Chapter 2 - The Counter-Offer
The words hung in the narrow service hallway like a suspended blade.
Then I’ll marry you instead.
I stared at Nikolai Moretti, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for the cruel, arrogant smirk that usually accompanied a Moretti man’s attempt at humor. But his face remained a mask of absolute, terrifying sincerity. His dark amber eyes didn't flicker, didn't waver. He was dead serious.
“Are you out of your mind?” I finally whispered, shaking my head as a cold wave of disbelief washed over me. “Your brother just humiliated me in front of two hundred of the most powerful people in Chicago, and your solution is for me to turn around and marry you? What is this, some kind of sick mob family consolation prize?”
Nikolai didn't flinch. He didn't take a defensive step back. Instead, he pushed off the doorframe, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps until he stood just inches away—close enough for me to smell the clean, expensive scent of cedarwood, leather, and high-end bourbon clinging to his tailored charcoal suit.
“It’s not a prize, Evelyn,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my skin. “It’s a strategic alliance.”
“I’m not a strategy, Nikolai! I’m a person whose life was just blown to pieces five minutes ago!”
“I know,” he said, and for a fraction of a second, something akin to genuine empathy flickered in the depths of his dark eyes. “And I know how deeply humiliating this is for you. But think about it logically. If you walk out of this hotel tonight alone, the society columns will chew you alive. They’ll paint you as the discarded fiancée, the woman who wasn't enough to keep her man, the tragic footnote in Julian’s grand romance with your sister.”
Every word he spoke felt like salt poured directly into an open wound. But worse than the pain... he was entirely right. Chicago’s high society was a pack of ravenous wolves, and I was bleeding in the water.
“And marrying you fixes that?” I scoffed bitterly. “Marrying the older, more terrifying brother makes me look less pathetic?”
“It doesn't make you look pathetic at all,” Nikolai corrected sharply, his gaze hardening into steel. “It makes you untouchable. If you marry me, you aren't the victim of a scandal. You are the architect of a coup. You become the senior Moretti bride—the woman who outranks Julian, outranks your treacherous little sister, and commands respect from every single person who watched you walk down this hallway tonight.”
I swallowed hard, my mind racing through the chaotic fragments of my shattered reality. Marrying Nikolai Moretti wasn't just a wedding; it was a nuclear option. It was stepping off a cliff and hoping a parachute would open halfway down.
“And what do you get out of this?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes. “Men like you don't do charity work, Nikolai. What does marrying me do for your position in the syndicate?”
A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips—a look that made it entirely clear why rival bosses whispered his name with genuine dread.
“My father’s council values stability, tradition, and absolute control,” Nikolai explained smoothly. “Julian thinks marrying a Hart sister proves he’s ready to lead. But my father views Julian as impulsive, reckless, and easily manipulated by pretty faces—traits my sister-in-law-to-be possesses in abundance.”
He took another step closer, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes.
“If I present myself to the council next month with a woman like you by my side—a woman who was wronged, who carries the same lineage, but possesses the intelligence, poise, and spine that Julian is too blind to appreciate—the council won't just support me. They will hand me the crown unanimously.”
“So I’m a weapon,” I whispered, the cold reality settling deep into my bones. “A political chess piece to help you checkmate your brother.”
“You are an equal partner in a mutual destruction pact,” Nikolai corrected firmly, his hand reaching out to gently, deliberately tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my skin, sending a sudden, electric jolt straight down my spine. “I am offering you complete immunity, absolute vengeance, and a seat at the head of the table where you can watch Julian and Serena squirm every time they are forced to bow down to us. Tell me, Evelyn... does that sound like a bad deal?”
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors at the far end of the hallway burst open.
“Evelyn? Ev, are you back here?”
Penny’s voice echoed down the concrete corridor, followed by the rapid clack of her heels against the floor.
Nikolai didn't panic. He didn't step away. Instead, he smoothly reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a sleek black business card embossed with a minimalist silver monogram, and pressed it firmly into my palm, closing my fingers over it.
“Think about it,” Nikolai murmured against my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “My driver will be waiting outside the service exit in twenty minutes. If you want to burn their little fairy tale to the ground... get in the car.”
Without waiting for my reply, he turned and slipped silently through a side exit, vanishing into the Chicago night like a ghost.
A second later, Penny rounded the corner, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Oh, thank God, you’re still here,” Penny gasped, grabbing my shoulders. “You won't believe what’s happening in the ballroom. Your mother is currently telling the mayor’s wife that you felt faint due to a sudden allergy, and Julian and Serena are cutting the damn cake! Ev... are you shaking?”
May you like
I looked down at my hand. My fingers were tightly clenched around Nikolai Moretti’s business card.
The nightmare had only just begun. But looking at the card, I realized I didn't have to wake up as the victim.
