Crown of the Empire

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

I woke up to the smell of coffee and the faintest brush of sunlight across my face, filtered through curtains thick enough to survive a nuclear blast. My first thought was: this bed is ridiculous. My second thought was: my finger feels heavy.

I cracked one eye open.

The ruby winked back at me.

"Traitor," I muttered, yanking the sheet over my head like it could hide me from reality. No such luck, because a voice, calm and deep, cut right through my cocoon.

"Our wedding is next month."

The sheet didn't just drop—I flung it off so fast it could have doubled as a parachute. "I'm sorry, WHAT?"

Nikolai stood at the side of the bed, immaculate as always. Grey shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins in his forearms that really had no business being distracting at this hour. In his hand, a coffee mug. In his voice, absolute calm.

"I said," he repeated, as if I'd merely misheard, "our wedding is next month."

I sat up, hair an absolute bird's nest, glaring at him like he'd just announced the world was ending. "Excuse me, Doctor Doom, but you don't get to casually drop 'our wedding' like it's a dentist appointment. Next month?!"

"Yes." He sipped his coffee. "The engagement party is next week."

I blinked at him, once, twice. "Engagement party. As in the thing people plan for months with color swatches and floral arrangements and seating charts designed to prevent bloodshed? That engagement party?"

"Yes."

"Yes," I repeated flatly. "You've got exactly one word in your vocabulary, don't you?"

He didn't answer, just took another sip, which only infuriated me more. Meanwhile, the ruby on my hand caught the sunlight and practically screamed congratulations, you're doomed.

I jabbed a finger at him—my ring finger, unfortunately, because now I looked like I was flashing the ring at him for emphasis. "Do you realize what this means? I'll have to endure society matrons dissecting my dress, tabloids stalking the caterers, and my father choking on his own bile while pretending he isn't furious?!"

"Good," Nikolai said simply.

"Good?" I squawked. "Good?!"

His gaze flicked down to my hand. "The ring suits you."

Oh, for crying out loud.

I collapsed back against the pillows with a groan, staring at the ceiling. "You're impossible. Absolutely impossible. Do you know that?"

"Yes," he said again, calm as ever.

I threw an arm over my face, muttering, "One day, I'll find a way to shut you up. Maybe hire a parrot to mock you every time you answer with 'yes.'"

Silence followed, heavy but not unpleasant. Then, softly, he said, "We don't have time to waste, Mariya."

Something in his tone pulled me out of my melodrama. I lowered my arm and looked at him. His expression was as composed as ever, but there was steel beneath it.

"This isn't just about us," he continued. "It's about your father. About Vergara Banking. About what comes after. If we delay, he'll move faster. The engagement party secures us. The wedding finalizes it. One month."

And just like that, my sass collided with reality. Because damn it, he was right. This wasn't just lace and flowers. It was war. Strategy. A merger that would rewrite empires.