Wednesday, 11 April 1923
7:30pm
Argentum Memoriae
She had arrived at half past six.
Arriving an hour early to anything was not something Seraphina Ashcroft did and she was not proud of it. It screamed of desperation, of a woman who had nowhere else to be and nothing else to think about, which was precisely what she was and precisely what she could not afford to think about. She’d already walked Diagon Alley twice before she allowed herself to stop in front of the dark oak façade of Argentum Memoriae, the gold lettering catching the last of the evening light, the vials in the window glinting like caught stars.
She stood outside for another ten minutes before going on, just because she did not want to appear too eager to meet with the patriarch of the Zdravkova clan. Eagerness was not what brought her here; it was, in fact, the desperation that she could not hide by arriving too early.
Sera stepped inside. The interior did what it was designed to do: announced, without a single word, exactly who the Zdravkovas were and had always been. The marble hall that welcomed her stretched impossibly wide and tall, much more so than the exterior would leave you to believe. That was not surprising for her, though.
The eyes of the founder of the family – a face that was familiar in the way she could remember the days in Paris but the name that escaped her – watched as she moved. She nodded at him, not as a sign of respect, just acknowledgement. She looked away as quickly as she could.
After giving her name at the entrance, and shown to a private room off the main hall – smaller, quieter, and yet still opulent in every way she expected, Sera sat in a chair after removing her coat. An hour. She’d have to fill her mind with an hour of… anything.
Her own letter, written the next morning after seeing Thatcher, replayed in her mind. She had no doubt he would know who it was from.
[center]Following our conversation at the Ministry gala, I find myself with a matter to discuss that I believe you will find worth your time. The nature of my situation here in Britain has evolved, and I suspect our interests may align more closely than either of us anticipated that evening. I would welcome the opportunity to meet at your convenience, somewhere private.
- S.A.
His letter, which he had waited to send until Monday morning, had been short and to the point. A time. A place. A date. She scowled at the fact that he was making her wait another two days and twelve hours.
Sera had written her owl carefully, over and over, before finally deciding it was perfect enough to send. Asking for help was not her strong suit, and neither was being in Oleg’s presence. But the situation was dire, her daughter was in danger, and she only had one real option at her disposal.
How she craved a cigarette while she watched the clock’s hands move. She’d taken up smoking to help with the stress she felt about the situation as a whole.
It made her sick to her stomach to know what he would get out of the arrangement. There was no way around it. She’d expected it now, and thought how much simpler it would have been had she done this from the beginning almost two decades ago.
Just as the clock’s minute hand touched the six, on the dot, the door opened. Sera stood. Punctual as always. He’d know she had been there for an hour. She would not draw attention to it.
After their encounter at the Ministry gala, Oleg had kept an ear and an eye open for any significant movements made by the woman who’d appeared out of the blue, claiming both private and professional business as the reason for her presence. He was aware that the Ashcroft operated throughout many parts of Europe, perhaps more so than the Zdravkova, which had only recently expanded to Britain, but the timing had felt too convenient.
At least at first glance.
The conversation they’d shared that evening had been revealing in more ways than one. She had been entirely too transparent. Whatever business assignment the Ashcroft had given her, it was not what took the forefront of her mind, and Oleg needn’t worry about a family’s possible interference rooted in old misalignments at all.
By the time their interaction had ended, his immediate concern had been eased. That didn’t mean, however, that he’d left her out of his sight completely. Initial impressions were useful, but Oleg had never been foolish enough to mistake them for certainty.
He hadn’t had her followed — the risk had not justified the cost. But he had kept his eyes open in other ways. Business circles carried news readily enough, Ministry officials talked over dinners, and invitations passed from one old family to another. The pattern that had emerged had not spoken of a woman using every capacity possible to sabotage, to manipulate another man’s business and growing influence by meeting everyone, building alliances, making introductions.
Instead, all she’d been doing was enough. Enough to fulfil whatever ordinary work had brought her here. Enough to confirm his early assumption.
The arrival of her letter had driven assumption from the equation to be replaced with certainty at last. Her personal business was more important, and her selfishness remained. Now she would ask for his help.
And what he’d read in between the lines was desperation. Useful, especially when exacerbated. He’d waited with his reply; he had made her wait another two days for this appointment. The more desperate a person became, the more willing they were to offer for less in return.
And Seraphina Ashroft had a lot to offer. He was curious what weakness she was willing to trade it for. The fact she had arrived here an hour early spoke volumes.
Passing through the door, Oleg let his lips curl into the smile that never touched his eyes, glinting with the reflection of the fireplace’s light. “Ms Ashcroft,” he said as he crossed the room. “What a pleasure to see you again. I admit I hadn’t expected to hear from you quite so soon.” He paused for a beat, growing still before gesturing to the chair she had risen from. “Please.” Settling in the chair across, Oleg leaned back, steepling his fingers. “What urgent matter brings you here?”
If Sera hadn’t been there for selfless reasons, she would have fled the second that Oleg entered the room. He’d been fine at the gala around hundreds of other people but now that she was alone with him, her stomach did the familiar uncomfortable flip anytime she’d been around him when she was younger.
There she had been, at only seventeen, forced to dance with this man at galas. It had been before it was officially announced of course, but she could never forget the dread that had been hanging over her before she ran.
And now here she was, practically crawling back to him for help that only he could give.
She watched as he entered the room with the practiced smile that never reached his eyes. Sera had never seen him truly smile, and didn’t know if the man knew how. Or perhaps he wouldn’t because his face might shatter if he did.
Sera sat when he motioned to the chair, sitting forward a bit while she smoothed her skirt. She crossed her ankles and rested her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to be here, but Luminița was in danger. She looked at him with the practiced composure she always had, no matter the situation she found herself in.
“Urgent is your word,” she said pleasantly. “I would say… timely.”
Seraphina considered her words, knowing she had to give just enough to see if this was even an option.
“I appreciate you making the time.” She was acknowledging the wait, the Monday morning reply without drawing attention to the fact that she’d been beside herself waiting for this meeting.
It was odd that she was looking forward to speaking to someone she had spent her life fully disliking. It was ironic that he could be the savior she needed.
Sera looked at him evenly, not showing how she truly felt. However, she did not think Oleg was a stupid man. He knew she didn’t want to be here.
“I’ll be direct, since I suspect we both prefer it that way. I have something you want and I need something you have. I think we both knew that at the gala, and I think that’s why you’re sitting across from me now instead of having someone show me back to the street.”
She took a breath, held it momentarily, then released.
“Thatcher Ravenstone,” she said. “You know who he is.”
Everyone did. Even if they weren’t fans of Quidditch, they knew.
“He is respected. Internationally connected. His brooms are in every serious Quidditch program on the continent. He moves in rooms that most people spend their entire lives trying to get into.” Well, except she assumed Oleg had no problem there. “He is also a man with a significant secret. One that, in the right hands, would be his complete undoing.”
Sera held his gaze steadily, picking at an imaginary piece of fuzz on her skirt that wasn’t there. She wasn’t nervous, she was… just ready for a resolution. The thought of Thatcher’s downfall was one that kept her going the past few days. Framing the opportunity right for Oleg was the most important part.
“I know what that secret is. I know where the evidence is. And I know that a family with your set of skills would have very little difficulty extracting it in a way that would hold up to scrutiny.”
Was it going to work?
“A man like Thatcher Ravenstone, brought down quietly and completely, by the Zdravkovas. That is the kind of thing that announces to every old family in Britain exactly who you are and what you’re capable of.”
Surely it would work. Power was something every man wanted.
“I am offering you Thatcher Ravenstone. I’d like to discuss what that’s worth to you.”
Straight to the point, as was the way she seemed to prefer handling their encounters. Again, Oleg found a glimmer of appreciation for it in his chest, however much it felt misplaced. It warred with the drawer he had put her in nearly twenty years ago, that of the naive, simple girl who had chosen herself over duty. There was no mistaking — that was still her. Perhaps a few edges she had managed to refine.
Not nearly enough of them though.
Listening quietly, Oleg kept his gaze on Seraphina with unmoving intensity, his face showing no reaction to anything she said. The artificial smile had faded, his face offering nothing but the cool assessment of a businessman presented with an offer to consider.
Her pitch was an interesting one. Thatcher Ravenstone. Oleg knew of him, of course; Oleg knew of everyone important. There had been an investigation on him as well, some time last year, but it had proven inconclusive. It hadn’t struck his interest in any particular manner. Their paths hadn’t crossed in a way that mattered, and the man held nothing of interest to the Zdravkova family.
Now, whatever could have moved Seraphine to offer him up? And what drove her to believe his downfall was something Oleg needed to prove his capability and power to the rest of Britain’s elite with? Eradicate another man’s business and reputation without any substantial reason or history? An illogical move.
No, there had to be more.
After having let a moment of silent contemplation pass, Oleg finally spoke. “Thatcher Ravenstone.” His steepled hands lowered, folding over his stomach instead. “I don’t believe his undoing holds any worth to me at all.”
The words settled without softening.
Another beat, and he continued. “A move of the kind that you suggest holds no value without a compelling motive. It is random and therefore dismissible, erratic even. It proves nothing to Britain’s old families other than that we are willing to act merely for the sake of being seen to act. Power that demonstrates itself without purpose is insecurity.”
Oleg’s gaze continued to bore into hers, watching. If this was all she had thought to be enough to strike a bargain, she was thoroughly mistaken. Bringing a faint curl to his lips, Oleg’s tone shifted back to the hospitality he had greeted her with.
“But.” His hands opened like a man with a counteroffer. “Because we are old friends, I will give you another chance. What is it worth to you, Ms Ashcroft, to see this man removed? Give me a reason. Perhaps I will reconsider.”
His lips spread wider, hands back to their folded position. She would either reveal something or leave empty-handed. Why should he believe her? Vague propositions had never bought anything.
Oleg spoke, and it became clear to Seraphina that she had no choice. He understood that she had something, but he didn’t know what. And he wasn’t stupid, she knew that. But she had expected him to be a bit more interested in taking Thatcher Ravenstone down.
Over the many different versions of this conversation she had played in her head while waiting on the meeting, she had not taken this one into account. He had just dismissed Thatcher entirely and honestly, it’s what she would have done too.
She kept her hands in her lap as she held his gaze for a long moment. She didn’t reach for the imaginary fuzz on her skirt again. She had to, unfortunately, open up to the man that had found value in her worth when she was younger.
The question settled in the room between them. What is it worth to you. She’d been too transparent at the gala, and her owl had just proven him right. She had something that she needed help with. And she had to come to him, of all people, for help. Because she couldn’t trust anyone.
If she didn’t tell him the truth – the whole truth – he would likely send her on her way.
That wasn’t going to happen.
This secret had been hers to hold for seventeen years. Through her mother’s death, through sixteen years back inside the Ashcroft machine, through two months in Britain watching from careful distances. She had protected it from the one family best equipped to find it, sitting at their dinner table every night, and she had never slipped once.
And here she was, preparing to deliver it on a silver platter to Oleg Zdravkova.
The thought made Sera’s stomach turn, but the alternative of Alice with her arranged obligations, her future decided for her by a man who had described his own daughter as unusable... that was far worse.
So, Sera took a breath and released it.
“Thatcher Ravenstone has a daughter,” she said quietly, her face as blank as she could muster. “Her eldest. She’s called Alice.”
She paused. She couldn’t turn back now.
“She is also mine.” She didn’t pause here. She couldn’t. She had to keep talking before she lost her nerve. “Six days ago, Thatcher sat in my office and told me that Alice has obligations. Arrangements already made, families already spoken to. Assets aligned.” The words tasted exactly as clinical coming out of her mouth as they had going in. “He told me he had already watched one daughter become unusable.”
She breathed.
“He did not finish the sentence, he didn’t need to.” Seraphina shook her head slightly, motioning a bit with her palms up. “Thatcher Ravenstone has a secret that would end him. He has a daughter who is in danger from the man raising her. And I have seventeen years of reasons to want both of those things addressed.”
She folded her hands on her lap again.
“Now you have a compelling motive.”
Patiently, Oleg waited, smiling and staring. He was sure she would talk eventually. If she were as desperate as the evidence suggested, she had no other choice, and she knew that too; he could read that in her eyes as easily as if it were his own thought.
A moment of silence passed.
“Thatcher Ravenstone has a daughter. Her eldest. She’s called Alice.”
Seraphina paused, and Oleg’s smile grew imperceptibly wider.
“She is also mine.”
Still as a statue, he grew impossibly stiller. He almost fucking laughed.
Hers. Of course. It all made sense, it all fit. The foolish girl who had run from responsibility and duty, like a petulant child, had landed herself in another man’s arms only to end up with a bastard daughter she had apparently left behind for seventeen years. Now suddenly she wanted her back, the living consequence of her disloyalty.
He felt appalled, amused, and betrayed at the same time, the lines of his face hardening. It all tightened into a clot until it sat in his chest like a stone.
The audacity of this woman. The sheer nerve.
Well, he supposed he had to give her that at the least. He was fairly certain she’d know what he thought of her and her actions, albeit she likely hadn’t expected to reveal it all. Still, she had, and yet, he thought her weak for that too. It was a contradiction he could see himself. Oleg decided to dwell on it later. The anger didn’t serve him right now.
Staring her down a moment longer, he weighed his response.
She had given him her motivations, a secret better kept as one, but it hardly held the leverage worthy of his aid all on its own. Hold it over her head, his to decide to reveal to the world or the Ashcroft themselves? Threaten to destroy the daughter’s future by revealing the nature of her birth, barring her from a proper pureblood match? What for? The act alone? Hardly. A compelling motive, she said.
Indeed.
Oleg shifted slightly in his chair, the foot of the leg folded across the other bouncing once.
“The love of a mother,” he mused, cold and low, the curve of his smile a sharp edge. “How very compelling”
His eyes pierced into her skull, a stillness to his body that seemed unnatural. He shifted once more after a beat, opening his folded hands before resting them on the arms of his chair. Voice firm, Oleg made the price of his help clear.
“I want complete disclosure about Ravenstone,” he began, allowing no room for the hope of negotiation. “I want to know what you believe his secret is and where to find this evidence you speak of. If I find that to be sufficient, I will have full control on everything. You will not interfere and you will make no move without my knowledge or consent. I want to know everything about Alice, about her arrangements, and about her person. Who she lives with, who knows of her existence, what has been promised on her behalf, and to whom. I want names, dates, and every connection you have uncovered in Britain. Nothing omitted.”
He paused, letting the words settle before continuing. “You will leave Ravenstone and his fate to me. Whatever happens to him, whatever becomes of his business, his reputation, his family — will be my decision. No one will know about this arrangement, you will keep everything, this meeting included, to yourself and between us. Everything. There will be no written correspondence.”
A slight gleam shone in his eyes as he narrowed them slightly, a sly smile returning to his lips. He let the moment linger, stretching it for a beat longer than necessary. “And once I have decided on the favour you will ow me, you will provide it without hesitation. When the time comes, you will know what is expected of you.”
He smiled sharply.
“You may consider that the price of my discretion.”
“The love of a mother. How very compelling.”
It was an odd thing, hearing herself referred to as a mother. She’d thought of herself that way many times over the past eighteen years, but hadn’t said it outloud. He just had, and it made her feel a complicated mix of defiance but also, even though she had given her daughter away because she believed it was the right thing to do, regret. How odd.
She remained silent as Oleg Zdravkova watched her intently. Would she crack? Would she back down? Perhaps the younger version of her would have, but this one – the mother who desperately wanted to prove herself worthy of the title even if the girl would never know her – wasn’t going to do that.
“I want complete disclosure about Ravenstone. I want to know what you believe his secret is and where to find this evidence you speak of. If I find that to be sufficient, I will have full control on everything. You will not interfere and you will make no move without my knowledge or consent. I want to know everything about Alice, about her arrangements, and about her person. Who she lives with, who knows of her existence, what has been promised on her behalf, and to whom. I want names, dates, and every connection you have uncovered in Britain. Nothing omitted.”
The terms settled over her like something physical; total disclosure, no interference, no written correspondence. As if none of it was happening, while she watched the ripples of her decision to come to Oleg Zdravkova touch multiple people’s lives.
The sly smile that returned to the face of the man she’d been contracted to marry when she was a young teenager sent a sickness through her stomach. He had her. There was nothing she could do to get out of the situation now.
“And once I have decided on the favour you will owe me, you will provide it without hesitation. When the time comes, you will know what is expected of you. You may consider that the price of my discretion.”
Sera had known, walking into this building, that it would come to something like this. She had known it while she’d been in the washroom in her office on the sixth of April, waiting for Thatcher to let himself out. She’d certainly known it Saturday when she walked to the owl post because she no longer trusted her own window.
An unspoken agreement, the kind that would hand Oleg Zdravkova control over her life. He knew she was not good at this – being told what to do, operating within someone else’s parameters, surrendering control of anything. It was why she had run the first time and why she had run the second time. It was the thing that cost her everything it was ever going to cost her.
And here she was.
She looked at him, at the sharp smile and the eyes that had already won this and knew it, and she thought about Alice standing in that ballroom in February. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A posture too careful to be entirely natural.
“Agreed,” she said quietly.
She knew what she had just agreed to, but she wouldn’t run this time. The word sat for a moment between them before she pulled her eyes to the fireplace. She would give him everything she had, which was less than she would have liked.
“Thatcher has a younger daughter. Everleigh,” she said, her voice even. No emotion. “You will have read about her in the Prophet. The kidnapping, the torture, the damage to her mind.”
She paused momentarily, before she looked back at the man who she had now handed control over to. “When he told me about Everleigh, something in what he said didn’t hold. I couldn’t identify exactly where the fiction was… He is careful and he’s had time to rehearse the story. It was there, though. The way he said she had become unusable. The way he spoke about it as a lesson learned rather than a tragedy survived.”
Seraphina paused, noting his carefully contained interest. She didn’t reach for it, but had just spotted it right below his surface.
“I believe the allegations against him were true. I believe Everleigh didn’t comply with something required of her, and I believe he handled it the way he handles things that inconvenience him.” She tilted her head slightly. “I believe he did something to her mind. And I believe he will do the same to Alice if she doesn’t fall in line. He told me as much without saying it directly.”
Sera smoothed out her skirt, though there was nothing that needed to be smoothed.
“That is what I know. What I suspect. And I need it stopped.”
Her agreement came like a confession, quiet and without ceremony, just as expected. The only choice she had because he had made it so. Oleg couldn’t help the warmth of triumph that filled his chest; he never could. It was like a reward, every time, and he savoured it.
Patience, after all, was a businessman’s most satisfying asset.
The brief twitch of his lips, widening his smile by a fraction, was the only acknowledgement he offered. Again, Oleg waited for Seraphina to volunteer her information without prompting, hands back in their steepled position. There was no need to press. She had already demonstrated that she would speak when given sufficient reason.
“Thatcher has a younger daughter. Everleigh. You will have read about her in the Prophet. The kidnapping, the torture, the damage to her mind.”
Oleg had.
He also knew that Liliya had been working with Nadežda on the girl, attempting to repair the damage that had landed her in St. Mungo’s psych ward, working to reverse what many considered beyond remedy. He didn’t inquire about their progress often. There was little point in hovering over work he had delegated. What mattered was whether success was possible and, if so, how soon.
All of Britain knew about the Dark Tower incident and its victims, especially Everleigh Ravenstone—the investigation into her father had ensured that much. If the Zdravkova succeeded where St. Mungo’s healers had failed, Britain would remember exactly who had accomplished what its own institutions could not.
But perhaps there was even more to gain.
Something in Oleg’s attention sharpened before Seraphina even continued.
“When he told me about Everleigh, something in what he said didn’t hold. I couldn’t identify exactly where the fiction was… He is careful and he’s had time to rehearse the story. It was there, though. The way he said she had become unusable. The way he spoke about it as a lesson learned rather than a tragedy survived.”
Very subtly, Oleg’s eyes narrowed, barely a twitch.
Unusable. The word lingered for a moment.
He knew precisely what it implied. People became unusable only after they had first failed to perform whatever function had been assigned to them. In families like theirs, there were consequences for that. He had dealt them plenty enough himself.
“I believe the allegations against him were true. I believe Everleigh didn’t comply with something required of her, and I believe he handled it the way he handles things that inconvenience him. I believe he did something to her mind. And I believe he will do the same to Alice if she doesn’t fall in line. He told me as much without saying it directly.”
Oleg remained still.
Normally, he placed little value in suspicions and gut feelings, especially if they weren’t his own. Insinuation was not fact. Instinct was not proof. Putting his faith in another’s perception alone had never served him. He preferred facts—provable, tangible, and reliable information. Seraphina Ashroft was fickle at best, her assumptions based on her own perceptions and fears, and hardly enough to convict a man.
Nonetheless, Oleg couldn’t dismiss the thing entirely. Even at the age of seventeen, Seraphina's abilities had been unparalleled in many ways. Two decades of refinement should have done the rest. More importantly, however, she was giving him a pattern.
One daughter described as unusable—failed. Another in terms of obligations and arrangements—a warning. Inference was drawn easily enough. Despite what he stood to gain, Oleg found the pattern too coherent to dismiss.
Gaze lingering on Seraphina, he remained quiet for a prolonged moment. At last, he drew a breath. “Quite unexpected,” he said, almost contemplatively, though no less certainly. He settled a little further against the chair’s cushioning. “That it should be you offering me such valuable opportunities. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was too good to be true.” Fortunately, he did know better. A sharp curl returned to his lips.
Standing, Oleg crossed the short distance to the fireplace, staring into its flames for a second before sharply turning to settle his gaze on Seraphina once more. “I will see that Thatcher Ravenstone won’t be a threat to your daughter anymore,” he said evenly, hands crossing behind his back. “In ways I see fit. Once accomplished, you will hold your end of the bargain and every condition agreed on.”
A tiny spark returned to his eyes. “And.” He gave his wand a subtle flick. “You will guarantee so by swearing an Unbreakable Vow.”
Her word was of little worth, if any. Seraphina was untrustworthy, selfish, and just as cunning as the rest of them. Oleg knew better than to rely on written contracts, too easily disputed, broken, altered, destroyed. Oaths were better. If Seraphina wanted his help, she would pay for it.
Only seconds later, the door opened. “Mr Zdravkova,” the clerk’s voice sounded, stiff as the man himself. “You called.”
Oleg’s smile widened. “Indeed.” His eyes found Seraphina, waiting patiently, as ever.
Oleg’s gaze was not something Seraphina enjoyed on her. When he looked at her as he was, she felt once again like the teenager who had run away to escape him and the obligations that marrying him would entail. The irony was not hidden in this conversation; he could help her and she needed that help.
Thatcher Ravenstone was a dangerous man, as proven by what he’d done to his youngest daughter. Sera wouldn’t say that her heart ached for the girl she had only read about, but she did not agree with how she’d been dealt with. Her family specialized in the matters of memory, and for someone like him – undelicate, likely reckless in his utilization – to attempt to change someone’s memories, well… it was no surprise that she had been botched.
“Quite unexpected. That it should be you offering me such valuable opportunities. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was too good to be true.”
Seraphina watched silently as he stood. Her eyes followed him, despite how much she couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him. She had nothing else to give him in the way of information, nothing else in the way of – well, anything really. She’d given it all to him, and now it was in his hands. Those hands she’d wanted nothing to do with years ago, and still found herself not liking the idea of.
“I will see that Thatcher Ravenstone won’t be a threat to your daughter anymore. In ways I see fit. Once accomplished, you will hold your end of the bargain and every condition agreed on.”
She opened her mouth and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He was going to help her. Sera could thank the man, but there was something else coming her way. She could sense it like she sensed most things. Accidentally because it was only on purpose when she was doing work for her family.
She saw it before he said it.
“And. You will guarantee so by swearing an Unbreakable Vow.”
That was it. He had her. Seraphina heard alarm bells going off in her head, but she could not leave now. If she left then she was as good as dead. If she agreed to the Unbreakable Vow, she had a chance to save herself. She’d not missed the flick of his wand, and yet when the door opened, she jumped slightly.
Oleg was not an idiot. She knew that from the beginning. He knew that she couldn’t stand him one bit, which is why she had run the first time. The thought of marrying someone like him, so much older than her, when she was merely eighteen, had driven her away. He saw her as selfish and cunning, petulant perhaps.
“Mr Zdravkova. You called.”
“Indeed.”
The clerk’s eyes fell on her as well and, with all eyes in the room on her, Seraphina knew she had to act the part. She stood, rising from the seat she had claimed when she first entered the room.
“You’re thorough, I’ll give you that,” she responded as she looked at the clerk and then at Oleg. This was not something she had foreseen for the night, however, she would take it in stride. Like she took most things. “Alright, then,” she added and moved closer to the man who had one-upped her.
Sera held out her arm, not seeing this as a situation in which gentle hand-holding would work. They held each other’s forearms as they performed the Unbreakable Vow, somehow making it more okay than the act of holding hands.
Once completed, Sera nodded at Oleg. “I will see myself out,” she said, her voice tight. Even worse than betrothal was the Unbreakable Vow. She had no choice but to abide by his rules, and anyone who knew Seraphina Ashcroft knew that she hated rules.
But she would do it for her daughter, in hopes to save her from a fate similar to Everleigh’s.
The second she stepped outside, she lit a cigarette. She would go home, take a shower, and have a bottle of wine.
And just pray that Oleg held up his end of the deal.
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