Iwake up choking on the smell of polish. A cold shiver runs up my spine. My body feels heavy, sluggish, like I’ve been packed full of sand. My head throbs dully at the back, pain blooming every time I try to move.
Then I see the canopy.
White silk. Embroidered with tiny gold thread. Perfectly pressed.
My stomach drops as I start to process all of this. It’s my childhood bed. I don’t need a soothsayer to know this. The horrific phase of my life began right here, in this very room.
The room hasn’t changed. Of course it hasn’t. The walls are still the same pale cream my mother once insisted was “timeless.” The dresser is exactly where it always was. The mirror, too. Even the faint crack near the window frame is still there, the one I used to trace with my finger when I couldn’t sleep.
I squeeze my eyes shut, heart slamming against my ribs.
No. No, no, no.
“Finally. I was starting to wonder if I'd killed you.”
My eyes fly open.
He’s leaning against the doorframe like he belongs there. Tall. Immaculate. Familiar in the way nightmares are familiar. Dark hair, same sharp mouth, same eyes that never learned the difference between want and ownership.
Anton Pavlov.
My breath comes out in a broken gasp. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t come any closer.”
He smiles slowly, deliberately, like he’s savoring the fear. “Still skittish as ever, Brooklyn,” he says. “Not for long, I hope.”
Memory crashes into me all at once.
The engagement party. The champagne. My mother’s hand on my back, fingers digging in just hard enough to hurt.
Smile, Brooklyn.
I sit up too fast and nearly black out again. My pulse roars in my ears. “You don’t get to call me that,” I say, voice shaking. “You don’t get to touch me.”
Anton laughs softly. “You ran,” he says. “You embarrassed a lot of very important people. Including me, you know.”
“I chose myself,” I spit. The hate in my heart is still as raw as before.
“You chose chaos,” he corrects. “But that’s over now.”
He steps closer. I scramble back until my spine hits the headboard, every instinct screaming at me to run even though there’s nowhere to go.
“You’re home,” he says. “Your family missed you.”
I think of my mother’s cold eyes. Of the silence that followed my disappearance. “They sold me,” I announce, like he didn’t already know. “To you.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“That’s how alliances work,” Anton says mildly. “My brother Georg and I will inherit all of this, soon. The Bratva expects continuity. Stability.” His gaze drags over me. “And heirs. You fit beautifully into that picture.”
Terror coils tight in my chest. “I won’t marry you.”
He tilts his head. “You will.”
I shake my head violently. “I’d rather die.”
Something flickers in his eyes at that. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs. “You just might get it.”
He touches my cheek. Lightly, like I'm a toy he can't wait to try out. “Get some rest,” he says. “Tomorrow is a big day.”
