Page 3 of No Longer Mine

“I hope this means that you’re looking into taking a wife,” My fathers words sliced through the room.

“Oh no, I can’t be distracted right now; I have too much planned for my life. Women aren’t in my near future.” A small chuckle escaped me and for the first time in my entire life, fear flashed across my father’s face.

Chapter Two

Dimitri

The worst partabout running for office was the public appearances.

Fundraisers, photo ops, shaking hands with people I’d rather strangle—it was all a necessary evil. I loathed dressing up and hated plastering on fake smiles, but if I wanted to win, I had to play the game. The limelight was a place I’d avoided my entire life, and now I was stepping right into its glare.

I straightened the collar of my tuxedo, the fabric stiff and foreign against my neck. Rolling my shoulders, I glanced at myself in the mirror. The man staring back looked polished, composed, almost respectable. A laughable façade.

I was good at putting on a show. Too good. I’d spent so long pretending that sometimes I forgot where the act ended and I began. It was a double-edged sword—my greatest strength and my most dangerous vulnerability.

Don was waiting at the door, the quiet hum of the idling car outside punctuating the stillness. I’d never needed a driver before, but now he was as much a necessity as the tux I was wearing. No DUIs, no incidents, no unnecessary risks. And if anyone asked where I was? Don was my alibi.

He wasn’t just a driver, though. He was ex-military, hired muscle with a cold efficiency I recognized immediately. We were kindred spirits in a way, men who’d seen too much and done worse. If I weren’t running for office, I’d probably be trading war stories with him on our drives around town—maybe it would come later, though I wasn’t about to hold my breath.

I gave him a curt nod as I stepped outside, the evening air cool against my skin. He opened the door with practiced precision, his face a mask of professionalism.

“Ready, sir?”

I wasn’t. Not even close. But that didn’t matter.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said, sliding into the back seat.

The car pulled away smoothly, the city lights streaking past the windows. I leaned back, forcing myself to focus. Tonight was critical. One misstep, one wrong word, and the entire charade could come crashing down.

I prayed—though I wasn’t sure to whom—that tonight would go off without a hitch.

The red carpet stretched out in front of the museum, glowing under the bright lights of camera flashes and the glare of chandeliers visible through towering glass windows. Tonight’s fundraiser was designed to dazzle and drain wallets—each seat costing a few thousand dollars and an entire table costing more than I cared to calculate.

I didn’t know much about the charity tonight, but I knew it had to be one of those “meaningful” causes that made people feel good about spending obscene amounts of money. Saving the whales? Funding schools? Feeding the hungry? Whatever it was, the purpose mattered less than the performance.

The event wasn’t about charity—it was about power. Connections. Influence.

The kind of influence I needed.

The car came to a stop, and Don exited first. His tall frame cut an imposing silhouette as he opened my door. I adjusted my cuffs, took a steadying breath, and stepped out.

Flashbulbs erupted like fireworks, their blinding brilliance momentarily disorienting. Cameras clicked incessantly, reporters shouted questions I didn’t plan to answer, and the chatter of the crowd buzzed in the background.

I plastered on a smile, the kind that said I belonged here, even if every cell in my body screamed otherwise.

“Mr. Cristof! Over here!” A voice called out, sharper than the others. I turned just slightly, giving them the angle they wanted. Let them capture the image. Let them write their headlines. “How does it feel to finally be in the spotlight? What are your plans for the future?”

I ignored the question though I shot the reporter a wink.

Inside, the museum was a temple of opulence. Glittering crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting golden light over marble floors polished to a mirror-like sheen. Servers glided between groups of guests, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres so delicate they looked more like art than food.

The hum of conversation filled the air, mingling with the soft strains of classical music from a live quartet stationed in the corner.

I moved through the crowd, nodding and shaking hands, my smile never faltering. Each interaction was another move in the game, another carefully calculated step toward my goal. But then, finally, I spotted someone I could actually tolerate.

First was Alexei. My brother. He was the one who tipped me off about this event, which was a fundraiser his fiancée’s boss was hosting. The details didn’t matter to me. All I needed was the setting—an opportunity to solidify my presence among theelite. Alexei stood by the bar, his posture relaxed, a glass of whiskey in hand.

Next, of course, was Audrey, my future sister-in-law. She was stunning in a dark red dress with a plunging heart neckline that revealed just enough to make her unforgettable. The dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and the sharp glint in her eyes told me she knew exactly how much attention she was commanding. She was beautiful, but more importantly, she was smart—a dangerous combination in our world.

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