But Ilyas did.

And he kept watching.