Chapter 2

Roksana’s POV

The silk dress hit my chest like a lead weight, I held unto it instinctively. Trying to process what she meant till it finally hit.

“Excuse me?” My brow shot up.

Why would I marry him? He was meant to marry Allison, not me.

“I said you’re marrying him. Get dressed,” Mom glared at me.

“No. I refuse to marry someone old. I refuse to be a second chance. I won’t be marrying that old monster.”

The words left my lips before my brain could even catch up—small at first, but backed by a sudden, violent surge of adrenaline.

Dad took a step forward, his massive frame looming over me. “Watch your tone, Roksana. You would marry Santiago you—”

“I said no!” I snapped, my voice cracking, stepping back until the edge of the mattress bit into the back of my knees.

“And what made you think you’ve got an option here? I’m your mother. I know what’s best for you, now get dressed and go down those stairs,” Mom deadpanned.

The trembling in my hands vanished, replaced by a burning, choking fury. It felt hot in my throat, choking out my breath.

“What’s best for me? Allison ran away, and your brilliant solution is to just swap daughters like we’re interchangeable parts in some twisted inventory? I am not a spare tire!”

Mom’s face twisted into an ugly snarl, closing the distance between us with terrifying speed.

Her hand lashed out, catching me across the cheek with a sharp, stinging crack that sent my head whipping to the side.

Pain flared across my skin, hot and throbbing, but I didn’t flinch away. I kept my chin up, glaring straight into her eyes as the metallic taste of copper filled my mouth.

“You listen to me, you ungrateful little bitch,” she hissed, her fingers digging painfully into my shoulder, her nails biting straight through my shirt.

“Allison humiliated this family. She destroyed months of negotiations with the De-Luca syndicate. The Castillo name cannot survive this scandal. You owe this family. You will put on that dress, you will walk down that aisle, and you will marry De-Luca, or so help me God, I will tear your life apart piece by piece.”

“Then do it!” I screamed, finally tearing out of her grip and shoving her hand away, my chest heaving.

“Tear it apart! Because I am not going to spend my life chained to a ruthless, violent stranger just to clean up Allison’s mess! Why can’t you track Allison down and ruin her for running?! Now you’re pinning it on me?! If you want a bride so badly, put on the dress yourself!”

Dad roared. His hand came down to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back violently.

Stars burst behind my vision, and a choked gasp escaped my throat. I clawed blindly at his wrist, fighting like a trapped animal with every ounce of strength I had left.

“You arrogant little brat,” Dad breathed, his voice low and shaking with rage, his face inches from mine. “If you don't walk out that door on your own two feet, I will drag you down those stairs by your hair and let De-Luca take what’s left of you.”

Tears of pure humiliation and rage burned hot in my eyes. I bared my teeth at him, the sharp retort dying in my throat as the bedroom door creaked open wider.

Two heavy-set men in sharp, charcoal suits,

bodyguards with dead, unblinking eyes,

stepped silently into the room, blocking the exit.

Mom stepped back, smoothing down her skirt with chilling composure, her eyes completely devoid of any maternal warmth whatsoever.

“Undress her,” Mom ordered the guards, her voice entirely flat, like she was talking about packing a suitcase.

I faced Mom, disbelief creeping deep into my chest. Fresh tears spilled over my lashes as I looked between her and Dad, the brutal reality finally sinking in.

“You’re really making me marry him?” I whispered, the roaring fury suddenly disappearing into thin air, leaving behind a cold, paralyzing fear.

I can’t marry that monster.

The same man who causes pure terror?

A man almost as old to birth me?

“Get her to wear the dress,” Dad told the guards, giving me one last bitter, disgusted look before he walked out.

One of the guards moved toward me. My eyes immediately locked onto his hands, glaring hard at him.

“Put those filthy hands on me and I swear down I’m—”

“Stop talking and undress, or they’ll do it for you!” Mom snapped, cutting me off. I glanced back at the woman I called mother.

She glared at me like I was just some broken appliance she had lying around the house—useless until her actual asset disappeared, and suddenly she found a way to squeeze some value out of me.

Desperation clawed at my chest. I dashed toward her, grabbing her hand, pleading, just hoping she’d do something.

Hoping there was a shred of a mother left in her to stop this cruelty.

“If you won’t do it, I will do it for you,” she hissed. Before I could pull away, her hands grabbed my shirt, tearing the fabric right down the front.

I gasped, quickly clutching the ripped edges together against my chest before she could strip me bare in front of the guards, hot tears streaming down my face.

“I give you ten minutes to put that dress on. And I swear down, if the dress ain’t on, you bet I’ll do worse than you can ever imagine,” she snarled, her gaze burning into me.

I swallowed hard, stumbling backward and clutching my torn dress to my body like a shield.

“Mom,” I whispered, my voice breaking completely as the tears fell faster.

“Ten minutes. That’s all I give you,” she said calmly. She turned to the guards, motioning for them to wait outside, and they stepped back into the hall.

Then she looked back at me one last time. “Don’t dare me, Roksana. You know I would do it.”

With that, she turned around and walked out, leaving me alone in the wreckage.