Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Blue Ivanov
Mirror glass wavers as if it's trying to warn me, but I lean closer anyway, studying the girl I'm about to weaponize.
My pale cheeks, teary eyes, and trembling lips make me the perfect victim.
Brax will rush to save me. He'll finally see that Valentina's not the woman for him.
I lift the knife, admiring how the sharp edge glints under the lights. It's a family heirloom, hammered out in the 1500's, then smuggled out of Russia in the post-Soviet era. It's my favorite knife and I always imagine all the gruesome things my ancestors did with it.
The steel shakes slightly in my hand, but that's good. It makes this moment real. Without reality, I can't tell a story, and what I've concocted is brilliant.
This tale ends with Valentina losing everything, and Brax finally realizing I'm his biggest fantasy come to life.
He hasn't realized it yet, even though I've sent him countless messages, romantically broken into his apartment several times, and followed him until he caught me.
But I'm an Ivanov and used to winning, not losing. It's in our blood. And everything was on track for me to prevail, until Valentina entered the scene.
She's venom in a pretty package who keeps poisoning him against me. She whispers lies, hides him in the shadows, and acts as if she owns him.
She doesn't.
She just got to him first.
Time to take her out of the game.
My pulse jumps as I position the tip of the knife along my forearm, choosing the exact place the cut should go. Not too deep or too long. It's just enough to bleed, hurt a little, and convince anyone who sees it that she attacked me.
Brax will look at me and ache.
He will become mine.
I exhale. Then don't flinch as I press. A sting erupts, and my breath yanks from my lungs. Red blooms across my skin, trailing down in a beautiful, messy line. I gasp as the pain grows and steals my words.
A tear slips down my cheek. It's genuine and makes me happy.
This is real. Real always makes it better.
I smear the blood slightly with my fingers, letting it streak and appear more chaotic, exactly the kind of mark a jealous wife would make.
And it proves I matter.
Gritting my teeth, I press a bit more, then throw the knife into the sink. I run the water over it, washing away the proof, then wrap my hand around my bleeding arm. I sneak through the penthouse, get into the foyer, and press the elevator button. It dings, and the doors open.
I scream, "Dad!" stumbling through the main doorway, then shout louder with pain in my voice, "Dad! Help!"
He steps into the room. "What's all the—" His face drains of color. His voice drops into the dangerous, lethal one he uses when he's angry. "Blue! What happened?"
Perfect.
I lean into him, choking up. "Valentina. She…she lost it. She came at me with a knife."
My father's entire body goes rigid. He steers me to the kitchen, yells in Russian for the house cleaner to grab the first aid kit, then runs water over my arm.
I let more tears fall, thrilled with how this is going so far.
Alina appears, shocked, with the kit.
Dad dismisses her, cleans up my arm, and gets the bleeding to stop. He slides glue meant for cuts over it. When it's sealed, the red blood is still visible.
Perfect!
He puts both hands on my cheeks. Rage burns in his blues. "What happened?"
"I was on the street. She...she just attacked me! I didn't do anything, Dad!" I cry out, then sob against him.
He holds me against his chest. "Shh. It's okay. You're safe."
I draw it out, but as he holds me against him, he grabs his phone and types something.
I pull away, sniffle, and ask, "What are you doing?"
"Handling this," he sneers.
Too perfect!
I work hard to contain my excitement, staying in victim mode. I add, "I don't know why she would do this to me."
"She's an Abruzzo," he snarls.
I push my face against his chest, unable to stop my smile. Everything is happening exactly how I pictured it.
He leads me into the family room and softly orders, "Sit down."
I obey, wiping my tears off my cheek while my father paces the room, his expression growing angrier by the minute.
It isn't too long before the elevator doors open and Brax storms into our penthouse like a warrior summoned from hell. His broad shoulders tighten. He clenches his jaw and tosses an angry gaze at me.
I squeeze my thighs together, my heart rapidly pulsing out of control.
He's here.
He came for me.
His gaze drops to my arm. For a breath, I swear he softens. But the softness curdles instantly into something else.
Suspicion.
It slaps me in the face.
This is completely wrong. He's supposed to rush to me, gather me into his arms, curse Valentina's name, then vow to protect me.
Where's his horrified, devastated, and shaken to the core expression?
He doesn't know she did it yet.
Dad lunges toward him, voice thick with his Russian accent, snarling, "We've got a problem, and you're lucky I'm letting you breathe right now!"
And I'm back in the game.
Brax fires back, "Oh, we definitely have a problem!" His voice shakes with fury.
It's his passion for me, I tell myself.
Dad moves toward him, and I slip between them, letting my breathing hitch perfectly. "Dad, don't do something stupid." I press my body closer to Brax, hoping he'll feel the heat of me, my fear, and perfectly crafted vulnerability.
"Get out of my way," Dad warns.
I back into Brax farther. "More violence doesn't solve anything!"
He pivots away like I'm poison. "Don't touch me!"
The rejection slices deeper than the knife I used on myself. I stumble from shock.
Dad yanks me back, snarling, "Your wife slit my daughter's arm."
Brax jerks his head, startled.
Bingo!
You'll be mine soon.
His tone changes to ice. "She's lying."
The word guts me again.
What is going on here?
I try to hold onto the role, to the tremble in my voice. "Brax, I didn't do anything, I swear. She—she saw me on the street and just lost it. She pulled out her pocket knife, and before I recognized who she was, she slit my arm!"
But Brax spits, "Bullshit."
I flinch hard, letting my body shake, tears spilling at a timed pace.
Dad roars, "Look at the blood! She's going to have a scar!!"
I wait for Brax to look horrified. Stricken. Something.
But he steps forward with heat in his chest that has nothing to do with concern. "Valentina didn't touch her. But let me tell you what your daughter's been up to."
No.
No, no, no! This isn't the direction this scene is supposed to go.
"What's that?" Dad hisses.
I try to cut Brax off with a trembling, "I've done nothing, Dad!" but he steamrolls me, laughing sarcastically.
Then everything collapses.
He informs, "Your daughter's been stalking me for months. She's broken into my place several times, and today, she had the nerve to break into Valentina's!"
I gasp, shoulders trembling. "You're lying." I look at Dad, desperate. "He's lying, Dad. He's just covering for that...that Abruzzo wife of his!"
But Brax points at me like I'm something filthy. "You need help, Blue. You're delusional."
The word echoes through me, sharp and humiliating.
The only one who needs help is him.
I'm right here in front of him, and he decided to marry an Abruzzo!
Regardless, I'll help him recover when he comes to his senses. I love him. And I know deep down he loves me, not her.
"Watch your mouth," Dad orders.
"Are you not hearing what I'm telling you? She's stalking us!" Brax roars.
Dad's eyes narrow. He glances at me, then back at Brax.
He continues, "She's followed me to the gym. She lurks outside my place. She breaks into our homes. What more do you need to know to get her some help?"
I interject, "I don't need help, Brax! She's poisoning your mind!"
"More delusional crap," he declares.
Another stab slams into my heart.
"H-how can you be so mean?" I ask, adding more waterworks, but some are real.
He steps toward Dad. "Think about it. How many years have you warned me to stay away from your daughter, and how many times have I told you I've never considered touching her and never will?"
More darts fly at me. My insides shake hard, and I try to figure out how to get this back on track.
Brax accuses, "This sick crush she has on me isn't little anymore. She's got mental problems. You need to help her."
I place my hand on his arm. Tingles fly from my fingers to my spine, then right to my core. "Brax! Don't say stuff like that."
He shrugs out of it. "Don't touch me!"
Dad barks, "Blue, leave. Now."
I gape at him.
No. I need to fix this.
"I said now," he orders.
"I've done nothing," I whisper, my insides cracking open. And my pain is no longer staged. Brax is betraying me.
I give him one final look, silently begging him to see me.
He doesn't.
I sulk out of the room, but I don't go far. I hover beyond the wall, eavesdropping on my world dissolving in real time.
I hear every hurtful word.
Stalking.
Obsession.
Delusional.
Valentina Abruzzo.
Her name becomes a blade twisting inside my chest.
My father's rage shakes the walls. Brax's fury scorches. Their fight explodes into choking, shoving, and threats, with two powerful men tearing each other apart over me.
Mom arrives and rushes into the room, horrified. She screeches, "Enough!"
I use it as my moment to reenter the scene. If Dad and Brax see me shaken enough, maybe they'll stop tearing each other apart long enough for Brax to remember who the real villain is, and it's not me. It's his wife, Valentina.
I shriek, "Oh my God! Dad, let Brax go!" I shift in front of Mom and push my body against Brax's.
More heat fills me.
Brax releases his grip on Dad's neck, then pries my father's hands off his own neck. He jumps backward, catching his breath, then points at me like I'm toxic. "Don't you dare touch me!"
The words detonate inside my chest.
This is all going the wrong direction.
I didn't plot this out.
Where did I go wrong?
Mom's voice slices through the tension. "Adrian! What is going on?"