Chapter 2

Luna's POV

Once I was home, I stepped into the marble hallway, I saw him, my father, emerging from his study like a storm.

“Have you completely lost your mind?”

My father’s voice echoed through the marble halls of our estate like a war drum.

He already knew.

Which meant someone had talked.

I stood still, arms crossed, still wearing the blood-streaked T-shirt from the altercation.

“They were roughing Yuri up,” I said flatly. “I stepped in.”

“You stepped in?” His face darkened. “You made a scene. A scene with Bratva soldiers. You think we can afford to insult Misha’s people a day before he arrives?”

“Maybe if your guest could control his men, we wouldn’t be having this conversation over a damn scratch.”

He moved toward me so fast, I didn’t flinch, I just stared.

He didn’t hit me. Not tonight. But the look in his eyes promised he wanted to.

Gabriela stepped in from the hallway like a ghost in white silk.

“Papa,” she said gently, “maybe Luna didn’t mean…”

“She never means anything,” he snapped. “That’s the problem.”

Her lips pressed together. She didn’t speak again.

I hated the way she looked then, docile. Composed. Perfect. Like she hadn’t seen the way his rage split the air like thunder.

I stormed past them both, up the stairs, to my room.

A hot shower washed the sweat and Bratva blood off my skin, but not the heat curled tight in my chest.

I needed answers. And I needed her to stop pretending this was okay.

I dressed up and went straight to Gabriela’s room. 

Her door was slightly ajar. I stepped into her room, a space that always smelled like flowers and lies.

She sat at her vanity, brushing her hair in slow strokes. She looked like a doll. A porcelain thing people put on a shelf to admire. Breakable. Replaceable.

“You should say no,” I said from the doorway. My voice was softer now. But still sharp.

“To the marriage.”

Her brush stilled. “Papa would never let me.”

“You don’t let a man like Misha Petrov into your life,” I said. “Not even if the devil himself tells you to.”

She turned, those big innocent eyes trained on mine. But something flickered there, fear, maybe. Or guilt.

“You think everything can be fixed with rebellion,” she said softly. “But not all of us can afford to defy him.”

“And what’s the cost of staying quiet?” I said, my voice low. “Letting him hand you over like a bargaining chip?”

She didn’t answer.

I stepped closer. “You think I fight because it’s easy? Because I enjoy it?”

My throat tightened. “I fight because someone has to. Because the minute we stop pushing back, we disappear. And I won’t lose you to this family’s silence.”

She shook her head, slow. “You don’t even see what I’m surviving.”

I blinked. “What?”

But she turned away. Started brushing her hair again, like she hadn’t just cracked something open and sealed it shut all in the same breath.

I hesitated in the doorway. Her back was to me, but I saw her blink fast, trying not to cry.

Quiet tears. The kind she always swallowed.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed, facing her reflection in the vanity mirror. “Do you remember when we were kids and I dared you to drink from Papa’s stash of scotch?”

She blinked. “You mean when I puked for two hours and blamed the maid?”

I grinned. “She still thinks it was food poisoning.”

Gabriela’s lips twitched. Barely.

“Or when I tried to pierce your ear with a safety pin because you weren’t allowed to wear jewelry until you turned fourteen?”

She finally smiled, soft, sad. “You gave me tetanus.”

“And fashion,” I said. “Tetanus and fashion. A fair trade.”

She looked down at her brush, fingers tightening. “This isn’t a game anymore, Luna.”

I reached forward, gently took the brush from her hand, and set it down. “Then let’s stop pretending we’re pawns.”

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“I don’t care what Papa says,” I whispered. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll back you up. Whatever it takes.”

She turned toward me slowly, her voice so small it hurt. “What if saying no isn’t enough?”

“Then I’ll burn the deal myself,” I said. “Just say the word.”

She looked like she wanted to believe me.

But before she could speak, a sharp knock rattled the door.

One of the housekeepers peeked in, wide-eyed. “Señor Rojas requests your presence in the dining room. There’s… a guest.”

I frowned. “A guest?”

“He said dinner would be informal tonight.”

I stood slowly, a chill running down my spine. Gabriela’s face had gone pale.

“He’s not supposed to arrive until tomorrow,” she whispered.

I frowned. “Maybe Papa knew. And didn’t tell us.”

“Of course he didn’t. That’s how he keeps us off balance.”