For a second, I think it’s Roman. I can hear muffled voices outside, and one of them is Luka’s. I brace myself, spine stiffening. But when the door opens, it’s not Roman who steps in. Not Luka.
It’s Vivian.
My best friend.
She looks as immaculate as always—silk blouse tucked into tailored pants, pearl studs glinting against her skin, a vintage handbag dangling from her wrist. She looks so out of place here, like she stepped out of a Parisian painting and accidentally wandered into a cage.
My mouth falls open. “Viv.”
“Oh, Elara.” Her voice cracks, and then she’s rushing toward me. Tears spill down her cheeks as she pulls me into a hug.
“Oh, Viv, I missed you so much.” I bury my face in her golden-brown bob, breathing in her familiar perfume—something floral and expensive—and hold her tightly. She feels like a piece of home, something real and soft in this strange, cold place.
Vivian Laurent—Franco-Russian, born into old money, the kind of dynasty that smells like power and oil. She grew up in New York’s high society, speaks French, Russian, and English like music, and could charm the pearls off a duchess if she wanted.
We met at university—me, the quiet scholarship girl who didn’t fit in, and her, the quiet, elegant rebel pretending she didn’t care about the cage she was born into.
She’s always been strategic, graceful, and dangerously smart. But more than anything, she’s been loyal—to me. Even when she doesn’t understand what I’ve gotten myself into, she’s here.
Like now. Yeah, I know Roman made it happen, but seriously fuck him.
When we finally pull apart, I guide her toward the bed, still trying to process that she’s actually here—real, warm, alive.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I breathe, watching her as she sets her bag down neatly by the nightstand.
Viv sighs, brushing a short strand of hair behind her ear. “Elara, I’ve been trying to reach you for days. We don’t go this long without talking. I was starting to lose my mind.” Her tone is light, but her eyes are worried. “I almost called your father, just to make sure you were okay.”
My chest tightens at the mention of him.
“Then,” she continues, “I got an invitation from a Roman Rusnak to attend your wedding, and I didn’t even think twice. I jumped at it.”
Despite the warmth I feel seeing her, I frown. “Viv, are you insane? You shouldn’t just jump at an invite from a stranger, especially one connected to the Rusnaks.”
She laughs, the sound delicate but edged with confidence. “Please. I’m not some sheltered princess. I know who the Bratva are, and I’ve heard of the Rusnaks. I even know a few of them.” She pauses, eyes gleaming. “Though not this particular one.”
Then she leans forward, takes my hands in hers, and lowers her voice. “Elara…are you really getting married?”
Tears prick my eyes before I can stop them, the pressure building in my chest until I just let it all spill out. I tell her everything—from the night I stormed my father’s townhouse to confront him, to that godforsaken dinner where I realized I was the item being traded. How I planned to run, to disappear, but instead ran straight into Roman Rusnak. How he kidnapped me. How now, my choices are simple: marry him or die.
By the time I’m done, Viv’s mouth is hanging open. It’s such a rare sight that I actually laugh—wet, shaky, but real. “It’s hard to catch you without your composure,” I murmur, wiping my cheeks.
She blinks, utterly horrified. “This sounds like a horror movie. What?”
“It is, Viv,” I whisper. “A very real, very fucked-up one. I don’t know what to do.”
Vivian exhales shakily and shakes her head, eyes flashing. “I didn’t think I could hate your father more, but apparently, there’s still room for it.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “And Roman, God, I don’t even know how to feel about him.”
“I just feel like I’ve lost myself, you know?” I whisper. “I’m glad I didn’t end up in my father’s hands, but…what if thisis worse? What if I just traded one monster for another? Roman doesn’t seem the same, but what if I’m reading him wrong?”
Vivian’s eyes soften, her fingers squeezing mine. “Then you find a way to survive, Elara. You always do.”
“I’m not that strong, Viv.”
Vivian reaches for my hands again, her grip firm and warm. “Listen to me,” she says, voice steady, eyes glinting with that sharp steel I’ve always admired. “Whatever happens—whatever scandal, whatever storm—I’m not leaving your side. If the world turns its back on you, you’ll still have me, Elara. Always.”
Something inside me breaks at that. Comfort and shame twist together until I can barely breathe. I don’t deserve her loyalty, not when I’ve let myself be caged again, this time in silk instead of chains.
“Viv….” My throat tightens. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m marrying a man I didn’t choose.”
