Chapter 6

LUNA's POV

Misha Petrov—

Staring at me from the tallest part of the building.

Watching me like he already knew I’d come here.

Too fast. Too convenient. Like he wasn’t following me… but tracking me.

I saw him at the club just hours ago. 

Does he want something from me… or is he already guessing I’m the obstacle to marrying my sister?

I looked away from him and let the cigarette burn to the filter.

I crushed it against the stone ledge, feeling the ember die under my fingers, but it wasn’t enough to smother the heat boiling in my veins.

Sleep wasn’t happening.

Peace sure as hell wasn’t happening.

So I did what I always did when the walls felt too tight.

I moved.

***

I woke up the next morning like I always did.

Not to sunlight.

Not to birdsong.

But to silence.

Thick. Heavy. Familiar.

It filled the corners of my room like smoke, curling around the edges of my breath. My fingers twitched before my eyes even opened, reaching instinctively for the velvet tray on the bedside table.

I rolled onto my side and let the cold morning air hit my skin. I hadn’t turned on the heat last night. Maybe I liked the way the chill bit into me. Kept me sharp.

Kept me angry.

Beside the tray was a tangle of unfinished chains, scattered gemstones, and a wire cutter that still had blood on the grip from a day I didn’t want to talk about.

Jewelry wasn’t just a hobby.

It was a ritual.

It was the one part of my life I controlled.

I sat up slowly, the silk sheets falling away, and dragged the beading board into my lap like it was armor.

Some people meditated.

Some prayed.

I twisted silver into spirals sharp enough to cut.

One earring.

Two.

Delicate amethyst drops with gold filigree, too pretty for a girl like me. I didn’t make jewelry to wear it. I made it to survive.

After twenty minutes, the tension in my jaw eased. A little.

I stood and padded to the bathroom, brushing my teeth without turning on the lights. I didn’t want to see myself in the mirror yet. Didn’t want to face the girl who looked back like she was daring me to flinch.

After a quick shower, I dressed in black jeans and a dark linen shirt I didn’t bother to button to the top. Too many buttons looked like I was trying.

Hair up. Not neat, just functional.

I didn’t do “pretty” in the mornings.

I did prepared.

Before I left the room, I clipped on the earrings I’d just made. A quiet rebellion. No one would notice them but me.

And maybe Gabriela.

And that was enough.

I padded down the stairs, hugging the shadows along the east wing.

Because even in this house full of ghosts and men with guns, the real danger wasn’t outside the walls.

It was the man waiting for my sister.

The man who hadn’t said a word to her all dinner, but had looked at me like I was a fuse begging to be lit.

Misha Petrov.

The reaper in a suit.

I wanted to check on Gabriela. I needed proof that she was still here, that some part of this nightmare was still reversible.

I didn’t make it to her door.

Voices floated from my father’s office.

I slowed, pressing my back against the cold marble wall.

I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

But when you live with wolves, you learn to hear through doors.

“…package deal,” a voice said, rougher than Papa’s, younger.

My heart skipped.

I edged closer, careful not to make the floorboards creak.

“…she’s fiery, sure. But fire can be tamed. The contract’s signed. No going back.”

A sharp clink of glasses. Laughter that didn’t reach the heart.

I peeked around the corner, just in time to see them.

Yuri.

And two men I barely recognized, older, crueler versions of him. 

Brothers.

They stepped out, straightening their jackets like they’d just sealed the fate of kingdoms.

Yuri spotted me immediately.

His smile was slow and possessive.

“Perfect timing,” he said, striding toward me like I was a prize he’d won.

I froze.

Every instinct screamed at me to run.

But I stood my ground, letting him come.

He cupped my jaw, gentler than I expected and dropped the bomb without flinching.

“It’s official, baby. Your father agreed. We’re getting married.”

I blinked.

The hallway tilted slightly.

I forced my voice steady.

“You’re lying.”

He laughed, low and smug.

“Two weeks from today. You and me. Sealed and signed.”

I shoved his hand off. My father hated the sight of Yuri, “You know he doesn’t even like you.” 

“He likes power,” Yuri said, unbothered. “And my family offered him something he couldn’t refuse.”

He leaned in closer.

“We’ve been dating for two months. What, you never imagined me as your husband?”

He smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

I stepped back, just out of reach.

“Go to hell, Yuri.”

“You made this decision without me,” I snapped. “You didn’t propose. We never had a real conversation about marriage. You just—went behind my back and arranged it like I’m a… transaction.”

He chuckled, brushing invisible lint from his suit. “I just couldn’t wait to make you mine, babe. Sorry it’s such a surprise.”

He winked. “You’ll get used to it.”

He sauntered down the hallway with his brothers in tow.

I stood frozen, the air thick around me.

My lungs refused to expand.

What changed?

Papa had barely tolerated Yuri.

Tried everything to sabotage our relationship. Now suddenly he’s signing contracts?

And Yuri, flirty and secretive. A two-month boyfriend I still barely knew.

We hadn’t talked about the future. We barely talked at all.

I wasn’t ready for marriage. Not mentally. Not physically.

Not when I still had two years left at Joya del Norte—Colombia’s top jewelry academy.

With blood roaring in my ears, I stormed toward my father’s study, the heavy wooden doors still cracked open from the visitors’ exit.