“Just remember, if you say anything about this to anyone, you dieandyour kid dies. And you know I’m not bluffing.”
Of course I do.
“Do me a favor,” I say, my hand still on the door. “Don’t call me Eden anymore, okay? Not here. Not if you want this plan to work.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Go find yourself something nice to wear to the club, and if you’re accepted, they’ll mail you a masquerade mask. Make sure you wear it or you won’t get in.”
“I’m supposed to just go there on my own?”
“What, you think I’m going to hold your hand?” His lip curls.
Before I go, I ask him, “When is the auction, exactly?”
“They’ll let you know once you’re accepted. These things happen every week.”
My brows lift. Every week. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. People lining up to sell themselves, men lining up to buy them. All for money.
Finally climbing out of the car, I start toward mine, the world around me looking painfully normal. My fingers tighten around the bag I’m still holding like it's going to save me from the shitstorm that is my life.
But I don't see what other choice I have. It's either hurt Kirill or hurt my son, and I can't do that.
Once I’m back in the supposed safety of my Volkswagen, I shut the door and just sit there, forehead resting against the steering wheel while my heart tries to calm down. The threat of Eli, the folder, Kirill’s picture…it all presses in until I can barely breathe, and there’s only one thing I need right now.
Grabbing my phone, I call my sister, praying she’ll have a shred of compassion left and let me talk to Milo, even for a minute. I know he should be home from school by now.
The phone rings—once, twice, three, four times—and just when I think it’s going to voicemail, she finally answers.
“What do you want?” She sighs like I’ve already ruined her day just by calling.
“Hey, Camille.” My fingers clasp the phone tighter. “I was just hoping to say hi to Milo, if you don’t mind. I really miss him, and I’ve had a really bad day.”
“He’s eating a snack right now, so it’s not a good time.”
“Please,” I breathe. “I’m begging you. I just want to hear his voice. It’s been too long, and I’m his mother. I know I’ve fucked up in the past, and I’m not perfect, but I’m asking you for a sliver here, okay? Just a minute. Just to hear my own son.”
She goes quiet, and every second of that silence stretches me thin. I brace for the no, for the click, for the way she likes to twist the knife.
Instead, she exhales. “Okay, fine. You have two minutes.”
My eyes sting with instant relief.
“Thank you,” I whisper, but I don’t think she hears it.
I listen to her call him. “Milo, your mom’s on the phone. Come say hi.”
The next thing I register is his little scream. “Mommy!”
And for the first time all day, my heart feels like it might actually stay in my chest.
“Mommy, when are you coming to get me? I don't want to stay here anymore.”
The words punch straight through me. Before I can answer, I hear my sister in the background.
“You’re an ungrateful little shit.”
“Don't listen to her,” I tell him. “Mommy’s trying really hard to get us a place to live, and that way we can be together, okay? I promise I'm trying so hard for you. Just know how much I love you. Not a minute goes by that I don't think about you or want to be with you.”
“I don't care where we live. I just want to be with you.”
