Page 75 of Baby for the Bratva King

He disappears into the walk-in closet, returning a few moments later with a suit—nothing out of the ordinary.

“What the hell is this?”

“I’m Dracula for the evening.”

“Felix is terrifying enough.”

“Fair point,” says Felix, handing something over to me. “You’ll wear these tonight.”

I grab the black string, stretching it out. A tiny bedazzled ‘F’ hangs from the crotch area.

“So you know who you belong to.”

“I thought you wanted me to go commando.”

“This is better.” His starburst eyes glisten the most dangerous shade of silver, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse into this other side of him. The side that breaks and loses composure.

I crave and fear that side.

I shower and get ready in the guest bedroom, securing the corset. I stare at my reflection, ghosting a finger over the fake blood, the fake teeth. My nails are painted red, my hair sweeping over my shoulders, freshly washed. I smell of apples and coconuts from my shampoo—not really going with the gothic theme, but everything else about me is terrifying. I can barely see my real eyes behind the thick lashes and winged eyeliner. My lips are stained red, my skin even paler than usual.

The cameras will be on me once again, but this time, I get to choose my own image. And for the first time ever, I’m ready to be seen… just not in the way my father would approve.

And I can’t stop the memory from flooding in.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, comparing myself to a ghost.

I sniffle, wiping the last few tears from my eyes before going ahead with some makeup.

This is the second event my father has asked me to attend. I’m still recovering after the first one when he made Fleur and I stand on our feet for hours. The paparazzi held us captive for five fucking hours, just to delete every single photograph and choose someone else to headline the next day.

Two weeks later, my father’s just starting to recover from the catastrophe.

“I want my money back,” is what he said on the phone the following morning.

“Not our problem your girls looked like they were attending a wake.”

The cobalt blue dress washes me out, but father said we need to wear color.

I dab concealer over my eyes, blending it in, hoping my eyes will look less red by the time I’m done. I curl my lashes, brush them out, trying to bring some life back into them.

“Are you girls ready?” shouts my father through the hallway.

I wince, his voice shaking me to my core.

“Saskia?” He knocks once on the bathroom door, striding in.

My chest tenses as I see him appear behind me in the mirror.

“You look dreadful,” he snaps. “Fix yourself up and do it quickly. Nobody wants to see those tears.”

“Yes, father,” I choke, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He shuts the door, the loud bang reverberating through my body. I forget the mascara and try some blush instead, but makeup can’t fix me. I look like the walking dead.

My father is slowly sucking the life out of me, but this will all be worth it soon when he starts looking at me with love, the way a father should look at his daughter. I know he still has that side of him in there somewhere.

I walk into the event wearing six-inch stilettos and Felix’s arm around me.