Claimed by Two Brothers

Prologue

The walls of the house had always grated on the nerves with their excessive luxury, pretentious grandeur, and-let's be honest-a noticeable layer of dust. Makar had always preferred solitude, but with age it had begun to look less like a conscious choice and more like an illness. He could have hired at least a housekeeper, yet the only staff member left was an elderly cook who no longer had the strength to keep the place in order. After the death of his best friend, the old man had lost what little will he had left, as though he were simply waiting for this meaningless life to run its course.

The brothers knew perfectly well why their grandfather had summoned them that morning, but the first hint of something unusual came when they realized their uncle-who, like them, had every right to the inheritance-was nowhere to be seen. Only the two of them, Makar himself, and the notary were present.

"Grandfather, why did you call us here so early?" Stas asked, dropping heavily into the armchair opposite the bed. He had clearly drunk far too much the night before and was now paying the price with a brutal hangover. At that moment, he would have preferred to be anywhere but in this room. Stanislav had long since accepted that his older brother would inherit everything and might, at best, share it with their uncle. Why he himself had been summoned, he honestly didn't understand.

Vlad stopped beside his younger brother and, in his usual manner, swept the room with a stern, assessing gaze.

The old man, who had been quietly conferring with the notary, broke off and looked at his grandsons. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and his eyes closed briefly. Makar had always taken his time before making important decisions, just as he was doing now, so no one dared interrupt him.

But the silence stretched on too long, and finally Vlad broke it.

"I understand you have all the time in the world, but I have a contract signing that can't wait."

The elderly man opened his pale eyes and finally spoke.

"Your contracts can wait." The words came out sharp and forceful, yet they made no impression on the brothers. Makar couldn't understand where he had gone wrong in raising them. Perhaps their parents would have managed better, but they had died many years ago, leaving two boys in his care. He had truly loved those rascals, yet somehow everything had slipped through his fingers. That had to change.

"You both know perfectly well why I called you here."

"Then why call us at all? We already know who gets what," Stas groaned, clutching his head.

"Still partying, Stas?" the old man said with a faint chuckle. "And you, Vlad, have turned into a soulless machine. I can't leave my inheritance to a pair like you. Business is a serious matter. Logic and intelligence alone won't take you far-you need passion."

"You're not seriously saying you're leaving everything to Uncle Sergey?" Vlad scoffed, stepping away from his brother with a smug expression. The heavy scent of alcohol coming from Stas made his head pound and killed any desire to sit through the will. "He'll sink the company before it even gets off the ground."

"I have no other choice. Either you straighten yourselves out, or the entire inheritance goes to my second son."

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that?" Vlad stiffened, hearing the iron resolve in his grandfather's voice. He knew all too well that once the old man made up his mind, there was no changing it.

"Throughout history, there has been only one reliable way to deal with men." Makar smiled mysteriously and glanced at the notary, who was settling himself at the writing desk. "Many years ago, over a glass of good whiskey with my best friend, we dreamed of uniting our families-and our businesses..."

"You're not starting that again, are you?" Stas laughed, shooting a look at his brother, who had gone pale. They both knew exactly where this was headed.

"Don't interrupt me, you brat!" the old man snapped. "Heaven help me, what ungrateful grandsons I have. In short, we both had sons, so uniting the families didn't work out back then. But now everything has changed. Albert's granddaughter has grown up-a real beauty..."

A loud burst of laughter rang through the room, cutting him off again. Stas struggled to compose himself and finally managed to stop.

"Grandfather, you have a very unusual idea of beauty. Nadya is anything but beautiful. She's a bespectacled little goblin, not a girl. You're condemning Vlad to a lifetime of misery."

"And why Vlad, exactly?" the old man raised an eyebrow, cleared his throat, and continued. "Here's how it will be. The inheritance will go to whichever of you marries Batalov's granddaughter. Notary, please write that down. If within six months of my death either Stas or Vlad fails to marry Nadezhda Batalova, everything goes to my son-Darvin Sergey."

"Have you lost your mind?" Vlad finally exploded, fully grasping the trap he had just walked into. "Uncle will destroy the business!"

"You have a chance to prevent that. For those six months, he will manage the company, and the two of you will have plenty of time to court the girl."

"What's there to court?" Stas snorted, glancing at his brother and clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Just convince her to marry and be done with it. It won't even take six months. I doubt there's a line of men eager to marry that fool."

"Oh no." The old man wagged a finger. "Notary, I want you to personally ensure that no one pressures the girl. She must walk down the aisle of her own free will. I will not tolerate any sham marriages."

"I'll make a note of that," the notary replied, carefully recording his client's words before adding with a polite smile, "It will be my pleasure, Mr. Makar."

"I never thought you'd saddle us with something like this," Vlad growled, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

The silence didn't last long. Vlad soon returned, and a full-blown argument erupted. Stas, however, couldn't have cared less about what was happening inside. He quietly slipped out of the house, hoping for a breath of fresh air. It was late spring, and the days were already growing so hot that even early morning offered only a brief, fragile coolness. Sitting on a bench near the porch, he tilted his face toward the sun and smiled. Who would have thought the old man would come up with such a ridiculous condition? Fortunately, it had nothing to do with him.

A few minutes later, Vlad stepped outside. He sat down beside his younger brother and buried his face in his hands.

"Stubborn old man."

"Couldn't talk him out of it?" Stas asked smugly.

"How could I? You know perfectly well that's impossible."

"I don't get you, brother. You've always been ready to carry the business on your shoulders, so what's the problem? Think of it as a small, unpleasant addition to enormous money and endless opportunities. You don't want to leave everything to our dear uncle, do you?"

"And I see you're not planning to join the fight for the business?" Vlad rose, took a few steps away, and leaned against a tree. Stroking his dark beard, he considered the situation more seriously than he had at first. He really could lose everything. Who knew what kind of damage Uncle Sergey might do while he was busy chasing after that girl?

"I don't need this business badly enough to doom myself to that fate. Every time I picture that skinny girl with her thin white braids, round glasses, and-"

"That's enough. I feel sick just thinking about her."

"Look at it from another angle. She's an only child and the sole heir to the Batalov fortune. Can you imagine what a profitable match that would be?"

"Maybe-if you ignore the fact that I'd have to share a bed with her."

Silence settled between the brothers. The situation was grim.

"Listen," Stas said, looking at him. "Maybe Grandpa will change his mind. He's still strong. He'll live a long time, and one day..."

"I really hope so," Vlad replied quietly.