CLARA ROSSI

I spent the entire night with my eyes glued to the door.

Eventually, the sun rose. Birds chirped. And the pitch-black outside the window transitioned into mellow blues and grays.

The room they locked me in was a disaster, with nothing useful to turn into a weapon. Hence the shattered piece of mirror in my hand. Maybe I could slice someone's throat with it. Not that I'd ever been in a physical fight before...

Then the door opened. It was a middle-aged woman with chubby arms and short hair. She stopped with a breakfast tray by the door and gaped at me.

"My God, child." She huffed in Russian. "Why are you sitting there on the floor?" She switched to English. "Please. Sit on bed. Now. You are not animal. Come eat."

Maybe it'd be better if I kept my language skills to myself for now. In case they shared some secret information, thinking I couldn't understand them. But I agreed with her. Sitting on the floor was degrading, and it didn't help for me to appear weak.

So I stood up and approached the bed, staring at the breakfast she had brought me. Pancakes with syrup. Toasted bread with butter. Sliced berries and peeled tangerines. A cup of amber-colored, steaming tea and orange juice. I didn't expect such hospitality.

She turned to leave, but I stopped her. "Um, how long am I going to be locked up in here?"

"I don't know—"

"Yeah, but—" I chuckled as she looked at me over her shoulder. "You understand this is illegal, right? I am not an object. I'm a human being."

"This girl is nuts..." She whispered to herself before snapping. "No one is going to hurt you. Daniel is not that man. He is good."

Talk about brainwashing. Poor woman.

"Yeah. Such a good man. I was wondering, uh, could I go home and not be forced to marry him?"

She threw an irritated hand in my direction and left. Well, then. If I was going to run off—how long was the helicopter ride, an hour? I needed fuel.

Around noon, someone invited themselves into my cell.

Her.

The asshole with ridiculously silky blonde hair. She looked like a human doll, but a mean one. With pouty lips and dead-looking eyes. As if she multitasked between torturing people and doing mundane things, like flipping through channels or scrolling on her phone.

She dropped six shopping bags on the floor. "These are for you."

"Um, what?"

"I got you some clothes and other things...you might need. You know, body wash, deodorant, undies."

"How...kind of you?" I asked sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "We're meeting your daddy for dinner to sign your marriage contract. There will be journalists and witnesses, so try not to look disgusting."

They couldn't seriously expect me to cooperate. "And if I don't obey?"

"If you don't obey, you will be sorry." She sighed with boredom. "Any other questions?"

I wanted to strangle her. But no matter how hard I glared, she remained unbothered.

"Okay, see you later." She shut the door behind her.

This was good. If they were this delusional, maybe it could be used to my advantage. I've seen a lot of thrillers like this. I could pretend to have Stockholm Syndrome and show trust toward them. Maybe that would lower their guard, then I could attack and escape.

Maybe that's why my dad was going along with it.

I packed the broken piece of mirror and a breakfast fork under my new shirt, praying that I could protect my dad if things became violent.

Please, God. Let us survive tonight.

Around sunset, a man the size of the doorframe escorted me out. I rolled my eyes at him, but followed anyway.

Yesterday, I was too panicked to observe the house. But now...

Wow. I expected a stuffy, moldy dungeon with guards who had yellow teeth and half-dead prisoners hanging off chains. I expected rats and malicious cackles, with wails and pleas for mercy.

I didn't expect a cozy, beautiful townhouse. In the middle of a forest, with floor-to-ceiling windows and tall bookshelves. I didn't expect such majestic, dark green pine trees outside and their crisp, earthy smell.

In my house, mom selected every piece of art and furniture to show off. But here...soft leather couches and warm dim lights told me that this was a place for small, intimate gatherings.

Weird.

The beast of a man led me outside, where a helicopter awaited, along with an army of armed men.

The wind blew through wildflowers, little dots of yellows and whites against black leather shoes facing in my direction.

Volkov led the pack, with the blonde friend and someone else on his other side. A leaner, taller man with a square jaw and calculating eyes. A black button-down properly tucked under a belt.

Volkov cleared his throat, gesturing toward him. "This is Andrei, he pretends to be my right hand. In reality, he's like my annoying older brother. Don't take him seriously. I don't."

"You know, not every thought is worth saying out loud," Andrei grumbled under his breath.

But Volkov kept his fierce, hazel gaze on me, with unsettling amusement sparkling in them.

I stared back.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "This is Charlotte." He pointed at the blonde. She didn't bother with eye-contact. "Her brother is nursing a stomach wound. You'll meet him later."

"You said he was your brother."

"He is my brother. Family runs deeper than blood. It's about the people who have your back no matter what, when no one else does."

Unfortunately, I agreed with him.

"Why would my dad hurt him?" I crossed my arms.

"Years of rivalry."

"Didn't he expect that you'd attack him? Why would he hurt you, then nonchalantly throw me a birthday party?" It didn't make any sense.

"You tell me. You carry his toxic genes, you two must share the same psychology. No?"

Asshole. He thought we were the villains?

"Chop, chop." He beckoned over his shoulder at the helicopter waiting for me. "Go on."

Oh, I'd never felt this level of hatred before.

But soon, I'd be with my dad. He had a plan, no doubt.

So I climbed in, my heart racing with anticipation. The sharp end of the mirror dug into my stomach. I covered as much as possible with my hands.

No one spoke during the ride. If they did, they spoke in Russian. But nothing useful, as if they suspected I might understand them.

An hour later, we landed on a yacht. Thankfully, my father was already there.

Yes! I was free! Free at last. I leaped out—

"What the hell is she doing here?"

It was as if someone pressed paused on the tape recorder.

I thought he'd be happy to see me, but...

"I won't expose my daughter to this." He threw a commanding gesture at two of the men standing beside him. "Take her to one of the rooms. Now."

What? Didn't he realize how relieved I was to see him? How desperate I was for a sliver of reassurance?

To my shock, Volkov said, "I thought, she'd want to be involved—"

"Just because you dragged her into this mess of yours, doesn't mean I'm going to let you make it worse. This does not concern my daughter. This is between us. Take her. Now."

"I—no, wait!" It was absurd. Absurd that my dad's side took a hold of my arms and pushed me out of there, while my dad stood here, pretending as if I wasn't gaping at him.

I was beyond furious. Banging on the door didn't help. Volkov's guards outside didn't budge or blink, no matter how hard I screamed.

They brought me dinner. Grilled salmon with wild rice with roasted vegetables. Even a glass of wine? Are you kidding me? Dessert too—chocolate cake. Then another glass of wine. The nerve.

I paced back and forth. I waited. I didn't eat or drink. Two hours. I was stuck in yet another room for two hours. A manic part in me wondered if anyone would give a shit if I took the broken mirror and made myself bleed. Maybe then they'd realize that I wasn't an object.

The door opened and my dad walked in. He sighed over his shoulder. "I need a moment with my daughter." Then he closed the door.

"Did you sign it?" I asked.

"Clara..." His apologetic, defeated tone dropped my tough act like a stone.

"N-no. Please, tell me you found a way out—I, I'm not—what am I supposed to—"

"Look, honey. There's a lot you don't know about me. I've done a lot of things to make sure you have everything. So that you live better than me. But unfortunately, when you become so powerful, you end up having powerful enemies."

"What do you really do? Does mom know? What's going to happen now with me—"

"Everything will be okay, but I don't have a lot of time right now..." He checked the closed door, then removed something from the inside of his jacket.

A little white pill.

He dropped it in one of the wine glasses. It dissolved into the red liquid.

I...

What was that?

"If you can make him drink this, you can come home tonight. If not, I'll figure out another way after the wedding. But be careful. Alright?"

I tripped on my tongue. "Poison? You want me to poison him?"

A man jerked the door open. "Time to go."

My dad's smile...for the first time in my life, I didn't recognize it. The resentment in it.

Then he left.

I couldn't process what just happened.

Suddenly Volkov burst in. "Did you say goodbye to daddy? Ready for your new one?"

My dad wanted me to poison him?

"Uh, I tend to say a lot of stupid shit, sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're sorry?"

"Do you have a hearing problem?"

"Do you know that you're medically insane?"

"I didn't know an eighteen-year-old could be a doctor."

I clapped with a blank face. "Wow, that was a burn."

"Thank you." His lips twitched in the corner.

"How are you a don?" It was actually mind-boggling how much control he had over so many people. People who were as old as my dad.

He rolled his eyes and grumbled. "I got promoted when I was sixteen."

"So a week ago?"

"I'm four years older than you."

"I couldn't care less."

He winked. "Agreed, age is just a number."

"I have a boyfriend." Not really.

"Would you like a dead boyfriend?"

His gaze touched me like a cold promise.

It was reckless of me to argue with him. If he could so easily threaten to kill someone—

When he picked up the wine—the poisoned one and studied it, my pulse jumped.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh—

"Let's celebrate, shall we?" He handed it to me and picked up the other one, linking our arms in a cheesy way.

"I—I'm not—"

"Come on, you just signed your life away to protect your family. That's heroic." He brought the rim of the glass to his wicked smile. Our arms touched, the strength of his forearm against my sleeved one.

I had to drink it.

My eyes watered. I had to drink. Otherwise he'd know. He'd know and the consequences would be worse than what this drink would do to me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you not want to die?" He chuckled, taking the wine from my shaking hands. He poured it in the fireplace. His haunting gaze slid back to mine. "Something to know about me. I'm extremely paranoid. I pay attention to everything. I pay attention to how you move, how you breathe, how your eyes dilate. All the time. You can't hide from me."

Fear spiraled me into paralyzed silence.

A part of me was screaming to get on my knees and beg him to have mercy. But—

"I control what you eat and drink, and I know, I didn't order a second glass of wine. Only one person had a reason to do that." He narrowed his eyes with feral amusement. "Your dad. Now why would he do such a thing? Hm?"

Powerless. I felt pathetic and powerless.

"Just get it over with," I whispered.

He blinked twice. "Get what over with?"

"Whatever you're going to do to hurt me, just do it! Get it over with! Stop toying with me!"

"Why? So you can stab me with your badass, deadly fork? Or the little mirror?"

He knew about them?!

"And if I do?" My voice trembled.

He turned, but paused before the door. His profile turned sideways, as if he couldn't leave yet without getting something off his chest.

"I am forcing you to be my wife, Clara." It was the first time he said my name. "You should fight me. Fight with all you have. I can take it."

A/N
Thank you spicy angels for reading <3 If you like it, please hit that vote sign!