It was heavier than it should've been, like a shackle cutting off my air even though it wasn't tight.
The weight distributed evenly—front and back—when the diamonds should have been the heaviest part. The polished platinum in the back felt solid, not hollow.
Too heavy.
He took a step back, and my body was instantly cold from his absence, from the loss of his heat.
My hands went to the necklace. My fingers scrabbling, searching blindly for a clasp so I could remove it.
There was nothing.
No seam, no hinge, no way to open it. The metal was cold and smooth all the way around, seamless, like it had been welded shut.
Panic clawed up my throat.
When I looked back up at him, he was leaning against the couch, his phone in his hand.
The picture of casual arrogance, like he hadn't just put a strange collar on me.
The shrill ring shattered the silence as he waited for whoever was on the other line to answer. One ring. Two. Three.
"How did you get my private number?" My mother's voice echoed in the otherwise silent room, sharp and irritated, and my stomach dropped at the sound of it.
"Senator, this is Darius Ivanov. We need to talk about your upcoming vote." His voice was smooth, professional, all business. Like this was a conference call and not a hostage negotiation.
"Mr. Ivanov." Her voice lowered to an acidic whisper.
The same one she'd used on me when she grabbed my arm and whisper-yelled at me for whatever failings I happened to have in public. It meant she wasn't around people she needed to impress so she felt no need to sugarcoat anything, but she also wasn't alone and didn't want people to overhear.
If she were alone, her voice would be raised, not lowered. "I believe I have already spoken to your associates and explained that you have been outbid."
My heart sank.Outbid.
She'd sold her vote to someone else. Of course she had.
"That's why I'm calling—to up the offer."
"Well, now you have my attention," my mother said with a sickeningly sweet tone to her words. The one she used on donors, on lobbyists, on anyone with deep pockets. "What did you have in mind?"
"It's simple, really. You stick to the original arrangement, but instead of continuing to funnel money to your campaign fund, I'm not going to pay you a cent. You're going to do as you're told as an apology for wasting my time. Then you are going to call my cousin Gregor and beg for forgiveness."
Her shrill laugh pierced through my ears, made my teeth ache.
"And why would I do that?"
"Because I have something that you want."
His words were so steady, so in control, as if everything was pre-planned and he knew exactly how this conversation was going to play out. Like he was reading from a script he'd already written.
"Mr. Ivanov, I do not have time for these silly games. I am a very busy, very important woman, and if you do not stop harassing me, I will have to get the Capitol Police involved."
"Then let me cut to the chase," he said, his voice hardening, all pretense of civility dropping away.
He turned the phone so I could see my mother on the video call.
Her hair was perfectly coiffed, and she was wearing one of her signature orange-red designer pantsuits that she thought gave her a powerful look. They actually made her look like a rotted tomato.
Before either of us said anything, a beep sounded from the necklace—high-pitched, electronic—and in the video, I saw a red glow reflected through the diamonds, bathing my throat in crimson light.
