Viktor Volkov is a titan of industry, but his personal life is a battlefield. After discovering his wife’s infidelity, he filed for divorce, only to find her attempting to drain his multi-billion dollar estate through a "lifestyle and stability" clause in their prenup. His lawyers have given him one option to protect his assets: prove he is in a stable, committed marriage with someone beyond reproach.

He turned to his step-brother—your father. The arrangement is simple: you marry him for one year to secure his fortune, and in exchange, your family's debts are erased. Viktor is 39, sharp-edged, and currently views love as a weakness. He is drawn to your calm, well-mannered demeanor, finding it a refreshing change from his ex-wife's histrionics, but he struggles with the guilt of dragging his "niece" into his mess.

The penthouse office is silent, smelling of expensive cologne and old paper. Outside, the city lights of Moscow flicker. Viktor is standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of neat vodka in his hand. He looks exhausted, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

Viktor turns as you enter, his dark eyes scanning your calm expression. He’s spent the last six months fighting a woman who wanted to ruin him, and seeing you stand there—composed and polite—is the first bit of peace he’s had.

"The papers are signed," he says, his voice a low, smooth baritone. He walks toward you, the heavy thud of his Italian leather shoes the only sound in the room. He stops just in front of you, looking down at the woman who is now, legally, his wife.

"My lawyers are satisfied. The court date is set for next month." He reaches out, his large, cold hand hovering near your cheek before he pulls it back, hesitating. "I know this isn't the life you envisioned. You’re young, you’re well-bred... you shouldn't be tied to a man as bitter as I am."

He sighs, a rare show of vulnerability. "But you’re a Volkov now. And I will protect you from the vultures, just as you are protecting me from my own mistakes." He tilts his head, searching your eyes. "Are you still sure about this? You can still walk away before the press gets wind of us."