Page 8 of Brutal Monster
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
I don't answer, stepping back into the gala. The crowd parts instinctively as I move through it, eyes scanning for emerald green. I find her near the bar, deep in conversation with an older man I recognize as Senator Harrington—one of her father's political connections.
She senses me before she sees me. I watch her posture shift subtly, shoulders squaring as she turns. Our eyes lock across the room, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The noise, the people, the glittering pretense of the charity event—all of it reduced to background static.
This woman could be my greatest ally or my most dangerous adversary. Possibly both. The brotherhood will never understand why I've accepted her terms, why I'm giving her the space to maintain her power rather than absorbing it into mine.
They think power is something you take. Something you hold over others.
I know better. True power is what happens when equals choose to combine their strengths.
As I walk toward her, contract in hand, I see the wariness in her eyes. She's expecting a negotiation, a counter-offer, another man trying to dictate terms.
I'm going to enjoy surprising Inez Bravo. And then I'll enjoy the game of earning her trust. Her respect.
Her heart.
The most valuable prize I've ever pursued—because it can't be taken. Only given.
I cross the room, weaving through Los Angeles’s elite with practiced ease. Inez excuses herself from the senator with a graceful nod, turning to face me fully. Her emerald dress catchesthe light, complementing eyes that narrow slightly as they track the contract in my hand.
"You signed it," she says, her voice flat.
"As written. No amendments." I offer her the document.
She takes it, fingers brushing mine—a touch that sends an unexpected current up my arm. Flipping through the pages, her expression shifts from surprise to suspicion to something that looks remarkably like anger. A muscle tightens in her jaw.
"This is a mistake," she says, voice low enough that only I can hear. "I expected you to counter. To negotiate."
"Why would I? The terms are acceptable."
Her laugh is sharp, brittle. "Bullshit. No man in your position would accept these conditions without a fight."
I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume—something with notes of amber and spice. "Perhaps you've been dealing with the wrong men.
"Or perhaps you're playing a longer game." She taps the contract against my chest. "What is it you really want, Vanya?"
The sound of my name in her mouth does something to me I hadn't anticipated. I recover quickly, taking her elbow and guiding her toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.
"I want exactly what this contract stipulates—an alliance between our organizations. One that respects your autonomy and leverages our combined strengths."
Her eyes narrow. "You're either lying or delusional."
"Neither. I'm practical."
"Then let me be practical too." She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow cuts sharper than a shout. "I will not be the wife you want. I won't host your dinners or charm your associates. I won't be available whenever you want. I will make decisions you disagree with. I will challenge you at every turn."
I can't keep from smiling. "Good."
This catches her off guard. Her lips part slightly before pressing back into a firm line. "I'm serious, Zhukov. I will make your life difficult."
"I'm counting on it." I take the contract from her hands, setting it on a nearby table. "You think I want a decorative wife? A silent partner? I have yes-men, Inez. What I need is someone who sees the world differently than I do. Someone who will push back when I'm wrong."
"And when I refuse to bend to your will? When my interests conflict with yours?"
"Then we'll find a solution that works for both of us." I hold her gaze steadily. "This isn't about control. It's about respect."
She studies me, searching for a lie or trap. "Men like you don't give up control willingly."
