Three months ago, I was a captive. A victim. A woman whose future had been stolen by her own family and bartered away like property.
Today, I'm getting married.
The irony isn't lost on me. The man who bought me at an auction is about to become my husband. But the path from that moment to this one has transformed everything—him, me, what we are to each other. This isn't a transaction. It's a choice. My choice.
"Stop fidgeting," Mrs. Novak says, adjusting the delicate beading along my neckline. "You'll wrinkle the fabric."
"I'm not fidgeting. I'm... settling."
"You're fidgeting." But her voice is warm, her eyes suspiciously bright. She's been with the Kashkin family for thirty years, watched Misha grow from a boy into the man he is today. I think she'd given up hope of ever seeing him marry.
"There." She steps back, surveying her work. "Perfect. Maria would be proud."
The mention of Misha's mother sends a pang through my chest. I never met her, but I feel like I know her—through the greenhouse she built, the journal I found hidden among her things, the son she raised. I'm wearing her ring on my finger. In a few hours, I'll carry her name.
I hope I'm worthy of it.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Anna sweeps in without waiting for an answer, a blur of dark hair and designer perfume and barely contained excitement.
"Oh my God," she breathes, stopping short when she sees me. "Bianca. You look..."
"Pregnant?"
"Radiant." She crosses the room and takes my hands, her eyes glistening. "Absolutely radiant. My brother is going to lose his mind."
"I hope that's a good thing."
"It's the best thing." She squeezes my fingers. "I've never seen him like this, you know. Happy. Actually happy, not just... functioning. You did that. You and the little one."
I press my free hand to my belly, feeling the familiar flutter of movement beneath my palm. The baby has been active all morning, as if sensing the significance of the day.
"I'm nervous," I admit.
"Of course you are. That's normal." Anna starts fussing with my hair, adjusting pins, smoothing strands into place. "But you have nothing to worry about. He adores you. Anyone with eyes can see that."
"It's not Misha I'm nervous about. It's... everything else. The life we're building. The dangers that come with it. Bringing a child into this world."
Anna's hands still. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
"I grew up in this world. So did Misha, so did Dmitri. You know what it's like from your family. It's not easy. There are things we've seen, things we've lost, that no child should have to experience." She meets my eyes in the mirror. "But there's also love. Fierce, protective, all-consuming love. The kind that builds empires and tears down enemies. The kind that would burn the world to keep you safe."
"That sounds exhausting."
She laughs. "It is. But it's also worth it. Every single day, it's worth it."
***
The greenhouse has been transformed.
When I step through the doors an hour later, I have to stop and catch my breath. Flowers everywhere—roses and lilies and the azaleas I coaxed back to life, their colors vibrant against the restored glass walls. Candles flicker on every surface, their light warm and golden in the afternoon sun. White chairs line a central aisle, occupied by the small group of people we've chosen to witness this moment.
Dmitri sits in the front row, his expression as stoic as ever, though I catch a hint of something softer when our eyes meet. Beside him, Kira holds baby Alexander on her lap, the infant gurgling happily, oblivious to the solemnity of the occasion. Kira catches my eye and smiles—warm, genuine, thesmile of a woman who understands exactly what this moment means. She was a stranger to this world once too, before Dmitri claimed her. Now she's family.
Alexei sits on Dmitri's other side, looking uncomfortable in a suit but present nonetheless. Mrs. Novak dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. A handful of others—trusted members of the household, people who have become family in their own way—fill the remaining seats.
No Benedettis. Not my father, who sold me. Not my brothers, who delivered me to the auction like cargo. They're not here, and they never will be. That family is dead to me now—as dead as if they'd never existed. I used to grieve that loss, used to wonder if there was some way to salvage the relationships that should have meant something. But I've stopped wondering. Some wounds don't heal. Some betrayals can't be forgiven.
My father and my brothers are in hiding somewhere, Misha tells me. Running from the consequences of the auction, from the enemies my father made by selling his daughter to the wrong people. Part of me hopes he spends the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. Part of me hopes I never think of him again.
