Elena Ashford doesn’t cry often.
I’ve seen her cry maybe three times in my entire life—when her own mother died, when my sisters were born premature, and now.
Now, as she watches her oldest daughter prepare to marry a man who will likely destroy her.
“I tried,” she whispers suddenly, her voice raw and broken. “I tried to talk your father out of this. I begged him. I told him there had to be another way. But he—” Her voice cracks. “He said it was the only way to keep us all safe. The only way to stop the war.”
“I know, Mom,” I say softly even though my voice sounds hollow and distant. “It’s okay.”
“It’snotokay,” she says fiercely, standing up. She crosses to me and takes my hands in hers. Her fingers are cold and trembling. “None of this is okay. You’re my baby girl, and I’m watching you—” She can’t finish and instead, pulls me into her arms and holds me tight, careful not to crush the dress.
I want to cry and sob into her shoulder the way I did when I was little and the world felt too big and scary. But I can’t because if I start crying now, I’ll never stop.
The door bursts open, and my twin sisters rush in.
Lydia and Natasha are twelve years old, identical in every way except their personalities.
Lydia is the bold one, all fire and questions while Natasha is gentler and more thoughtful. Right now, though, they both look apprehensive.
“Vera!” Lydia throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You look so pretty! But why does everyone look so sad? Isn’t a wedding supposed to be happy?”
Natasha is quieter, but she takes my hand, squeezing tight. Her dark eyes—so much like our father’s—are filled with confusion and fear. “Do you have to go? Can’t you stay here with us?”
My heart breaks all over again. They’re so young. So innocent.
They don’t understand what’s happening or know that their oldest sister is being sacrificed to prevent a war.
They don’t know that our family killed a man and now I have to pay the price.
“I have to go,” I whisper, kneeling down so I’m at their eye level. The dress pools around me like a white cloud. “But I’ll visit, I promise. And you can call me anytime you want, okay?”
Even as I say it, I’m not sure it's true. I don’t know what kind of life I’ll have as Dimitri Volkov’s wife. I don’t know if he’ll let me see my family or if I’ll even be allowed to leave his house.
If my future husband’s family killed my sister, I sure as hell wouldn’t let them have any privileges. And if I’m saying that, Dimitri Volkovcertainlywon’t.
I feel sick. Will I even survive this marriage?
“Girls, come on,” my mother says gently, ushering them toward the door. “Let your sister finish getting ready.”
They hug me one more time—fierce, desperate hugs that make my heart hurt—and then they’re gone. The door closes behind them, and the room feels emptier.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at my father.
Dad stands at the bottom, dressed in a charcoal suit, his face carefully blank. But his eyes—his eyes are full of guilt and pain and…is that shame?
He can’t even meet my gaze for more than a second before looking away.
Good. He should feel guilty. He should feel ashamed.He’sthe one who’s selling me to the Volkovs.He’sthe one who’s decided my life is an acceptable price to pay for peace.
But then I see my Uncle Marcus standing beside him, and rage floods through me so hot and sharp I can barely breathe.
Marcus Ashford looks satisfied. Actuallysatisfied. There’s a smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth, like he’s pleased with how everything has turned out.
Thisis the man who killed Alexei. Who pulled the trigger and murdered the father of my child in cold blood.
And he’s standing here at my fucking wedding like nothing happened. Like he didn’t destroy my entire future.
I want to scream at him and fly down these stairs and claw that smug smile off his face. I want to tell everyone what he did, what theyalldid.
