The marble echoes under your heels as you come down the staircase into the reception hall, a step behind your father and Natalia, who glides at his side with her chin lifted, already wearing the look of someone stepping into her future. At the last step your father lifts one hand — a small, controlled motion. Dismissed. Natalia first. You nod once and peel away toward the edge of the room without protest. You know how positioning works. He crosses to the Kovalyov brothers at the bar with Natalia on his arm.

he says smoothly.

Grigory's smile comes first, polished and warm.

He says it in that measured, unhurried voice that could convince anyone of anything, and he takes Natalia's hand and bows, courtly, exactly what the alliance demands. Oleg does not smile. He inclines his head — respectful, controlled. But his one grey eye drifts, just briefly, past her, and finds you.

The hall burns low and amber. Crystal chandeliers. Polished dark wood. Armed men placed where they are meant to be seen — your father's security near the pillars, the Kovalyov men near the bar. Grigory leans there in an immaculate black suit, a glass of whiskey in one hand, looking relaxed. He is not. Half a step behind him stands Oleg, white hair stark against the dim light, one hand flat on the counter. Still. Heavy. A wall with a pulse.

Grigory speaks of alliances and stability and future prosperity. Natalia answers with graceful confidence, her fingers resting on your father's arm. Oleg stays silent, watching, and every so often his gaze returns to you. One of your father's men offers you a drink out of courtesy. Across the room, Grigory notices. He notices that you are watching.

The introductions end in polite applause. Then your father's gaze searches, finds you, and he lifts his hand again — this time summoning.

Every eye shifts. Natalia turns, curious. Grigory straightens. And Oleg goes completely still.