Page 188 of Ruined Vows
EPILOGUE
ACCIDENTS AND ARRANGEMENTS
Vukan
The walls here are too white, and it’s too quiet. There are no clocks, and there are no windows that open. There is just the hum of hidden power and the blink of a red security camera overhead, watching like a bored god.
I stand by the floor-to-ceiling window with my arms folded, watching London disappear beneath a skin of fog and filth. Snow clings to the city like regret. I hate this place, but it’s where decisions are made.
The door opens behind me.
He doesn’t knock. Of course, he doesn’t.
Lev Ivanov steps inside like he owns the silence because he does.
“You look like a man who just buried a bishop,” I say without turning.
He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Close. Just had tea with my mother.”
That gets my attention. I glance back. “Tatiana still pulling strings from the old palace?”
“She’s stopped pretending she doesn’t rule the empire.Now she’s demanding I marry before I turn thirty-five.” He heads straight for the scotch like it’s a ritual, not a drink.
I raise a brow. “The Russian tradition: a wife for stability, then war for dessert.”
“She says the board needs to see a future. A family. Heir, ring, photo ops. All of it.”
“And who’s the lucky sacrificial lamb?”
Lev pours the scotch, no ice, no hesitation. “No one. Yet. But Mom has drawn up a contract.”
“Let me guess,” I say, leaning against the edge of the table. “Tatiana picked a silent little oligarch’s daughter with no skeletons?”
He smirks. But it’s sharp. Humorless. “Worse. Which is why I must find my own bride. Someone I can stomach for more than a few minutes.”
That makes me laugh. “What about your blonde PA? The one who calls yousir,like she wants to set you on fire?”
He doesn’t look at me as he downs the glass in one clean motion. “She sent me a video. Last week. By mistake.”
I pause. “What kind of video?”
Lev sets the glass down with precision. “Lingerie. Dirty talk. Very enthusiastic camera angles.”
I blink. Then I grin. “And you think that was a mistake?”
“Ihopeit was,” he mutters, voice low. “If it wasn’t, she’s more dangerous than half the men in this city.”
“She’s got nerve,” I say. “Or she's playing you without even knowing it.”
“I don’t know which is worse,” he replies.
I study him. There’s something under his composure tonight. Not fear. Not lust, either. Something harder to define.
“She say anything about it?” I ask.
“She apologized. Said it was meant for someone else.” His voice tightens. “Turned red and ran out of my office like I’d ordered her execution.”
“Maybe she was telling the truth.”
