Petrov leaned forward slightly, suspicion sharpening the lines of his face.

"And what exactly do you propose, Romano?" he asked, voice low.

I smiled — slow, deliberate.

"A marriage," I said.

The word dropped like a bomb in the heavy silence.

Petrov ’s brows lifted, the only sign of his shock.

Adrian, behind me, remained stone-still.

"You propose marriage”, Petrov repeated slowly, as if testing the taste of the idea on his tongue.

"Between myself and your daughter," I clarified, my voice smooth and final.

For a moment, no one moved.

No one breathed.

Then—

"What the hell?"

Mikael’s voice snapped through the room like a whip as he stepped forward from the corner.

I hadn't even noticed him there, lurking in the shadows — another wolf in Petrov clothing.

"You think you can just buy her?" Mikael snarled; fists clenched at his sides. "You think you can own her like some fucking trophy?"

I didn’t flinch.

I met Mikael’s rage with pure, cold calm.

"This isn’t about ownership," I said. "It’s about unity. Strength. Tying our bloodlines together ensures loyalty. Guarantees it."

Mikael’s eyes burned with something wilder than anger — something closer to fear.

Because he knew.

He knew what marrying me meant for Ashley.

It meant she would be tied to a man far more dangerous than anything she had faced in her sheltered, gilded world.

Petrov held up a hand, silencing his son.

His face was unreadable now, a lifetime of hard decisions etched into every line.

The silence stretched so tight it could snap.

Across the room, Mikael practically vibrated with rage, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

I watched them both coldly for a long moment.

Then — calm, dangerous — I spoke again.

"Will she agree?"

The question cut straight through the heavy air, deliberate, sharp.

A test.

Not just for Petrov, but for me too.

Would she fight? Would she rebel? Would she make this harder than it needed to be?

Part of me almost wanted her to.

Petrov ‘s face remained unreadable, but there was a flicker in his cold eyes — something that almost looked like... regret.

Or maybe it was calculation.

"We will make her understand," Petrov said finally, voice low and brutal.

Not she’ll agree. Not she’ll be happy. We will make her.

A muscle ticked in my jaw, but I said nothing.

I remind myself.

I didn’t need her consent.

This wasn’t a love story.

This was an arrangement.

A contract.

A strategic move on the bloody chessboard we both lived and breathed.

But still...

The memory of her flashed in my mind —

those fierce eyes glaring up at me at the party,

the stubborn tilt of her chin,

the way she’d stood her ground even knowing she was cornered.

Ashley Petrov wasn’t a pawn.

She was a flame.

And I was already planning exactly how to tame it.