Gilded in Obsession (Preview)
Don’t miss your link for the whole book at the end of the preview.
Chapter One
Calina
Laughter spills out of me as Milana and I stumble through the club doors into the cool night air. The bass still throbs behind us, and I so badly want to go back in there and continue dancing but unfortunately, we have to leave.
I hook my arm through my sister’s. She stumbles a little in her heels as we make our way toward the valet stand.
Darn, it’s still so early. A long queue of people snakes down the sidewalk, dressed to kill, all of them eager to get inside.
I wish we could stay longer. But we really, really can’t. Milana leans into me, giggling. “Are you drunk?”
I grin. “No. I only had one drink a while ago. I’m fine.”
“Or should we just call a cab?” she teases.
“I can drive,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Unlike you.”
Milana chuckles, the sound light and carefree. “I’m not drunk. I only had two drinks.”
I look at her and something warm settles in my chest. It’s rare to see Milana like this. Loose. Happy. Laughing without any care in the world. Out of the two of us, she’s always been the more reserved one, the quiet observer who keeps her guard up, even at home. Tonight, for a few precious hours, she got to be twenty-three instead of a Morozov princess.
The valet finally pulls up with our car, the black Porsche 911 Carrera that Artyom gave me for my twenty-sixth birthday. I tip the valet quickly, snatch the keys, and slide into the driver’s seat. My sister drops into the passenger side, still smiling.
“I wish we didn’t have to go home,” she says wistfully as she buckles her seatbelt.
“Me too.” I start the engine and pull away from the curb. “But we have to get back before Artyom comes home and realizes we’re gone.”
Milana groans. “He’d be so pissed if he found out we snuck out.”
“That’s why he’s not going to find out,” I reply, keeping my voice light even as nerves twist in my stomach. Our brother’s control has only gotten tighter since everything that happened with our father. He means well, but sometimes it feels like we’re suffocating.
Milana leans her head back against the seat, staring at the passing lights. “It was fun though… dancing, being free for once.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “I know. I enjoyed every second of it.” It was her first time ever stepping foot inside a club without a million guards, and God, it was great.
Milana turns to me, cheeks still flushed. “Do you think we can do this again?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “We’ll just have to find another night when we can sneak out without Artyom finding out.”
She looks out the window for a moment, the city lights sliding across her face. Then her voice gets quieter. “We’ll really be in trouble if he finds out.”
I slow to a stop at a red light and turn to look at her. The carefree glow from the club is already fading, replaced by that familiar worried crease between her brows. I reach across the console and brush my hand over hers.
“Hey. Don’t worry. If he does find out, I’ll handle him.”
Milana’s lips twitch. “Imagine what he’ll say if he does.” She sits up straighter and drops her voice into a perfect imitation of Artyom’s cold, commanding tone. “I can’t believe you two, sneaking out like criminals. You will remain in this house until you are thirty.”
I burst out laughing. She keeps going, mimicking his stiff posture and icy glare, and soon we’re both cracking up, the sound filling the car until tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
For a short while, we feel like ordinary girls. Not Morozov daughters. Not sisters trapped inside a dangerous family name. Just two girls who snuck out for one night away from our brother’s iron control.
Artyom has always been protective of us. He rarely lets us out of his sight, and when he does, his men are never far behind. But ever since he became Pakhan, it’s gotten worse. He watches us too closely now, treating us like we cannot make a decision without his permission.
Not that I can blame him entirely. The past months have been brutal, between our father’s death, the attempts on Artyom’s wife Kira, and Irina, the wife of our other brother, Mikhail. I understand why he’s so concerned about keeping us safe.
Still… I wish he would let off sometimes. Stop treating us like fragile children.
We’ve been sheltered our entire lives. That’s why, at twenty-six, I still had to sneak out to go to a nightclub. The light turns green. I press the accelerator, still smiling.
“Should we tell Kira about this?” Milana asks, still grinning.
I shake my head immediately. “No way. She might tell Artyom.”
Milana snorts. “You’re right. That woman cannot keep a secret from our brother to save her life.”
We both burst into laughter again. I have never seen my eldest brother so completely whipped in my entire life. He and Kira are madly in love, and honestly, I’m happy for him. After everything he’s been through, he deserves that kind of happiness. We are close, but still, she’s loyal to him first.
My smile disappears when bright red and blue lights suddenly flash in the rearview mirror.
Milana’s laughter cuts off. “What’s going on?”
I ease my foot off the gas and pull over to the side of the road. I’m annoyed more than anything. We’re so close to home.
“Stay calm,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady. “I’m sure it’s just a normal traffic stop.”
“What if they arrest us?” Milana whispers, her earlier lightness gone.
“Why would they arrest us? We didn’t do anything wrong.” I glance at her and force a small smile. “Just stay calm and act normal. We’ll be out of here in a minute.”
In the rearview mirror, I watch one officer step out of the patrol car and walk toward us. He’s huge, built like a tank, broad shoulders straining against his uniform, thick arms swinging at his sides. The sheer size of him unsettles me.
Another figure remains inside their vehicle. I roll down my window, pasting on a polite expression.
“Good evening, officer.”
“Ladies,” he replies, his tone flat. “Where are you coming from tonight?”
“We were just leaving a club downtown,” I answer honestly. “Is there a problem?”
He doesn’t respond to my question. “License and registration, please.”
I reach into the glove compartment, pull out the documents, and hand them over. He studies them for a long moment under the beam of his flashlight.
“Have you been drinking tonight?” he asks.
“Yes, but only one drink at the start of the evening. Nothing to worry about.”
He looks at me for a beat, then says, “Step out of the car, ma’am.”
My heart kicks harder. “Officer, I’m fine to drive—”
“Out of the car. Now.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and push the door open, still trying to explain as I step onto the asphalt. “I’m really not intoxicated. We just—”
The second officer gets out of the patrol car and moves straight to Milana’s side. He’s just as built as his companion, massive, and muscular.
“Ma’am, you need to step out as well,” he orders her.
The night air suddenly feels colder. I glance at Milana through the windshield and see the same flicker of fear I’m trying to push down in her eyes that.
The second officer yanks open Milana’s door and hauls her out before she can even unbuckle properly.
“Take it easy with her! I just told you we’re not drunk.”
This doesn’t feel like a normal traffic stop anymore. I notice immediately that they aren’t listening to a word I’m saying.
“What’s going on?” I demand. “What is your name and which precinct do you work for?”
They don’t answer.
That’s when the unease settles. I look around the empty street, we’re the only ones here. The officers are too tense, their hands hovering way too close to their weapons.
“What is this about?” I ask again, louder this time.
Still no real answer. The officer beside me suddenly grabs my arm in a bruising grip. At the exact same moment, the other man seizes Milana.
“Get your hands off me!”
I twist hard, slamming my elbow back into the man’s ribs with all the strength I have. He grunts but doesn’t let go. Milana screams and starts kicking wildly at the man holding her, her heel connecting with his shin.
“Get your hands off her!” I snarl, fighting like hell. I manage to wrench one arm free and strike the officer across the face. For a second, I almost reach Milana, our fingers brush, but I’m yanked back by my shoulders. Just then two more men pour out from the shadows. And they don’t have police uniforms on.
That’s when it hits me. These are not real cops. My blood turns to ice as they overpower us, dragging both of us away from our car, past the police car and toward a black limo waiting further down the shoulder.
“Milana!” I shout, still struggling, still clawing.
But it’s useless. They are too many, and we are completely alone. I shouldn’t have stopped; I should have kept on driving.
I scratch, claw, and swing with everything I have, nails raking down the arm of the man gripping me. Milana is right beside me, screaming and kicking, her heel connecting with someone’s knee hard enough to make him curse.
We twist and buck, trying to break free, trying to run back toward our car.
It’s useless.
My shoulder slams into the side of the black limo. “Get off me!” I snarl, still fighting as they shove the back door open.
Milana’s scream cuts through the night again, but they’re already forcing her inside ahead of me. I keep struggling, heels scraping the ground, until one of them lifts me off my feet entirely and pushes me forward.
I tumble into the cool, leather-scented interior. “Who are you guys and what do you want…” my words die in my throat as I see the man sitting across from me.
He’s sitting inside, one arm resting along the back of the seat, legs spread with lazy authority. He is not dressed like the fake officers or the other men who grabbed us.
Instead, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored black coat over a crisp black shirt, open at the collar, the fabric stretched across broad, powerful shoulders. Dark blond hair cropped short. Sharp, aristocratic features that look like they were carved from ice and stone. He is devastatingly good-looking in the most terrifying way possible.
Power rolls off him in waves. His presence fills the entire limo, thick and suffocating. Tattoos peek from beneath his cuffs and collar. His posture is relaxed, but there’s nothing soft about it. It’s the kind of stillness that feels dangerous, like a predator conserving energy before it strikes.
I know instantly that he’s in charge.
He looks at us, first at Milana, who is pressed against me, chest heaving, then slowly, deliberately, at me.
His gaze drags over my face, my disheveled hair, the way my chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. There is no heat in it. No obvious lust. Just cold assessment, like he is deciding exactly what exactly he’s going to do with me.
He doesn’t seem like some low-level thug or hired muscle. He seems like something far worse.
I hold his gaze, breathing hard. My arm aches where the man grabbed it, and I can already feel bruises forming. Milana is trembling beside me, but I refuse to let whoever these men are see me break.
I lift my chin and glare straight at the stranger.
“Who the hell are you?” My voice comes out a little shaky. “What are you doing? What do you want with us?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Those cold dark eyes slide from me to Milana, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. Then he leans back slightly, the movement elegant and predatory at once.
“I’m here to collect a debt.”
Chapter Two
Calina
I stare at him, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. No. This has to be a joke. Who the hell is this man? And what kind of debt is he talking about? How does any of this have anything to do with us?
“Debt?” I snap. “What are you talking about? We don’t even know you—how could we possibly owe you anything?”
He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me, slow and unimpressed, like I’ve said something painfully naive.
“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. You’ve got the wrong people. So how about you let us go, and we can all pretend this never happened?”
His mouth curves, barely. Not quite a smile.
“Nice try,” he’s calm as ever. “But I don’t make mistakes.” His gaze flicks between us, deliberate. “I’ve got the right girls. Your family owes me.”
A beat.
“And I’m here to collect.”
It doesn’t take long for the pieces to click into place. This has to be about my brothers. Some old grudge, some unfinished business with Artyom or Mikhail. He probably couldn’t get to them directly, so he decided to strike at the easiest targets, us. Their sisters.
Who is he? When he spoke, I caught the faint Russian accent. What could have possibly transpired between him and my brothers?
My mind races with worst-case scenarios. What is he going to do to us? My pulse is frantic, slamming against my ribs. I force myself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to stay clear-headed.
I glance around the limo, at the two stone-faced men flanking us on both sides, and the other two sitting next to the dangerous looking man. Every single one of them looks dangerous. Lethal. There is no easy way out of this car.
I turn to my sister. She is shaking beside me, small tremors running through her body. Tears glisten in her wide hazel-gray eyes. I slide my hand onto her thigh and squeeze gently. When she looks at me, I mouth the words slowly: Calm down.
She tries. She really does. But the fear in her eyes is so raw it makes my chest ache.
This is all my fault. I never should have pushed her to sneak out with me tonight. We should have listened to Artyom. We should have stayed safely inside the house like good little Morozov princesses.
We wouldn’t be here, if only we had listened. Now look at us, dragged into a stranger’s limo in the middle of the night because I wanted one taste of freedom.
I tear my gaze away from Milana and snap it back to the man watching us. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
“You won’t get away with this,” I say, forcing my voice to stay strong even though my hands are trembling. “Our brothers will come for us. And when they do, you’re going to regret ever laying a finger on us. You and every single one of your men will be sorry.”
He slowly crosses one long leg over the other, the movement relaxed, almost bored. The expensive fabric of his trousers shifts smoothly.
My gaze betrays me instantly, dragging lower before snapping back up. His hand curls around his knee, large and veined, the sleeve of his black shirt riding up just enough for dark ink to peek from beneath the cuff. My stomach tightens.
I can’t stop staring at his hands. At the tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric. At the slow flex of his fingers. And suddenly, horribly, I’m imagining those same hands on me, sliding over my waist, gripping my thighs, pinning me…
My eyes widen as the sensation spirals lower, soaking me through with heat. Jesus Christ, am I seriously turned on right now?
“Is that so?” his voice is low and steady.
I lift my chin higher. “Yeah,” I reply, trying to clear the fog in my head. “It’s not too late. Let us go right now and we’ll forget this ever happened. We won’t tell our brothers about this.”
“Nah, I want your brothers to know I took you.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure you want that, you really don’t want to know what my brothers are capable of.”
Something like dark amusement flickers across his sharp features. He doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth tilts just slightly, like I’ve said something mildly entertaining.
“How about we wait and find out what your brothers are going to do, huh?” He shrugs one broad shoulder, completely at ease. “I’m curious.”
His calm certainty is terrifying. And I realize with a sinking, icy dread that this man is not bluffing. He doesn’t look even slightly scared.
And it terrifies me. The dangerous aura rolling off him is unmistakable, but his complete lack of reaction confirms this man is in a completely different league. He isn’t some hot-headed thug acting on impulse.
I swallow hard. “Maybe you don’t know who we are,” I say, trying to sound intimidating. “I’m Calina Morozova. This is my sister, Milana Morozova. Our brothers are Artyom and Mikhail Morozov. You really don’t want to mess with them.”
He rubs his temple with two fingers like my voice is physically painful, eyes half-closed in irritation. “I know exactly who you are,” he says flatly. “And I’m not even a little scared of your brothers. Now shut up. Your voice is giving me a migraine.”
The casual dismissal stings. Anger flares hot in my chest. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have taken us in the first place,” I snap. “You wouldn’t have to listen to my voice if…”
The look he gives me is deadly. It cuts straight through me and steals the rest of my words. I clamp my mouth shut instantly.
I turn to Milana instead. She’s breathing hard, jaw clenched tight, and her free hand is fisted in her lap like she’s fighting the urge to swing at someone. I squeeze her hand tightly, trying to offer some comfort I don’t even feel. She grips me back, eyes begging me to do something. I wish I could.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” Milana grits. But he ignores her completely.
I look out the tinted window, searching for landmarks, trying to figure out where he’s taking us. We’re still inside the city. That’s something, at least.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask.
He ignores me completely.
I glance at my watch. Almost midnight. Artyom or the night guards will notice we’re not home soon. They’ll start searching. The thought gives me a small spark of hope.
But then the limo turns onto a familiar road. As I continue to look out the window, I realize this is the private access road that leads straight to Artyom’s office building.
What the hell?
I consider screaming for help the second we get close enough, maybe one of the guards stationed outside will see us through the window. But before I can even open my mouth, the limo glides to a smooth stop right in front of the office building.
He’s taking us to Artyom? This guy does really have some nerve. I turn to look at him, and still he’s as relaxed as ever.
The man beside Milana opens the door, and steps out. The man across from us tilts his head toward the exit in a silent command.
“Get down,” one of the fake police officers commands.
We obey and step out on shaky legs. The cool night air hits me. Two of Artyom’s guards patrolling the grounds immediately spot us and start walking over, confusion clear on their faces.
“Miss Calina? Miss Milana? Are you okay? What are you doing here at this—”
“Help us!” I scream, voice cracking with desperation. “They took us against our will! These men kidnapped us!”
Everything explodes in a single heartbeat.
Weapons are drawn on both sides, Artyom’s guards raising guns toward the limo and the men, the ones who dragged us here, instantly aiming right back.
One man clamps onto my arm, yanking me backward as another grabs Milana. Before I can even react, cold metal presses against my temple. I stand frozen between the two sides, heart in my throat.
And the dangerous man steps out of the limo behind us, like he’s arriving at a business meeting, completely unfazed by the dozen guns now pointed in his direction.
“Let the girls go,” one of the guards says, now pointing the gun at his head.
He doesn’t even flinch.
“Everyone calm the fuck down,” he drawls, his voice low and bored, carrying that faint Russian accent. He looks at Artyom’s guards with mild irritation. “Put your guns down.”
My brother’s men don’t move an inch. “Let the girls go,” one of them repeats.
The man mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like stupid. Then he sighs. “Instead of acting like idiots, why don’t you call your boss and tell him Maxim Orlov is here to see him?”
Maxim Orlov.
The name doesn’t ring any immediate bells. I search my memory, but nothing surfaces. Whoever he is, he’s clearly someone who expects doors to open when he says his name.
The guards hesitate, eyes darting between us and him. I can tell they know him. Maxim snaps his fingers impatiently. “Are you deaf?”
One of the guards finally pulls out his phone, while keeping his weapon trained on Maxim. He speaks rapidly in Russian into the phone. There’s a long pause on the other end. Then he ends the call and gives a stiff nod.
“Inside,” he says.
They march us into the building, still pointing guns at each other. Thankfully, the guns are no longer pointed at us.
We arrive the elevator, and only six of us go in: Maxim, one of his men, Milana and me, and two of the guards. The rest stay behind outside, still facing off with Maxim’s people, guns still raised.
As the doors slide shut, Maxim glances at the armed men and says calmly, “Try not to shoot each other’s heads off while I’m gone.”
The doors close. The tension inside the small metal box is suffocating. No one speaks. The air feels ready to ignite.
As we ride up to my brother’s office, that’s when I realize, what this abduction might be about. Him bringing us here instead of taking us to an abandoned warehouse, or somewhere far where our brothers can’t find us.
Maxim didn’t want to kill us or torture us in some dark warehouse. I think he needed a way to meet with Artyom. If he had simply asked for a meeting, my brother could have refused him. But he knows Artyom can’t ignore a man who shows up with both of his sisters in tow.
But what of the debt he was talking about? What does that mean?
Milana’s hand is ice-cold in mine. I can feel her trembling. Maxim stands relaxed against the wall, looking almost bored, like this is just another Tuesday night for him.
When the doors open on Artyom’s floor, we’re greeted by even more guns. At least six of my brother’s men are waiting, weapons raised and aimed directly at Maxim and his guard.
Maxim doesn’t even blink.
“Get those out of my face and lead the way to Artyom,” he says, voice smooth and commanding.
The guards exchange uneasy glances but comply, keeping their guns trained on him as they escort us down the hallway toward my brother’s office.
My heart is still racing.
Whatever this debt is, whatever Maxim Orlov wants… we’re about to find out. And my brother is about to get so pissed at us for sneaking off to a club.
It’s not long after we step into Artyom’s office and he arrives from home looking worried. His steel-gray eyes lock onto Milana and me first, scanning us from head to toe, checking for injuries.
“Calina, Milana, are you okay?”
“Yes,” we both answer at the same time.
The relief that flickers across his face is brief, and gone in less than a heartbeat. Then his expression hardens into pure ice. He draws his gun in one smooth motion and points it straight at Maxim’s head.
“Give me one good reason not to put a bullet in you right now,” Artyom says, voice deadly calm.
Maxim doesn’t look even a bit bothered. He drawls, “That would be a very stupid thing to do, considering I currently have your sisters.”
“They’re here now,” Artyom replies coldly, finger steady on the trigger. “I could end you before you even blink.”
Maxim lets out a low, almost bored sigh and walks straight past the guns pointed at him. He drops onto the leather couch like he owns the room, crossing one leg over the other with casual arrogance.
“Why don’t you and your men put your toys away so we can talk about why I’m really here?”
Artyom’s jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. I can see the fury rolling off him in waves. He wants to shoot Maxim. Badly. His knuckles are white around the grip of the gun.
“You have some fucking nerve coming in here like this, Maxim,” Artyom growls.
Maxim waves a dismissive hand. “You talk too much. Now I see it runs in the family.”
Artyom looks like he’s about to burst an artery. He takes a threatening step forward. “You have one minute. Start talking.”
Maxim leans back against the couch, completely relaxed, and finally speaks without emotion, like he’s discussing the weather.
“Vladimir Morozov owed my family a blood debt. He killed my adoptive father, Oleg Orlov. After the murder, a contract was signed between Vladimir and my father’s remaining allies. The debt was to be paid whenever the Orlov family decided to collect it. That contract is still valid. The debt was never settled.”
Artyom’s brows pull together in genuine confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? My father never mentioned any blood debt with the Orlovs.”
Maxim’s dark eyes narrow slightly. “Because your father was a coward who preferred to bury inconvenient truths. The contract was signed in blood. It states clearly that the Morozov family owes the Orlovs one bride as payment. I’m here to collect.”
The words land like a bomb in the room. I feel the blood drain from my face. Milana’s hand tightens painfully around mine.
Artyom stares at him, gun still raised, but I can see the calculations running behind his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“Don’t insult me Arytom,” Maxim replies flatly. “The contract is ironclad under our laws. And I have chosen my bride.”
Everything is happening so fast. What blood debt is he talking about? Why would our father have gotten into a blood debt with him without letting Arytom know?
“The youngest one will do,” Maxim drawls, his cold gaze shifting from Artyom… straight to Milana.
The room goes dead silent for half a second.
“What?” Did I just hear correctly? No. This has to be some sick joke.
“No,” Artyom snarls, the single word sharp enough to cut glass. His gun stays locked on Maxim’s forehead, finger twitching like it’s taking every ounce of control he has not to pull the trigger right now. “Over my dead fucking body.”
Maxim shrugs. “That can be arranged.”
Shock slams into me so hard my knees almost buckle. Marriage? He wants to marry Milana? My younger sister, who we’ve all spent our lives trying to shield from exactly this kind of monster?
Milana makes a small, broken sound beside me. Her hand squeezes mine so tightly I feel the bones grind together. I can feel her terror vibrating through her fingers, raw, choking panic.
I expect Artyom to do something. To shoot Maxim. To throw this bastard out of his office in pieces. He’s the Pakhan. He’s supposed to be untouchable. He’s supposed to protect us.
“Get yourself off my couch and out of my office!”
But instead doing that, Maxim reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a folded document, holding it up between two fingers.
“I came prepared. Here’s a contract signed after my father’s death. Between Vladimir Morozov and the remaining Orlov allies. Just as I already said, it states the blood debt between our families will be paid whenever the Orlovs choose to collect. The payment is one Morozov bride.”
He pauses holding Arytom’s gaze. “You dismiss this and you risk open war… your choice.”
Artyom snatches the document and unfolds it. I hold my breath as I watch him read it. I’m dying to know what it says. Do we really owe his family a blood debt?
I watch as Artyom’s face twists with fury, and I catch the exact moment something shifts behind his eyes. The gun in his hand doesn’t waver, but his jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind.
He looks up and our eyes meet. I don’t see victory in his gaze. The realization crashes over me like ice water. My brother, who has ruled this city with an iron fist since our father died, is trapped. And Milana is the one who will pay the price.
Fear for my sister claws up my throat until I can barely breathe. Milana is only twenty-three. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to be handed over to a man like Maxim Orlov, a man who looks at her like she’s a chess piece instead of a person.
I can’t let this happen.
“Artyom,” I say, my voice cracking with desperation as I step forward, pulling Milana half behind me. “Do something. You can’t… you have to stop this. Please.”
My brother’s eyes flick to me for a split second. I see the storm of rage and helplessness there.
Maxim watches the whole exchange with that same bored, predatory calm, and he knows he’s already won.
My heart is pounding so violently I feel sick at the thought of Milana being forced to marry this man, of her being taken away, locked in his world.
I take another step forward, positioning myself directly between Maxim and my sister.
“You can’t marry Milana.”
“Calina, stay out of this,” Arytom drawls, his tone dripping with annoyance.
“I’ll take Milana’s place,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before I can even think them through. “I will marry you instead.”
If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here
