Svitlana Lytvynenko

"You want me to pretend to be your wife?" Kira wasn’t just surprised — she was downright shocked by what she heard. "And you want me to actually, I mean officially, marry you?" "Exactly," Timur confirmed. "You'll be my legal wife for a while. Then, when we return to Ukraine, we'll get divorced and go our separate ways." "And what makes you think I’d be interested in this? That I’d agree to take part in your little scheme? Don’t you have anyone else to ask?" "Your help won’t be for free," Timur quickly assured her, following Kira back to his car. "The hotel I’ll build in your town will be yours. And I’ll pay off all your uncle’s debts so he can keep his position as mayor. He’s counting on you to be reasonable."

"How long have you been married?" Igor abruptly changed the subject. "Three years," Emilia replied briefly, convincing herself it was just an ordinary question with no hidden meaning. "Thank you for saving me back then…" "You’ve already thanked me," Igor smiled. "Are you trying to dodge the conversation about your family life? Don’t want to be asked such questions? But this isn’t idle curiosity — I need to know who will be involved in raising my daughter." "You can take a look at my résumé," Emilia quickly added. "I already have. My wife showed it to me and asked if I approved," Igor said as he stopped at a traffic light upon entering the city. "Of course I approved — I had no reason to object. But I’d like to know more about you as a person…"

He stepped closer, and their eyes met. And then, in a split second, Daryna remembered who was standing in front of her. It was him—the one she hated with all her heart. The one she had tried so hard to forget. No wonder she hadn’t recognized him—he no longer existed in her memories. “Vlad,” she whispered his name. “Is it really you?” “I’m glad you at least remember my name,” Vlad said with a faint smile. “When did you get back?” “Yesterday,” Daryna replied shortly, slowly regaining her composure. “Back just yesterday, and already at work today. That’s the Daryna I remember—the good girl who never liked to sit still.” He glanced at her ring finger. “Still not married, I see. You know... I’m actually glad. You’re free. And so am I.”

"Are you the one setting conditions for me now, huh?" he interrupted, surprised by what he saw as her audacity. "No, sweetheart, I make the rules here. You came to my family, so you play by my terms. And they’re simple: you’ll do everything I say. Otherwise, you’ll really have to go back home. Got it?" "I already had a low opinion of you, but now it’s even worse," Zlata snapped angrily, slamming her glass on the table. She was about to get up, but— "Sit down," Zakhar growled through gritted teeth. "My uncle and Giulia need to think we’re getting along just fine. That their plan worked and we’re actually interested in each other. No need to upset them or create drama. So, if you want to stay in Milan and keep working at Giulia’s atelier, behave yourself, show some respect, and do exactly

“My family doesn’t like that I’m single, and they’re always trying to set me up with someone. But I don’t want to date anyone — I want to stay independent,” Eva sighed heavily. “I’m so tired of all this. I’m sick of resisting.” “Why do you want to be alone?” Denis suddenly found that interesting. “None of your business,” Eva stood up from the table. “It’s been over an hour already.” “Eva, sit back down. I have a business proposition for you. Help me, and I’ll help you.” “Must be the cognac mixed with champagne finally kicking in, because you’re starting to talk nonsense,” Eva said, but she sat back down. “How could we possibly help each other? Do you even realize what you just said?” “I’m not drunk at all. Just listen and don’t interrupt. I’m proposing that, for a while, you be my gir

“I now pronounce you husband and wife…” Those words made Lesia feel even worse than she had before. The trap had snapped shut. “You may kiss your bride…” “No…” The word escaped Lesia’s lips, but when she saw her grandfather’s stern yet satisfied expression, she bit her lip. Still, she could no longer hold back the tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the moment this peasant—now her lawful husband—would start kissing her wildly. Like a predator claiming its prey, driven into this hateful… trap. But instead, Amir simply embraced her and whispered in her ear: “We’ll save the kisses for later. For now, try to calm down and put on a happy face. It’s our wedding, after all—not a funeral.”