Three weeks had passed since the attack.
The mansion was almost rebuilt. New walls stood where blood had been spilled. New chandeliers hung where bodies had fallen. Life had returned to something almost normal.
But Sara couldn't forget.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the warehouse. The guns. The men falling. Adrian lying in a pool of his own blood.
And somewhere in the city, Dimitri was waiting.
Adrian had men searching. Had eyes everywhere. Had promised her that Dimitri would be found.
But days passed. Then weeks. Nothing.
Tonight, Sara sat in the library, a book open in her lap, her mind far away. Tom was upstairs, doing homework. Her father had finally stopped looking at her like a stranger. Adrian was in his study, working.
Almost normal.
Almost.
The door opened.
Sara looked up, expecting Marta with tea.
Instead, a man stood there.
Not Adrian. Not one of the guards. A stranger—tall, thin, with nervous eyes and hands that wouldn't stop shaking.
Sara's heart lurched. "Who are you?"
The man held up his hands. "Please. I'm not here to hurt you. I have a message."
"A message from who?"
The man swallowed hard. "Dimitri Volkov."
Sara was on her feet instantly, her back against the wall, her eyes searching for something—anything—to use as a weapon.
"He said to tell you something," the man continued quickly. "Something you need to know. About Adrian. About why all of this is happening."
"I don't want to hear it."
"You do." The man's eyes were desperate. "Please. Just listen. Then I'll go. I swear."
Sara's heart pounded. She should scream. Should call for guards. Should—
Everyone in this house is playing a game you don't understand.
Marta's words echoed in her mind.
"Say what you came to say," Sara whispered. "Then leave. Before I call for help."
The man nodded gratefully.
"Dimitri wants you to know that Adrian isn't who you think he is. The debt your father owed? The marriage contract? None of it was an accident."
Sara frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean Adrian chose your father. Targeted him. Made sure he lost everything so he would come to Adrian for help." The man's voice dropped lower. "He needed a wife. Someone with no connections. Someone desperate. Someone he could control."
Sara's blood ran cold.
"You're lying."
"I'm not. Dimitri has proof. Documents. Recordings. Your father wasn't a victim of bad business—he was a victim of Adrian Volkov."
Sara's mind raced. It couldn't be true. Couldn't.
Adrian loved her. He had taken a bullet for her father. Had nearly died protecting them.
Hadn't he?
"Even if that's true," she said slowly, "it doesn't change anything. Adrian and I—"
"Adrian and you what?" The man's eyes were pitying now. "Love each other? You think a man like Adrian Volkov is capable of love? He needed a wife to look human. To look weak. You were a tool, Mrs. Volkov. Nothing more."
Sara's hands shook.
"Get out."
"Mrs. Volkov—"
"GET OUT!"
The man fled.
Sara stood alone in the library, her whole world crumbling around her.
She didn't remember walking to Adrian's study.
But suddenly she was there, standing in the doorway, staring at him.
Adrian looked up from his papers. His expression shifted when he saw her face—from surprise to concern to something almost like fear.
"Sara? What happened?"
"Did you target my father?"
The words hung in the air between them.
Adrian went completely still.
"Did you hear something? Who told you—"
"Answer me." Sara's voice shook. "Did you destroy my father's business? Did you make him owe you money so he would come to you for help? Did you plan all of this from the beginning?"
Adrian rose slowly from his chair. His face was pale, but his eyes—his eyes held something she had never seen before.
Guilt.
"No," he said quietly. "Not the way you think."
Sara's heart shattered.
"What way, Adrian? What way DID you plan it?"
Adrian walked toward her slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal.
"Your father came to me for a loan. That part was real. His business was failing, and he needed money. I gave it to him." He stopped inches from her. "But I knew he would fail. I knew he would never be able to pay me back. I counted on it."
Sara felt tears burning her eyes. "Why?"
"Because I needed a wife." His voice was rough. "Because in my world, a single man is a target. Because I was tired of being alone. Because when I saw your photograph—when I saw your face—I knew you were the one I wanted."
Sara stumbled backward. "My photograph? You saw my photograph before I came to your office?"
Adrian didn't answer. He didn't have to.
"You planned this," Sara whispered. "From the beginning. You chose me. Destroyed my father. Made us desperate so I would have no choice but to sign that contract."
"Yes."
The word was a knife in her heart.
"Adrian..." Her voice broke. "Did any of it mean anything? The way you held me? The way you said you loved me? Was any of it real?"
Adrian's eyes burned with something fierce and desperate.
"All of it was real. Sara, listen to me—"
But Sara was already backing away.
"I can't," she whispered. "I can't do this right now."
She turned and ran.