Chapter 1 - The Sister He Didn't Choose
Roman Fedorov stood beside our dinner table and said:
"The engagement is over."
My sister dropped her champagne glass.
Roman reached into his jacket and placed a sealed envelope beside her plate.
But then he looked directly at me.
"I came here for you."
I could barely breathe.
For twenty-six years, I had learned how to disappear.
At family dinners, I sat quietly while my older sister Natalya filled every room with her beauty, confidence, and carefully practiced charm.
That night was supposed to be no different.
My mother had spent most of dinner discussing Natalya's upcoming wedding to Roman Fedorov.
The flowers.
The venue.
The guest list.
The designer.
The jewelry.
Everything was perfect.
Or at least, everything was supposed to be perfect.
I pushed a roasted carrot around my plate while my mother continued talking.
"Natalya, darling, you really must decide between the two reception menus."
Natalya smiled.
"I already told the chef I want the second one."
My mother beamed.
"Of course you do. You always know exactly what you want."
My father looked across the table at me.
"Paulina, sit properly."
I straightened.
"You always slouch."
"I'm sorry."
He returned his attention to Natalya.
That was how it always worked.
Natalya received opinions.
I received corrections.
She was celebrated.
I was tolerated.
At twenty-nine, Natalya had mastered the art of making everyone believe she belonged in the most expensive room.
She was tall, blonde, elegant, and perfectly composed.
Her engagement to Roman Fedorov had only elevated her status.
Roman was thirty-four and known throughout the city as an influential businessman with enormous wealth and connections.
He was also intimidating.
People lowered their voices when they spoke about him.
Not because of any particular crime or scandal.
Simply because Roman had a reputation for getting what he wanted.
Six months earlier, when Natalya announced their engagement, my mother had cried.
My father had called it the greatest opportunity our family had ever received.
I had congratulated my sister.
Then I went back to work.
I was a museum archivist.
I spent my days among paintings, manuscripts, letters, and artifacts that had survived wars, bankruptcies, and generations of neglect.
I liked forgotten things.
Perhaps because I understood them.
That evening, my mother lifted her glass.
"To Natalya and Roman."
Everyone raised their glasses.
I did too.
Then the dining room doors opened.
Our housekeeper, Marina, appeared.
"Mr. Fedorov is here."
My mother's face brightened.
"Roman? Wonderful."
Natalya immediately stood.
She smoothed her dress.
But Roman entered alone.
He wore a charcoal suit, black shirt, and a simple watch.
His dark hair was swept back, revealing the sharp lines of his face.
A small tattoo disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.
He didn't smile.
"Roman, darling," Natalya said.
She moved toward him.
He stopped her with two words.
"Sit down."
Her expression changed.
Slowly, she returned to her chair.
Roman looked around the table.
Then he placed an envelope beside Natalya's plate.
"I'm ending the engagement."
Nobody moved.
My mother's mouth fell open.
My father's face turned red.
Natalya stared at him.
"What?"
"The engagement is over."
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
She looked at the envelope.
"What is that?"
"The legal paperwork."
My father slammed his hand against the table.
"You came into my home to humiliate my daughter?"
Roman looked at him calmly.
"No."
His voice was quiet.
"I'm here because ending this now is better than continuing a marriage neither of us should enter."
Natalya's eyes filled with anger.
"Two weeks before the wedding?"
"Yes."
"You promised me."
"I promised to marry you."
Her face went pale.
"And now?"
"Now I know I shouldn't."
My mother looked horrified.
"What are people going to say?"
Roman didn't answer.
Instead, his eyes moved across the table.
Past my father.
Past my mother.
Past Natalya.
And stopped on me.
My fork froze.
He said my name.
"Paulina."
Everyone looked at me.
I felt heat crawl up my neck.
"Yes?"
"I need to speak with you."
My father immediately objected.
"She has nothing to do with this."
Roman didn't look at him.
"This isn't about the engagement."
My stomach tightened.
"Then what is it about?"
His eyes remained on mine.
"You."
I didn't know what to say.
Natalya stared at me as though I had suddenly become a stranger.
Roman continued.
"Five minutes."
I should have refused.
Instead, I stood.
We walked into my father's study.
I closed the door behind us.
Roman remained near the window.
"I don't understand."
"You remember the charity gala three months ago?"
I nodded.
"I spent most of the night in the library."
"I know."
He turned.
"You were reading Tolstoy."
I blinked.
"You remember that?"
"I remember what you said."
I frowned.
He smiled faintly.
"You said the room was full of people performing wealth and power as though it were a talent."
My face burned.
"I shouldn't have said that."
"Why?"
"Because you were there."
"I know."
He walked toward the desk.
"That was the first honest thing anyone had said to me in months."
I didn't know how to respond.
Then he placed another envelope on the desk.
I stared at it.
"What is that?"
"A proposition."
I opened it.
My eyes moved over the first page.
Marriage.
Two years.
Separate bedrooms.
No intimacy required.
Financial independence.
A monthly allowance.
A settlement at the end.
I looked up.
"You want me to marry you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you're the only person who has ever looked at me without wanting something."
I laughed once.
It sounded nervous.
"You barely know me."
"I know enough."
"This is insane."
"It's practical."
He leaned against the desk.
"Your sister wanted Roman Fedorov."
His voice softened.
"You saw a man."
I stared at him.
"I need forty-eight hours."
"You have them."
He turned toward the door.
Then he stopped.
"Paulina."
I looked up.
"You've spent so long being overlooked that you've started believing you deserve it."
Then he left.
I stood alone.
My father's study suddenly felt too small.
I looked down at the contract.
Two years.
Five million dollars.
Freedom.
It sounded impossible.
It sounded dangerous.
And it sounded like the first choice that had ever truly belonged to me.
I left through the garden door.
By the time I reached my apartment, my phone had twenty-three missed calls.
My mother.
My father.
Natalya.
I ignored them.
I made tea and sat beside my window.
Then I opened my laptop.
If I was going to marry Roman Fedorov, even temporarily, I needed to know exactly who he was.
I typed his name into the search bar.
The first articles appeared.
Business.
Charity.
Real estate.
International investments.
Nothing unusual.
Then I opened an older article.
My eyes stopped.
There was a photograph from seven years earlier.
Roman stood beside another man.
The caption identified him as Roman's former business partner.
I read the article.
Then I read it again.
Because the man's name was one I had seen before.
Not in the news.
In the museum archives.
A man whose private collection had disappeared after his death.
A collection connected to a missing artifact.
And suddenly, Roman's marriage proposal didn't look like a coincidence.
Because three months ago, I had unknowingly handled the one document that might connect Roman to that missing collection.
May you like
And someone had just sent me a message.
DON'T MARRY HIM.
