The Gold I Married

Chapter Sixteen

The dining room was empty when Alex and Anna walked in. The long oak table, usually crowded with silver and porcelain and enough food for twenty, had been stripped down to the wood. No plates. No coffee. Not even the crumbs.

Mrs. Volkov sat at the head with a single cup of tea, cold now, untouched. She looked up as they entered, and her gaze moved from Alex to Anna and back again.

"Breakfast was at eight," she said. "It is now ten. The kitchen has moved on to lunch preparations. I told them not to bother setting again."

She had done this deliberately. Anna understood it immediately, the bare table was a message, you do not come late to this house. You do not come late to breakfast and expect to be fed.

"I see," Anna said. She did not apologize. She would not give Mrs. Volkov that satisfaction.

Before the silence could stretch, Victor entered. He was in fresh clothes, his hair still wet from a shower, but his eyes were swollen and his right knuckle was split, scabbed over, the kind of mark you got from hitting something hard. Anna saw it. Alex, who had been watching the doorway, saw it and said nothing.

"Don't worry, Mom," Victor said, moving to his grandmother. "There's food at home. We'll get going soon anyway."

He called her Mom. Anna noted “Yes," she said, her voice light, deliberate. "Victor's right. We'll eat when we're back."

She caught Alex's eye. He was looking at Victor's hand, not at her. Then he looked at her, and there was nothing in his face.

Before the silence could settle, Mr. Volkov strode in. He moved with the stiffness of a man who had not slept, who had spent the night in his study with the door closed and the lights low, going over papers that had been prepared for him by lawyers he paid to be discreet. He stopped at the head of the table and did not sit. He looked at his wife, at his sons, at the grandson who stood near his grandmother with a bruised hand and a face that had not yet learned to hide what he felt.

"I spoke with Alex last night," he said. His voice was dry, used up. "About the future of this family. About what happens when I step back."

Alex's hand tightened on the back of his chair. Anna felt the shift in him, the way a held breath changes the air in a room.

"I've made my decision," Mr. Volkov continued. "Ben, you will take the Volkov Group. You've managed the accounts for three years. You understand the structure. It's yours."

Ben straightened. He had been expecting this, or something like it, but hearing it spoken changed the weight of it. He nodded, once, the gesture controlled. "Thank you, Father."

"Don't thank me yet." Mr. Volkov's voice hardened. "The Group carries debt. The Asian markets are unstable. You'll have three years to turn it around, or you'll answer to the board. I won't protect you."

Ben's jaw tightened. He had not expected the condition, the public warning. "I understand."

Mr. Volkov turned to Alex. His expression did not soften, but something in it changed — the particular look of a man who was passing a burden he had carried too long.

"As for you, Alex. You take the estate. The properties, the title, the name. You become the head of this family, the Lord of the Volkov Empire. The trust that maintains the estate is fixed. You cannot touch the principal. You cannot sell. You cannot borrow against it. You will live in the house, represent the family, attend the functions, and manage the staff. And you will do it on an allowance that the trustees set, not you."

Alex did not move. His expression remained still, but Anna saw the pulse in his throat, the slight flare of his nostrils. The estate was a cage. The title was a leash. His father was giving him the crown and cutting off the kingdom.

"The legacy," Mr. Volkov continued, "passes to Victor. When he is of age, he inherits Alex's title and responsibilities. He becomes the next head of the family. The name continues through him. He is the only grandson. He carries the future."

Victor blinked. He looked at his father, then at his grandfather, his mouth slightly open. "Me?"

"Yes, you." Mr. Volkov's voice was firm, final. "Your father will prepare you."

Alex finally spoke. His voice was quiet, controlled, the same voice he had used last night when his father told him what was coming. "Victor will be ready. I'll make sure of it."

Mr. Volkov's face twitched. "You will do as you're told, Alex. As I did. As my father did. That is the arrangement. That is the only arrangement."

Mrs. Volkov rose from her seat. She walked to Victor with the deliberate steps of a woman who understood what had just been done to her son, even if she would not say it aloud. She kissed Victor's forehead, her lips pressing hard enough to leave a mark.

"You will carry this well," she said. Not a blessing. An instruction.

Victor nodded, uncertain, overwhelmed, his hand finding his grandmother's arm for balance.

Ben's wife had not moved during the announcement. She sat with her hands folded, her face composed, but her eyes were on Anna with a hostility that had nothing to do with inheritance. Anna met her gaze and held it, unsmiling. She understood the look.

"Congratulations," Ben's wife said, her voice low, meant only for Anna. "You must be proud. Your son is the future of the family."

Anna did not blink. "And yes. I am."

Mrs. Volkov turned to her husband. Her expression had shifted during the announcement, the pleasure of touching Victor replaced by something harder, more calculating.

"Are you sure about this division?" she asked, her voice pitched for the room. "Giving Alex the title but not the means? Making him dependent on his brother for the rest of his life?"

Mr. Volkov did not look at her. "It's done."

"It's cruel," she said.

"It's tradition." He turned to Alex, his eyes narrowing. "Your grandfather did the same to me. I survived. You will too. Or you won't. The family continues either way."

Alex stood. His chair scraped against the floor, the only sound in the room. "Victor," he said. "Let's go."

Victor moved quickly, eager to escape the weight of the room, the expectations that had settled on his shoulders like a coat he had not chosen and could not remove.

As they prepared to leave, Anna leaned close to Victor's ear. "Well," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "Looks like you're stuck with the crown, little prince."

Victor gave her a small, uncertain smile. "Lucky me," he muttered.

Anna caught Alex's eye as she straightened. He was watching them, his face unreadable, but he nodded — once, slight, almost invisible.