Theo's pov
When people talk about legacy, they always forget to mention how suffocating it feels. They say it like it's a crown, something heavy but honorable. But to me, it feels like a hand around my neck. Every time I speak, I'm afraid it's not the version of me they want to hear.
Russia is cold. Not just in weather, but in people. In silences. In rooms where everyone speaks in half-truths and paper-thin smiles.
We spent the morning in a glass-walled conference room that looked more like a designer prison than a place of law. Legal advisors, investors, and old men in expensive suits passed documents around like they were dealing cards in some elite poker game, and I was just the buy-in.
My father sat beside me, wearing the same expression he always wore—like he owned everything, including me. I hated how easily I still looked like him. Same jaw, same eyes. Same cold blood running somewhere under the surface.
He cleared his throat.
"The shares will be moved to your name, as discussed," he said, like we were talking about a school locker, not an international company.
My mother was silent. She hadn't spoken to him in years, and yet here we were, all playing pretend because some legal paperwork required all our names in the same room.
I signed the dotted lines with a pen that cost more than anything I actually cared about. The lawyer smiled. Everyone clapped. I wanted to scream.
---
By evening, we were forced into attending this… thing. I don't even know what to call it. A gathering? A celebration? A press parade disguised as a dinner party?
It was held in a chandelier-filled hall with floors so shiny you could see your reflection in them. People wore suits worth thousands, took small sips of wine they didn't even like, and gossiped under their breath like kids in a private school bathroom.
I stood near the window, pretending to text someone. I had no one to text.
Nicol was wearing some designer gown that sparkled with every step. She looked perfect. Magazine perfect. Doll perfect.
Empty perfect.
She leaned in and said, "They're gonna want a photo soon. With us."
I didn't say anything.
"They're gonna run it on the Russian Vogue business column. It'll help the image."
"Whose image?" I asked flatly.
She looked at me like I'd asked her why the sky was blue. "Yours. Ours. The company's. You're the heir now."
I clenched my jaw. I wasn't ready to be anyone's heir. I didn't even know what I was anymore.
Then the photographer called us over. "Mr. Dodge! Miss Andreyevna! Just a quick snap."
I stood next to her. Stiff. Hands in my pockets.
The flash popped once.
"You look like you're about to attend a funeral, not inherit a company," someone joked behind the camera. Everyone laughed.
I didn't.
But then someone else added, "Smile, Theo! You're young, rich, and you've got the prettiest fiancée in the room!"
And for some reason—God knows why—I laughed. Just a breath. Just one second of broken defense.
And that was the photo they used.
The one where I laughed. The one where she looked like she had just won a crown. And of course, it was the one she posted.
---
I saw it later that night. I hadn't even looked at my socials in days. I was lying in a hotel suite that felt like a museum, just scrolling through messages I wasn't answering when I saw the notification:
@nicolandreyevna liked your photo.
My stomach dropped.
It was the photo. That photo.
The caption read:
"Having the best time of my life ❤️✨ #PowerCouple #RussianRoyals"
I froze.
I blinked.
I didn't even breathe.
The rage that bubbled in my chest wasn't clean. It wasn't just anger at Nicol. It was shame. Guilt. Regret.
Because I knew Val would see it.
I knew she'd look at it and think, "He's happy without me."
I called Nicol immediately.
"What the hell was that?" I snapped.
"What?" she answered, like she hadn't just detonated a mine across two countries.
"The post. The photo. The caption. Why would you do that?"
"Because it's good PR, Theo! We just did the deal of the decade. Your name is trending. Your laugh made the picture real. Why are you overreacting?"
I laughed bitterly, pressing a hand to my forehead. "That laugh wasn't for the camera."
"Well, it looked good."
"Nicol, you posted a lie. You made it look like we're happy. Like we're in love."
She was quiet. Then softly, she said, "Isn't that what they all want to see anyway?"
I wanted to say, "No." I wanted to scream, Val won't understand this. She'll think I'm done with her.
But I couldn't even say her name.
---
I didn't sleep.
The post gained thousands of likes. Articles picked it up. People started saying "THEODOLPHIN" was real. Stupid ship names. Fake headlines.
And somewhere, maybe hundreds of miles away, Val was probably lying in bed, scrolling, staring at a version of me that wasn't real.
The version Nicol made up.
The one who looked happy. Whole.
But I wasn't.
I was barely even breathing.