6

The weight of the crown was nothing compared to the weight of a secret, and Serena Moretti was drowning in both.

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of her bedroom, casting long, pale ribs of light across the floor. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that lied to you, pretending the world wasn't built on blood and broken promises. 

Serena sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection, but she didn't see the woman Victor Volkov had trapped against a desk the day before. She didn't see the "Ice Queen" of the Moretti empire.

She saw a ghost.

Her mind drifted back, unbidden, to the shadows of the past, to the jagged edges of a story that wasn't hers to tell, but was hers to carry. 

It was a story of a bet lost in a smoke-filled room, of a father who valued his territory more than his wife’s soul. 

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she did her best not to recall the past, but it wasn't in her control. The pain, the agony. Nothing was in her control.

Lorenzo had traded a night of her mother’s life to save a shipping route, and the world had ended that day. Serena could still hear her mother's screams.

Her cries and begging as she clutched the stairs railing as the men of enemies tried to drag her away. The staff was crying hysterically, and the guards looked down, ashamed as they tried to stop themselves from saving their queen. 

Ten-year-old Serena cried as she hit the bad man's leg with her toy, but he only kicked her away. She hit her head on the floor as the maids rushed to her aid, held the little girl to their chest, and tried to cover her eyes as ruthless men were dragging her mother away.

"LORENZO, SAVE ME! STOP THEM, LORENZO. I BEG YOU. I BEG YOU, PLEASEEEEEE. I'M YOUR WIFE, LORENZO. I'M YOUR WIFE. DON'T DO THIS TO ME!" Shannon screamed at the top of her lungs, but Lorenzo didn't budge, nor did he turn to look at her. He was facing the wall, with dead eyes as he smoked.

They dragged Shannon away, and there was deadly, haunting silence in the hall.

The maids didn't let go of Serena as she went to her room. They kept her in the maid's quarters, afraid that her father would give her away as well. 

Every single person in that mansion was in pain that night. Though Lorenzo was the monster, Shannon was the sunshine of the mansion. All the staff and security loved her. That night was the night of brutal agony.

Her mother, Shannon, had returned the next morning, a shattered lantern with the light blown out. She was brutally hurt, injured, cut, and ruined. She was like a corpse.

For months, she was in her room, lifeless, refusing to be seen. Her health was deteriorating.

It was the maid who noticed changes in Shannon's body while bathing her and realized that the ma'am was pregnant.

The news was a catastrophe at Moretti's mansion. Lorenzo want the baby aborted, but doctors said it was too late. She was already six months. Something risky like this would kill the mother as well.

And a few months later, Sarah had arrived.

Lorenzo tried to kill Sarah the second she was born, but Shannon didn't let him. 

Sarah. The living reminder of Lorenzo’s greatest shame and his most brutal sacrifice.

"Serena? Are you ready?" The voice was small, high, and bright. Serena blinked, the ghosts vanishing as a whirlwind of thirteen-year-old energy burst into the room.

 Sarah didn't look like a Moretti. She had softer features, a persistent sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and emerald eyes that still held a dangerous amount of hope.

"I’m ready, sweetie," Serena said, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack her face. She reached out, tucking a stray lock of Sarah’s hair behind her ear.

Sarah beamed, her fingers clinging to Serena’s sleeve. "A whole day? Just us? No meetings, no scary men in suits, no Papa?"

"No, Papa," Serena promised, her heart twisting. No Victor. No cages. Just for today.

Little Sarah was her only family left after Shannon passed away five years ago. And Serena didn't consider a monster like Lorenzo as her father.

The carnival was a kaleidoscope of noise and cheap sugar, a place where reality was suspended by the scent of popcorn and the mechanical groan of the Ferris wheel. 

For Serena, every laugh Sarah let out was a victory. Every time the young girl dragged her toward a game booth or squealed at the height of a ride, Serena felt a frantic need to memorize the sound.

She watched Sarah from the sidelines of a ring-toss game, the girl's face lit up with the pure, unadulterated joy of winning a giant, moth-eaten stuffed bear.

If I run, she dies.

The thought was a cold blade in Serena’s gut. It sat there, sharp and immovable. Lorenzo didn't need to shout his threats anymore. He didn't need to brandish a weapon. All he had to do was look at Sarah, the girl he called "the mistake," and Serena knew the price of her disobedience. 

This marriage to Victor wasn't a union; it was a ransom payment. Serena was the currency, and Sarah’s life was the prize.

"Look, Rena! I won!" Sarah ran back, hugging the bear. She looked up at Serena, her eyes shining. "You’ll still visit me after the wedding, right? Maid Anna said the Volkov mansion is very far away. And I heard Papa said you’ll be very busy being a Pakhan’s wife."

Serena felt the air leave her lungs. She knelt, eye-level with her sister, ignoring the way the dirt of the carnival floor stained her expensive trousers. "I will always find you, Sarah. No matter where I am. No matter whose name I carry. Do you hear me?"

Sarah’s smile faltered, a shadow of maturity crossing her young face. "You’re sad. I can tell. Is he mean? The man with the blue eyes?"

"He’s… complicated," Serena whispered.

"I don't like him," Sarah said firmly, hugging her bear tighter. "He looks like someone who takes things, Serena. And he looks like he never, ever gives them back."

Serena shivered. The wisdom of children was a terrifying thing. "Let’s go get some cotton candy, okay? The pink kind." Sarah's mind instantly drifted to the candy, and she smiled.

The afternoon was a blur of pampering. At the salon, Serena watched Sarah’s reflection in the tall, gold-rimmed mirrors. The staff worked on Sarah’s hair, braiding it with silk ribbons, while Serena sat in the chair beside her, her hands resting in a bowl of warm, scented water.

She looked at her sister, so small, so innocent, so entirely unaware that she was living in a den of wolves. 

The staff at the Moretti estate treated Sarah like a ghost, an invisible stain on the family's reputation. They didn't see the girl who loved old movies and hated broccoli. They only saw the daughter of a night their boss wanted to forget. Though they were kind and gentle to Shannon, they never accepted Sarah as a Moretti.

Who will protect her when I'm gone? Serena wondered. Who will make sure she eats? Who will hide her when Lorenzo is in a rage?

By the time they returned to the mansion, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange. They bypassed the formal dining room, Serena wanting to avoid the suffocating presence of her father. Instead, they retreated to Serena’s suite, the only place in the world that felt even remotely safe.

They ordered three pizzas, enough to feed a small army, and spread the boxes out on the floor. Sarah picked the pepperoni off hers, piling them onto Serena’s crust, just like she always did. They put on an old black-and-white musical, the kind where everyone sang about their problems instead of burying them in shallow graves.

As the movie played, the room grew quiet. The laughter died down, replaced by the rhythmic sound of Sarah’s breathing. Eventually, the girl’s head slumped onto Serena’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as sleep finally claimed her.

Serena didn't move. She couldn't. She sat on the floor, the flickering light of the television dancing across Sarah’s peaceful face, and she felt the first sob break through her chest.

It was a silent, racking thing. She didn't want to wake the only person she loved, so she pressed her hand against her mouth, her tears hot and relentless. She cried for her mother, who had died five years ago with a heart that had never truly healed. She cried for herself, for the woman who was about to be handed over to a predator.

But mostly, she cried for Sarah.

"I’m sorry," she whispered into the silence, her voice thick with grief. "I’m so sorry I can't take you with me."

Sarah stirred in her sleep, her small hand reaching out and grasping Serena’s fingers. Her lips parted, a faint murmur escaping them. "Don’t go… Rena… don’t leave me."

The words were a physical blow. Serena curled into herself, pulling Sarah closer, tucking the girl’s head under her chin. She rocked her sister back and forth, the darkness of the room feeling like it was closing in.

She had tried to destroy Victor yesterday. She had gone to his house, risked her life, and played the spy, all for a chance to break this contract. And she had failed. 

In two days, she would stand at an altar and swear her life to a man who saw her as a calculation.

I will do it, she resolved, her eyes hardening even as the tears continued to fall. I will marry the devil. I will let him cage me. I will let him break me if he has to. But as long as I am with him, Lorenzo will not harm Sarah because he'd need her alive to keep me in check.

She looked at the door, half-expecting to see Lorenzo standing there in the shadows, watching her with those unyielding cold eyes. He was a man who took things. He was a man of ruthlessness and brutality 

But as Serena held her sister, she realized she was no longer just a pawn. She was a shield. And if Lorenzo and Victor Volkov wanted war, she would give them one. Not for the Moretti name, and not for her own freedom.

But for the girl who still believed in carnivals.

Serena closed her eyes, the weight of the coming wedding pressing down on her like a tombstone. She fell asleep with her sister’s hand in hers, the taste of salt on her lips, and the scent of soft bubbles and flowers surrounding her.

The clock on the wall ticked away the final hours of her life as a Moretti. The sacrifice was prepared. The fire was lit. And in two days, the world would watch as Serena Moretti walked into the flames, all to keep a single, freckled girl from being burned.