Chapter 1

Laura

THE WORDS hit me like a physical blow.

Victor… Dead?

“No…” escapes my lips before I can catch it, my hands flying to my mouth to stifle the sound.

Why does this hurt so much?

Without Victor, there’s no forced marriage, no captor.

I should be relieved, right?

But instead, there’s this gaping hole of dread, like I’m about to lose something crucial, and I can’t make heads or tails of why.

Ksenia spins around, phone still in hand. Her gaze lands on me, fierce and angry.

“Send me your location, NOW,” she barks, then quickly ends the call.

Back against the door, my breathing goes haywire, shallow and quick. Cold sweat makes my skin clammy, sticking my shirt to my back like a second skin.

All I want to do is to run away right now. But there’s this wave of panic locking my feet to the floor, as though they’ve been bolted down, unable to move an inch.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps, standing so close I can feel the heat of her anger.

“I… I was just—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t give me that. Roaming around like you own the place. You’re in way over your fucking head, girl.”

“I heard what you said,” I manage, defiance creeping into my tone despite the shaking of my hands. “Is he…?”

I yelp as Ksenia grabs my arm in a vice-like grip and yanks me into the meeting room, slamming the door shut behind us. She whirls around, eyes blazing with a dangerous fury.

Ksenia stalks toward me, her heels clicking menacingly against the hardwood floor. With each step, the room seems to shrink, the walls closing in as she nears. I find myself holding my breath, bracing for her next move.

“What you heard and what you think you know are two different things. Victor’s business isn’t your concern.”

“But, it is my concern,” I blurt out, mustering the last shred of bravery I didn’t know I had. “I’m marrying him tomorrow.”

“You listen to me, and you listen good.” She jabs a finger in my face. “We don’t know for certain if Victor is dead, but you don’t breathe a word of this to anyone until I can confirm the situation; you hear me?”

A knot forms In my throat as uncertainty washes over me.

Victor might still be alive?

The thought fills me with both dread and an ember of hope I can’t quite extinguish, no matter how twisted our relationship may be.

She closes the distance between us, her face mere inches from mine as she speaks. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go back to your room, pretty yourself up, and act like everything is normal when we have breakfast with the family. Not a word about Victor until I know what the hell is going on, understood?”

My heart pounds in my chest as her threat sinks in. I give a small nod, fear and uncertainty swirling inside me.

How can I pretend everything is fine when my world has just crumbled?

“What… what if Victor is really dead?”I ask, my voice husky. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. My hands tremble at my sides, and I curl them into fists, nails digging into my palms.

Ksenia’s hand darts out, grasping my chin firmly between her perfectly manicured fingers. She tilts my head up, forcing me to meet her icy stare.

“Well, devochka, if Victor is dead,” she drawls, her breath hot against my face, “then we’ll have no use for you here, will we?”

I close my eyes, a single tear escaping down my cheek. I know exactly what she means. If Victor is gone, I’m as good as dead. Just another loose end to be tied up in their twisted world.

She’ll kill me.

Back in my room, I collapse onto the bed, sobs wracking my body.

Hot tears stream down my face, soaking into the silk pillowcase.

I curl in on myself, hugging my knees to my chest as if I can somehow hold myself together.

Is this my fault?Am I cursed to lose everyone I care about? First Mom, now Victor…

The thought of him sends a fresh wave of pain through my chest.

I never wanted this, never asked to be a part of his dangerous world. But somehow, he’d become a twisted constant in my life, his presence equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but I can’t escape the onslaught of memories. Victor’s face, his touch, his scent—they assault me, relentless and merciless.

I remember the rough drag of his calloused hands on my skin, the way they could be both demanding and surprisingly gentle. The smell of him—leather, gun oil, and a hint of woodsy cologne—clings to my pillows, taunting me with what I’ve lost.

But it’s his eyes that haunt me the most. Those stormy gray eyes that could strip me bare with a single glance, that seemed to see straight into my battered soul.

A violent shudder wracks my body, and I dig my nails into my arms until I feel the sting of broken skin.

What will become of me now?

Without Victor’s protection, I’m nothing more than a pawn in their deadly game, an insignificant piece on a chessboard of power and deceit.

Expendable. Disposable. A mere casualty in the grand scheme of things.

Fuck, what am I supposed to do?

I’ve never felt so alone, so utterly hopeless. The future stretches out before me, bleak and uncertain, a vast wasteland of shattered dreams and broken promises. The weight of my despair presses down on me, suffocating me with its intensity.

Thud.

Thud.

Someone is knocking on the door.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

The sound is so soft, barely audible over the pounding of my heart, but in the stillness of the room, it’s deafening.

Thud.

Thud.

There it is again, a little louder this time. I hastily wipe my tears with the back of my hand, scrambling to sit up on the bed. My mind races, trying to compose myself, to hide any evidence of my breakdown.

“Who… who’s there?”

Victor?

Before I can even stand, the door swings open, and a trio of maids glide into the room, their faces impassive masks of professionalism. They move with a synchronized grace, each step perfectly timed, like dancers in a well-rehearsed ballet.

And then I see it, draped across their arms—a gown of pure white, delicate lace, and shimmering satin catching the light as they move.

My wedding dress.

No… not Victor.

“Miss Thompson…” The eldest maid steps forward, her voice soft but firm. She’s a petite woman, her silver hair pulled back into a tight bun, her face lined with years of experience. “You’ll have to try out the wedding dress to see if it fits.”

I open my mouth to protest, to scream, to do something…

No.

No, there won’t be a wedding.

There can’t be.

Because Victor is dead.

I want to scream the words at these maids, these perfect little dolls with their pristine uniforms and their emotionless faces.

I want to grab them by their starched collars and shake them until they understand the gravity of the situation.

Don’t they get it? Victor is gone. He’s not coming back. And without him, this whole charade is pointless.

But I can’t say it.

I can’t force the words past my lips. They’re lodged in my chest, a heavy weight that threatens to crush me from the inside out.

So I stand there, mute and seething, as they bustle around me, holding up the dress, fussing with the lace and the buttons. They’re talking, their voices a distant buzz in my ears, but I can’t make out the words. It’s like I’m underwater, everything muffled and distorted.

This is wrong.

It’s all wrong.

I shouldn’t be here, playing dress-up like some kind of twisted fairytale princess. I—

The words stick in my throat like vomit.

I want to spit them out, hurl them at these maids with their perfect fucking timing and their pristine white dress.

There will be no wedding. No fairytale ending. No happily ever after.

Because Victor is dead.

The thought keeps cutting into me like a serrated knife, ripping me open.

I want to scream, to rage, to tear this fucking dress to shreds. I want to watch the delicate lace unravel, the satin shred beneath my fingers. I want to rip it apart, just like my life has been ripped apart.

But I can’t. I won’t. Because I’m a coward.

A fucking coward who can’t even stand up for herself.

I keep myself silent and still as they fuss over me, pinning and tucking and smoothing. Their hands are cold, their touch impersonal. They don’t care about me, about my pain. I’m just another job to them, another bride.

I’m frozen, my body refusing to cooperate as they remove the dress and lay it out on the bed, smoothing the fabric with practiced hands.

“Laura!” Eli’s excited voice fills the room as she bounds in, her eyes wide with delight. “Look at your dress! It’s so pretty!”

She runs her small hands over the delicate lace, her face lit up with innocent joy. For a moment, I almost envy her naivety, her ability to find happiness in the midst of all this chaos.

But then Ksenia steps into the room, her presence commanding attention like a queen entering her court. Her face is a mask of cold indifference, as if the earlier conversation, the news of Victor’s possible death, had never happened.

“Laura,” she says, her tone clipped and businesslike. “It’s time for breakfast with the family. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

I stare at her, my mind reeling.

How can she act like everything is normal? Like the world hasn’t just been turned upside down?

“I… I can’t…” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Victor… he might be…”

Ksenia’s eyes flash with a warning, her jaw clenching.

“Not another word,” she hisses.

Eli’s little hand clutches Ksenia’s, her eyes darting between her mother and me. The concern on her face is heart-rending, twisting the knife of guilt that’s already buried in my chest.

Fuck. She knows something’s wrong. She can see it written all over my face, no matter how hard I try to hide it.

“Mama?” Eli’s voice is small, uncertain. “What’s going on? Why does Laura look so sad?”

Ksenia’s grip on Eli’s hand tightens, her knuckles turning white. She shoots me a look that could cut glass, a silent warning to keep my fucking mouth shut.

“Nothing, milaya,” she says, her voice saccharine sweet. “Tetya Laura’s just a little nervous about the wedding, that’s all.”

Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.

I’m bursting to yell it out, to tell Eli the brutal truth.

That her uncle might be dead, that this whole fucking wedding is a sham, a twisted play put on for the benefit of the Bratva.

But I can’t do it. I can’t crush her innocence. She’s the only one good thing here.

I force a smile, feeling like my face might crack from the effort. “Yeah, just nerves,” I manage, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

Eli frowns, her brow furrowing. She’s too smart for her own good, too perceptive. She knows something’s not right, even if she can’t put her finger on it.

Please, Eli. Please don’t ask any more questions. I can’t take it, can’t keep up this charade.

My heart is pounding, my palms slick with sweat. I feel like I’m going to be sick, the bile rising in my throat.

I have to get out of here. I have to—

“Come on, Eli,” Ksenia says, tugging on her hand. “Let’s let Tetya Laura finish getting ready. Nana will take you down to breakfast so you’re not late, okay?”

Eli hesitates, her eyes still locked on mine. For a moment, I think she’s going to protest, to demand answers.

But then she nods, allowing her nanny to lead her out of the room. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving me with Ksenia.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Ksenia turns to the maids bustling around the room, hanging up dresses and arranging jewelry. Her face hardens, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Out,” she snaps, jerking her head toward the door. “All of you. Now.”

The maids freeze, eyes wide. They glance at each other uncertainly, then back at Ksenia.

She arches a brow, impatience flashing across her features. “Did I stutter? Leave us.”

They scurry out without another word, the door closing behind them with a muffled thud.

Ksenia turns back to me, her smile sharp and lacking any sign of warmth. “You will come down to breakfast, and you will act like the perfect bride-to-be. Do you understand?” Her voice is cold, her eyes hard as they stare into mine.

I swallow hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. I know I have no choice, no say in the matter. I’m just a pawn in their game, a means to an end.

Slowly, I nod, my head feeling heavy with the weight of my despair.

“Good,” Ksenia says, her lips curving into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s not keep everyone waiting, shall we?”