3.

“No,” that was my response. I didn’t even have to think about it. “There’s no way in hell.”

My father’s jaw tightened. My mother inhaled sharply, as if she’d been bracing for the word.

“You can’t be serious,” my father said, stepping forward. “Nika, this isn’t—”

“I said no.” I didn’t raise my voice, I didn’t need to, surely they didn’t actually expect me to agree. “You sold Daria. I won’t let you sell me too.”

My father straightened, shoulders squaring, the way he always did when he was preparing to remind me who held the power. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore and I wouldn’t let them bully me into doing things I didn’t want to do the way they had my entire life.

Ballet recitals, language lessons, tutors, dates and even who I’d marry they’d planned my life down to the last second and when I’d had the audacity to rebel against my rigid schedule in a way my sister never dared, I was punished for it.

Being estranged from my family was painful, but at least I was freer than I ever was and I’d never let them cage me again.

“This is not about what you want,” my father said and I wasn’t surprised by his audacity. Even estranged I was nothing more than his property. His tool.

“Sergei!” My mother gasped.

“It never is,” I shot back at him then gestured vaguely around my apartment, the peeling paint, the sagging couch, the life I’d built without them. “But let me tell you something, you don’t get to walk in here after years of silence and demand I marry a werewolf to clean up your mess.”

“This is more than just MY mess. This alliance cannot be broken,” my father said. “If Damian Moretti believes he has been deceived—”

“Then what?” I interrupted. “He growls? He threatens? He does what werewolves always do when they don’t get their way?”

My mother flinched. “He retaliates,” she said quietly.

I turned to her. “On you?”

She didn’t answer.

I laughed again, bitter this time. “No. On me. Or on Daria. Or on anyone close enough to hurt. Convenient.”

My father took a step toward me. “You do not understand the position you’re putting us in. Of course we will face retaliation as well, but try to understand that there’s more in play than just your mother and I.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” I said. “I’ve been in it my whole life. Begging. Pleading. Asking you to care. And every time, you turned your backs on me.”

Silence fell heavy between us.

I remembered being nineteen, bleeding from a split lip, begging my father not to send me away. I remembered calling my mother after Alex left, drunk and broken, and being told to never contact them again. I remembered when for the first year of my banishment they didn’t let me contact Daria. I remembered learning very early that love, in this family, was conditional.

“You didn’t save me then,” I said quietly. “You don’t get to use me now.”

I moved toward the door and yanked it open. “Get out.”

My mother’s breath hitched. “Nika, please.”

“Leave.”

My father stared at me for a long moment, calculating. Then his gaze flicked to my phone, lying face down on the table.

“Call your boyfriend,” he said suddenly.

I frowned. “What?”

“Call him,” my father repeated. “If you’re so certain you won’t need us call him. Call the person who actually has your back.”

My chest tightened. “What does Matt have to do with this?”

“Call him,” he said again, insistence creeping into his tone.

My fingers curled. Something in my gut twisted, sharp and warning. Still, I picked up my phone, my movements stiff. I dialed.

It rang.

Once. Twice.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again.

Same thing.

I swallowed, heat crawling up my neck. “He’s busy,” I snapped. “Unlike you, he doesn’t control his schedule around me.”

My father sighed, almost weary. “Check your email.”

I froze. “What email?”

My mother looked away.

“I had something sent to you before you got here, check,” was all he said in reply.

I glanced between my parents then back down at my phone. My heart began to pound as I unlocked it. My fingers trembled as I opened the mail my father mentioned. It had an attached folder, I looked up at him once more and he merely lifted his chin.

I opened it. Screenshots. Photos. Videos.

And all of them were of Matt… and Daria.

He had a grin on his face, his arm around Daria. Them at a cafe, seated daringly close to each other. Another picture at what seemed like a private beach their faces a hairsbreadth away from each other.

The room tilted. My world tilted. I didn’t understand anything.

“No,” I whispered.

I scrolled some more. Hotel receipts. Travel confirmations. Messages—intimate, casual, damning. Over a year’s worth. A year of lies, of disappearances, of fights that suddenly made sense.

My vision blurred. I pressed a hand to my mouth as something fractured inside me, sharp and final.

“He was the one that helped her escape a few days ago,” my father said quietly. “It wasn’t hard to find out about their connection to each other.”

I shook my head, breath coming too fast. “You’re lying.”

He merely tilted his head towards my phone. “I have no reason to, Nika.”

The realization hit like a physical blow. The man I’d loved. The sister I’d trusted. Gone. Together.

I laughed weakly, hysteria clawing its way up my throat. “Of course,” I murmured. “Of course he was cheating. Of course he went for her.”

Like everyone always did, everyone preferred Daria. Pretty, perfect Daria. She was more at his level, a beautiful pianist, a high society girl. Nothing like me.

My throat burned with suppressed sobs.

My mother reached for me. I stepped back.

“Don’t touch me.”

My father seized the moment. “I know you’ll want revenge, on both of them.”

“I’m not like you,” but even as I said it, bitterness and rage were climbing my throat.

“But you are exactly like me, Veronika,” he said. “Do this for us and you’ll have your revenge, you’ll have security and money and everything you clearly need. Just one year.”

I didn’t say anything, crumbling to the couch and bowing my head.

“One year,” my mother echoed softly. “That’s all we ask.”

I stared at the floor, my hands shaking. My life—my fragile, hard-won life—had collapsed in the span of minutes. The man I loved was gone. My sister had vanished. And standing in front of me was a door I’d sworn I’d never walk through.

“What happens if I say no?” I asked.

My father didn’t hesitate. “Damian Moretti will not forgive a broken contract. But it’s not just about us, our workers, all the people that rely on us are at risk.”

I closed my eyes.

I thought of Matt’s distance the past few months. Of Daria’s smile in those photos. Of the emptiness curling in my chest, vast and consuming.

When I opened my eyes, something inside me had hardened. Money, security and revenge.

I really was my father’s daughter.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “But only for one year, not a day more.”

My parents exhaled in unison.