Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
My mother is a woeful liar, but I appreciate her ability not to flog a dead horse when she replies, “I was going to say you should replace the onion in the dish tonight with shallots. Aunt Marcelle has been on fire all afternoon. We may not survive the night if she’s served another gas-inspiring meal.”
Chapter 4
Mikhail
After taking a breath, I focus on the lawyer’s droning voice, trying to push aside my pain. It isn’t just my heart aching anymore. My thighs are fucking killing me, and my gut won’t quit crunching.
I didn’t just follow Emerson’s car out of the lot. I chased it for miles. My dress shirt is clinging to my body, my pits stink, and this will reading won’t fucking end. I want to go home, to my penthouse, open an expensive bottle of whiskey, and get lost far from my thoughts.
Blackout drunk may be the only thing capable of stopping me from driving to Lidny and demanding answers ten years too late.
It was for the best that Emerson left me, but that’s fucking hard to admit when you’re standing across from your soulmate and striving to act like she doesn’t exist.
My heart frees itself from the black, tarry mess Emerson’s resurrection dumped it in when I finally hear my name. The list of inheritors from my grandfather’s estate is endless. It’s taken almost four hours to reach this point.
In all honesty, I don’t want my grandfather’s money. I don’t need it. I’m here to see how badly he wants to fuck with me from the afterlife and to support Zoya’s slow merge into our messed-up family.
Did I forget to mention that Zoya is my sister? Unlike Andrik, she is a blood-related sibling. We didn’t know that until after our grandfather lodged a bullet through his brain and left us to wade through decades of secrets alone.
If we were the type to air our family secrets, we could bring down hundreds of Russia’s most elite families with us.
We’re not, hence our united front at our grandfather’s funeral and his cause of death being broadcast across the globe as naturally caused.
I would have pissed on his grave if his sudden growth of a heart hadn’t saved my baby sister’s life.
His unusual show of leniency makes me even more curious about his chosen inheritors. Today’s meeting is an invitation-only event. Emerson wouldn’t have known about it unless she had been named as a benefactor of my grandfather’s estate.
I look up when the lawyer repeats my name.
It is finally showtime.
“Mikhail, you will inherit your grandfather’s country mansion, Zelenolsk Manor, his primary suite in Moscow, and all funds left in his estate after settling any debts owed to your fellow inheritor.” Paperwork ruffles before a sum almost knocks me on my ass. “Calculation of your inheritance if all tasks are achieved exceeds five hundred million dollars.”
What. The. Fuck?
The lawyer’s sum hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. I have money. Plenty for an average schmuck. But five hundred million? That’s a fuck ton of coins.
I glance at Andrik, whose suspicious eyes are bouncing between the lawyer and the paperwork he just recited. He knows the man still playing mind games from the grave better than me, so his suspicions of his motive formulate quicker than mine.
“What are the terms of the inheritance?”
The lawyer clears his throat before scanning the documents. Since my inheritance was the last on a long ledger, the once-brimming room is almost empty. Only Andrik, Zoya, the lawyer, and I remain.
Andrik is an impatient man. “You said the settlement will be calculated after debts owed to his fellow inheritor have been settled. Who is his fellow inheritor?”
It can’t be Andrik. Despite already amassing billions, his family was awarded a fifty-million-dollar property portfolio and a similar value in cash assets.
The lawyer clears his throat again, agitating me further. “Your grandfather has some terms he requested be included in his will. If the terms aren’t met, the inheritance will be forfeited.”
“And that term is?” Andrik continues, beating me.
“Terms,” the lawyer corrects. “There is more than one.” His hand shakes when he passes me a thick wad of papers, his eyes unmoving from my face. “But the main thing is that you are to marry Emerson Morozov by the end of the week.”
“What?” The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it, and I almost tear the terms of my inheritance out of the lawyer’s hand when my heart demands answers before my head can register a single thought.
The lawyer didn’t lie. The list of terms for Andrik Sr.’s last wish is extensive. It covers everything. Our marriage. The location of our first home. Events and traditions that all husbands and wives make during their first year of marriage are documented, and every milestone attracts a hefty supplementary bonus to the payout we will be rewarded if we survive one year of marriage.