1
Olivia
Present-day…
Ashiver skates down my spine when I meet Jude Kuzmin’s cold, heartless stare.
Seated a breath away in my grandfather’s armchair, Jude holds his head high.
Power, control, and the stench of evil emanating from him.
Having just inherited the empire from his late father, Russian Oligarch Mikhail Kuzmin, Jude is just as powerful and wealthy in Russia as he is here in San Francisco.
He’s like a god walking amongst mere mortals on Earth.
Men like him enjoy preying on the weak.
The weak, like me and my mother, who have been rendered helpless because everyone we knew who could protect us is either dead or missing.
To men like Jude, I am a thing. Property. A means to an end of great financial benefit if I don’t do something to stop him.
The contract I just signed resting on the coffee table before us is testament to that fact.It’s a contract of ownership of me and my inheritance, my family’s company.
Markov Tech.
I’m the world’s poorest multi-billionaire because my fortune is in name only. This devil before me has managed to take everything he could get his hands on, and the last thing left is his name on the company documents.
Everything will be finalized by the lawyers in seven months onour wedding day when I turn twenty-six.
I wonder if my grandfather has turned in his grave yet. Several things have happened to move him.
Every time I think about it a wave of nausea assails my body, twisting my insides with sickness and grief.
I can say with confidence it’s going to be another bad birthday.
“I do not want any problems from you people,” Jude warns, speaking with a thick Russian accent.
“I assure you there won’t be any,” I reply, masking my hatred by keeping my tone even.
“There better not be.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I hold my tongue.
I can’t fuck things up and screw myself over by retaliating.Not when I might be close to unearthing such a staggering truth which could change everything.
What I must do is keep going.
Keep up the game.
Keep up the pretense I don’t know Jude Kuzmin’s dark secrets.
“Okay,” I answer instead. Simple, compliant, obedient, like the good little servant I need to be.
His gaze switches to my mother, who’s sitting next to me in her wheelchair.
“You are to see to it that everything is in order for this wedding,” he tells her. “Invitations will be sent out in two weeks.”
“Everything will be ready,” she replies.