Page 124 of Captive Prize

The pit in my stomach hardened. Whatever this was, I didn’t want to hear it.

But I needed to.

“She’s refusing to marry you. But it’s not for the reasons you think.”

“You mean it’s not because she values her independence? Not because she’s decided she actually doesn’t like me—let alone love me—and thinks the idea of spending her life with me is equivalent to being locked in a cage?” I gave him a flat look. “Or does it have more to do with her being left tied to a bed and treated like a prisoner while she healed, and now she thinks she’ll never be accepted by this family?”

Despite our brief time together, I knew Zoya.

I knew how she thought and how badly she needed some control over her life. I had every intention of giving her that control—within reason.

If she wanted to conquer the world, I wanted to be her right hand. I wouldn’t let her attack my family again, but I’d gladly start a war with someone else. I already had a few names in mind.

As soon as I proved to her that her place was by my side, we’d be unstoppable.

“No,” Gregor said, still staring at the floor.

I clenched my jaw and waited for him to finish whatever the hell he was about to say. Bracing himself was the smart move, because I was seconds away from leaping over the desk and slamming him against the wall until he gave me answers.

“The wives—they didn’t know about her medical condition. When they were all in the spa and brought up kids, they justassumed…you know. Especially with how good you are with them. They didn’t mean anything by it. But Samara said Zoya just…shut down.”

“What do you mean, shut down?” I asked, leaning forward in my seat, trying to make sense of what could have changed her mind so fast.

“Zoya didn’t say anything when they asked about her wanting children. Her face went pale. She just stared at her hands. Samara said it was like whatever shred of hope she had about staying died in that moment.”

I said nothing.

What the fuck was there to say?

A muscle ticked in Gregor’s jaw. He rolled his shoulders back again and shifted his tone. The soft edges were gone. He was back in asshole-in-charge mode.

“I told you this would happen. She’s not one of us. She was never going to be one of us. You should’ve let it go the second she stepped into our world. Women like her don’t belong here. She wasn’t made for it.”

I bit my tongue.

Not one of us?

Samara wasn’t one of us—until Gregor made her one. She was a spoiled daughter of a corrupt businessman, not a bratva princess. Yelena was barely one of us. Her father was a low-level criminal who licked boots and kissed ass while running numbers with our enemies.

Hell, Alina was a janitor and a bartender before Pavel claimed her. She wasn’t even adjacent to our world. Marina’s stepsister was a bratva princess, but Marina herself? She just knew enough not to ask questions.

Zoya was one of us.

She wasn’t an Ivanov, but she was every bit the bratva princess Nadia was and more. Her family may not have had ourpower, but her father was still the head of a bratva family—and a massive pain in the ass.

More than that, she’d done the same thing Gregor and Artem had done—but with far fewer resources and advantages. They had strengthened an already powerful name.

Zoya had rebuilt herself from ashes.

She took dust and rage and used them to forge an empire. And she did it without the support Gregor and Artem had—from family or allies. She did it in a world that refused to take her seriously.

She wasn’t like the other wives—fierce in their own right but happy to let their men handle the things they’d rather not know about.

Zoya was like us. Direct. Fierce. Strong.

I kept my mouth shut. Telling Gregor how powerful and resourceful my little warrior really was wouldn’t help anyone. And I didn’t want to insult his wife. I liked Samara. But she wasn’t Zoya.

“I’ll handle it,” I said, rising to my feet.

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