PROLOGUE
Brielle
As I lieon the medical bed, my wrists and ankles strapped down, I can’t help but think about how I got here.
One minute, I was in college, in love with my boyfriend, and the next, I was being raped by a monster. A monster who took what he wasn’t offered.
“You thought you could get away with this?” Anthony shouted as he held my hands down and took and took and took. “This body was supposed to be mine!”
I wish I could say this was the first time my control had been taken from me, but I was raised by Andrey Antonov, the king of needing to be in control. He might be my father, but family means nothing to him, and women are nothing more than a commodity to be used to further his agenda.
Growing up, if I didn’t do as he wanted, he would make sure there were consequences. Rather than demanding respect, he thrived on people’s fear.
My brothers, Dominick and Matteo, would try to save me, but I hated that, in turn, Andrey would hurt them. So, I learned from an early age that if I relinquished all control, we would be safe from our father’s wrath.
He wanted me to go to a private school. I went.
He wanted me to stay a virgin to marry his business associate’s son. I kept my legs closed.
He insisted I go to a college not too far from where we lived. I went to the college he allowed me to go to.
He picked out the apartment I would live in near campus. I thanked him.
But the moment I was out of his home, something in me snapped. Maybe it was the distance that made me bolder. Or being away from home that allowed me to get comfortable.
But little by little, I started to take back my control.
I changed my major from arts and humanities to accounting.
I purchased a second phone so he couldn’t track my whereabouts.
I met a boy and fell in love, and I gave him my virginity.
I started to make plans, ones that didn’t include marrying Anthony Rothschild.
But me thinking I was in control was nothing more than an illusion.
And that was proven the night Anthony forced himself on me.
I begged him to stop.
But I wasn’t in control.
Then my father found out about my boyfriend, and I begged him not to kill him.
But I wasn’t in control.
Andrey found out I was pregnant.
And because Andrey Antonovalwayshas to be in control, we’ve ended up here—at a clinic, where he’s paying a doctor to abort my baby.
“Please,” I beg, unsure if anyone can even hear me. “Please don’t take my baby.”
“You did this,” Andrey hisses, coming into view.
He towers over me, a look of disgust marring his features. “You’re a whore who chose to spread her legs, and now I’m forced to fix the problem you created.”
“Please,” I say again. “I’m sorry. The baby might beAnthony’s?—”
