Page 92 of Chain Me

“No,” Nikolai agrees. “She's more important than that. Which means you fight for her. You make her understand why saying yes is the only option that makes sense.”

“You mean to manipulate her.”

“I mean, convince her,” Nikolai corrects coldly. “Show her that marriage to you isn't a cage—it's freedom. Protection. Power.”

The silence in the conference room stretches until it becomes suffocating. My brothers' words echo in my head, but they feel distant, muffled by the thundering of my own pulse.

She loves me.

But does she love me enough?

The question claws at my insides. I've survived firefights, torture, and wounds that should have killed me. None of itcompares to this—this raw uncertainty that makes my hands shake beneath the table.

“Erik.” Dmitri's voice cuts through my spiral. “You're overthinking this.”

“Am I?” The words come out sharper than intended. “She just escaped one forced marriage. Now I'm supposed to propose another?”

“Not the same thing,” Alexi says, but I barely hear him.

My mind races back to every moment we've shared. The way she yielded to me in bed, the softness in her eyes when she whispered she loved me. But underneath it all, I remember the fire in her when she spoke about her independence, her company, and the life she had built with her own hands.

Marriage could destroy all of that.

“What if she sees it as betrayal?” The words escape before I can stop them. “What if she thinks I'm just like her father? Another man trying to own her?”

Nikolai's steel gaze doesn't waver. “Then you show her you're not.”

“How?” My voice cracks at the word, and I hate the weakness it reveals. “How do I prove I want to protect her, not control her?”

Sofia speaks quietly. “By giving her the choice.”

“The choice to refuse means the choice to die,” I snap. “Igor won't stop. The Petrovs won't forgive the insult. She needs protection whether she wants it or not.”

“So, you're back to forcing her hand,” Dmitri observes.

“No.” The word comes out like gravel. “I'm back to being fucking terrified she'll say no.”

My chest tightens until I can hardly draw air into my lungs. I've never needed anything the way I need Katarina to say yes.

She could shatter me with a single word.

“Thirty-two years old, and you're finally learning what fear feels like,” Alexi murmurs with something almost like awe.

He's right. This is fear—pure, crystalline terror that cuts deeper than any blade.

Because loving Katarina isn't just about wanting her.

It's about knowing I can't survive losing her.

36

KATARINA

The smell of garlic and herbs drifts from the kitchen as I pad barefoot down the hallway. After everything that's happened—the rescue, the gunfight, Alexi's injury—I expected Erik to be in full tactical mode tonight. Instead, he announced he'd cook dinner for me.

Just the two of us.

I find him standing at the stove, his broad shoulders tense beneath a simple black T-shirt. He's traded his tactical gear for jeans that hug his muscled thighs, and somehow, the casual clothes make him seem more dangerous, not less.

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