POV: Darian Volkov
The boardroom of Luminaire Corp was silent, the kind of silence that usually preceded an execution.
I sat at the head of the table, my fingers steepled. On the sixty-five-inch monitor at the end of the room, a graph showed a downward dip. A small dip. One percent.
"One percent, Miller," I said. My voice was calm, but the directors around the table shifted uncomfortably. They knew my calm was more dangerous than my shouting. "One percent of our logistics efficiency in the European sector was lost this quarter. Do you know what that translates to in liquidated assets?"
Miller, a man twenty years my senior, wiped sweat from his brow. "Darian, it was a port strike in Marseille. It was outside of our control—"
"Everything is within our control if you are smart enough to anticipate it," I interrupted. I stood up, adjusting my cufflinks. "I don't pay for excuses. I pay for perfection. You have ten minutes to clear your desk. Security will escort you out."
"You can't do this!" Miller stammered. "I've been with this company since your father—"
"My father is no longer the CEO," I said, leaning over the table. My eyes locked onto his. "I am. And in my world, there is no room for the weak."
The heavy oak doors of the boardroom swung open before Miller could respond. The sound of a cane hitting the marble floor echoed through the room.
My father, Sergei Volkov, walked in. He was seventy, but he still carried the aura of a man who had built an empire on the bones of his enemies. Behind him, looking smug as always, was Xavier.
The directors scrambled to stand. I didn't move.
"Leave us," Sergei commanded.
The room cleared in seconds. Even Miller hurried out, his fear of my father outweighing his anger at me.
"You're firing Miller over a rounding error?" Sergei asked, taking a seat at the side of the table. He didn't look at me; he looked at the window, overlooking the city we owned.
"I'm maintaining standards," I replied, sitting back down. "What are you doing here, Father? You're supposed to be in Zurich."
"I grew bored of the Alps," Sergei said. He turned his head, his gaze sharp and judging. "And I grew tired of waiting. It's been three years since you took the helm, Darian. The stocks are up. The rivals are crushed. But the Volkov line is stagnant."
I felt a muscle in my jaw twitch. "We've discussed this."
"We've passed the stage of discussion," Sergei snapped, hitting his cane against the floor. "The board is restless. They see a cold, brilliant man with no legacy. A man who refuses to marry, refuses to provide an heir. If something happens to you, the company goes into a blind trust. I won't allow it."
"I don't have time for a wife," I said coldly. "Women are distractions. They are liabilities."
"Then don't get a wife…" Sergei countered. He gestured to Xavier. "Xavier has been doing the legwork I requested. We have found a way to bypass your... distaste for emotional entanglements."
Xavier stepped forward and placed a thin, black leather file on the desk in front of me.
"The 'Genetic Contract' is ready," Xavier said. "A surrogate. No marriage. No shared assets. No feelings. Just a biological transaction. She gives us the heir, she receives a payout, and she disappears. Clean. Precise. Efficient."
I stared at the file. I hated that they were right. Without an heir, my father still held the "Founder's Clause" over my head—a legal loophole that could allow him to remove me if the line was in jeopardy.
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
Sergei stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. "Then I invoke the Clause. I'll bring Xavier onto the board as your successor. He's already shown more interest in the family legacy than you have."
The threat was clear. Xavier was my father's "right-hand man," a shark who had been raised in our shadows. Giving him the company would be like giving a wolf the keys to the sheepfold.
"I'll look at the candidates," I said, my voice like ice.
"Do more than look," Sergei said, heading for the door. "Pick one. By the end of the week, I want the contract signed. Or I start the paperwork for your replacement."
They left the room, leaving me alone in the sprawling silence of the penthouse.
I looked at the black file. I felt a surge of disgust. This was what my life had come to..ordering a child like I was ordering a new fleet of private jets.
I flipped the file open.
There were dozens of photos. High-society girls with perfect smiles. Ivy League graduates with high IQs. Models with flawless proportions. I flipped through them with boredom. They all looked the same. Plastic. Greedy.
Then, I hit the final page.
It wasn't a professional headshot. It was a grainy photo from a surveillance feed or perhaps a background check. A girl in a faded pink waitress uniform. She was standing in a hospital hallway, her hair messy, her hazel eyes wide with a mixture of terror and fierce, unbreakable strength.
I froze.
I recognized those eyes.
I remembered the rain from an hour ago. I remembered the girl standing on the curb, soaked to the bone, looking like the world had already broken her…and yet, she hadn't bowed her head. I remembered the way she had stared at my car, not with hope, but with a silent defiance that had momentarily cut through my boredom.
I looked at the name typed beneath the photo: Liora Hayes.
I ran my thumb over the image. She was beautiful, yes, but it was a raw, haunted beauty. She was the only person in that entire file who didn't look like she was for sale…even though Xavier had clearly found her because she was the most desperate of them all.
I picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for Xavier.
"Yes, Darian?" Xavier answered.
"The Hayes girl," I said, my gaze fixed on her hazel eyes. "Cancel the other interviews. Bring her to the office tomorrow morning."
"Are you sure?" Xavier asked, sounding surprised. "Her background is kind of ... messy. Her father had some history with your father's old rivals, and she has nothing to her name."
"I don't want a girl with a name," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl. "I want a girl who has everything to lose. She'll be easier to control."
I hung up and looked back at the photo.
"Liora," I whispered to the empty room.
I didn't know then that she wasn't going to be the one who was easy to control. I didn't know that by choosing her, I was inviting the only thing into my life that could actually destroy me.