Chapter 19 Adriana
ADRIANA
My thighs still tremble as I hurry toward my room, hair tousled, dress askew where Dante’s hands were. I’m almost at the corridor that leads to my suite when Sergei Volkov wheels into view. His bodyguard pushes the chair at a slow crawl, as if giving Sergei more time to survey the hallway—and me.
He spots me, and a faint, satisfied glimmer slides into his eyes. He lifts one gloved hand; the guard stops. Sergei’s gaze drifts over my hair, my rumpled dress, the faint flush I can feel in my cheeks. His smile spreads, thin and knowing.
“Busy evening, Mrs. Volkova?” His tone is silk, the edge beneath it razor-sharp. “I’d say you look refreshed, but that wouldn’t be quite accurate, would it? More…well-used.”
Heat shoots up my neck. “Move, please. I’d like to get by.”
He turns the wheels a quarter-turn, blocking the passage.
“Of course. But allow me a small observation—you might consider tidying yourself before wandering the house. Some of us prefer not to see proof of how you spend your afternoons.” His eyes dip to the slight wrinkle in my skirt, linger at my throat where Dante left a faint mark.
“You wear your…activities like perfume.”
The bodyguard chuckles under his breath. Sergei goes on, voice deceptively gentle. “Your husband can indulge whatever appetites he likes. That’s his right. But a wife who advertises how she’s earned her position—she invites…commentary.”
I grip my purse strap, nails digging in. “If you have commentary, Sergei, save it for Dante. Not me.”
He cocks his head, feigning concern. “I only worry you’ll exhaust yourself. Men in this family have short attention spans. When novelty fades, what will you trade on then?”
My pulse hammers. I step closer, meeting his gaze squarely. “Careful. Assuming you know anything about my marriage is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” His smile widens. “No, my dear. Predictable. Men tire. The smart women pace themselves. The others—” He flicks his fingers as if shooing a fly. “They’re replaced. Especially woman like you who have little to offer.”
I know exactly what he means. I keep my gaze steady. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll file it where it belongs.”
“And where is that?”
“Under irrelevant.” I straighten. “I appreciate your concern, Sergei. But I don’t need a lecture on how to behave.”
His eyes narrow slightly, his smile sharpening.
“A lecture? No. A warning, perhaps. You are young. Naive. You walk around as though your position is guaranteed. But your husband’s name doesn’t shield you as much as you think.
One mistake, one wrong impression, and you will find yourself very… alone here.”
That does it. I stop dead, crouch a little so I’m eye level with him. His bodyguard stiffens, but Sergei just raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t scare easily,” I say, my voice low, steady. “If you think you can intimidate me, you’ll have to try harder. And if you have concerns about me, you can take them directly to Dante. Not me.”
For the first time, his smirk falters. Just a fraction.
He leans forward in his chair, voice dropping so only I can hear.
“Enjoy this while it lasts, girl. Everyone knows what you are when you walk these halls looking like that. Even your husband’s patience has a limit.
And with looks like that, you can hardly tempt him other than by simply exposing yourself. ”
Something in me snaps.
“Why do you act like this?” My voice shakes, louder than I want.
Sergei’s eyes narrow. The polite mask drops, replaced by something hard and ugly.
“Why? Because your family made sure mine never forgot our place. Your grandfather treated my father like garbage for twenty years. My family worked for yours—cleaned up after your parties, swept your floors, took the blame for your messes.”
He spits the next words. “So don’t walk through this house, head high, acting like you belong. That’s all you are to men like Dante. His temporary amusement.”
Tears crowd my eyes.
He continues, “In the end, you’ll have nothing. Your bloodline’s always thought itself better. Always looking down. That’s all you are to Dante—something pretty to parade, to use, to replace. A little whore with a ring.”
It’s too much. I blink hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry, but the tears are already there. I choke out, “Go to hell.”
He smiles—triumphant, satisfied. “That’s where all of us end up, one way or another.”
I push past him, nearly running. I don’t look back. I make it to my room, slam the door, and finally let the tears fall, hating how much his words hurt, hating how small and exposed I suddenly feel in this house.
I barely make it to my room before the tears spill over. I shut the door behind me, lock it, and let myself collapse onto the narrow bed. The sheets are still cool and untouched, so different from the mess I left behind in the library.
I curl up small, pressing my knees to my chest, trying to swallow the sobs that shake my whole body. Sergei’s words echo in my head—distraction, replaceable, whore—burning deeper than I want to admit.
For a long time, I just let myself cry. Not for Sergei, not even for myself, but for every piece of hope I’ve tried to hold on to in this house. For every time I thought maybe, just maybe, I could belong here.
And then, in the quiet that follows, it all suddenly clicks into place.
The looks. The whispers. The way the marriage happened so quickly, as if any Petrova bride would do. The way his family barely bothered to pretend otherwise.
It’s for revenge.
Dante didn’t care which sister he married. None of them did. This was never about me—it was about payback. A way to humiliate the Petrovs for what my grandfather did to theirs. That’s why I’m here. That’s all I am.
I bury my face in the pillow and cry until I can’t breathe, until my chest aches and my eyes sting. When the tears finally stop, I’m left with nothing but a raw, bitter emptiness—and a hard new edge inside me that wasn’t there before.
For the first time, I know exactly where I stand in this house.
And it hurts more than anything Sergei could ever say.
I lie on my side, clutching the pillow, eyes swollen and hot. I feel emptied out—like I’ve lost something I’ll never get back. My virginity, yes, but more than that. The hope that any of this was real. That Dante might actually care.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. For a moment I almost don’t answer, but the name flashing on the screen pulls me up short: Julianne.
I swipe at my eyes, wiping away fresh tears, and force myself to pick up. All I’ve wanted since I got to the city is to find her. But now that I know the truth about certain things, I can’t help but be resentful.
“Hey,” Julianne says, her voice soft, almost uncertain. “Are you alone now?”
I swallow, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Yeah. I am. Are you still in the city?”
“Yeah, Luka is taking care of me,” she says.
“That your boyfriend?” I ask.
“Yeah, did Mom tell you?”
I nod even though she can’t see me.
“Adriana, I’m sorry,” she says.
I take a steadying breath. “Are you okay? Are you lying low? Because Dad’s men are looking all over the city for you. And so are the Volkovs.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re careful,” Julianne says.
There’s a pause on the line, heavy with things neither of us can say. Then Julianne sighs. “Can we meet? I really need to see you, Adi.”
My heart clenches. I think of the way everything feels right now, dangerous, raw, like the walls are closing in. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, voice cracking. “Not right now.”
She hesitates. “Are you okay?”
I want to lie, say yes, but the words stick. Instead, I just press the phone to my ear, letting her quiet breathing fill the silence. For a moment, that’s all I have—the echo of someone who knows me, waiting on the other end, while everything else falls apart.
She doesn’t hang up right away. There’s a shaky breath on the line, and then she says, “I know you got married to him. Adi, it’s all my fault.”
Her words hit like a slap. I squeeze my eyes shut, biting back a fresh wave of tears. I want to tell her she’s wrong—that none of this is her fault, that I made my own choices—but I can’t get the words out.
“Jules—” My voice cracks.
“If I hadn’t—” She stops, and I hear her swallow hard. “If I hadn’t gotten involved, they wouldn’t have needed you. I should have protected you. I’m so sorry.”
A tear slides down my cheek. I curl tighter on the bed, phone clutched to my chest. “It’s not your fault,” I whisper, but I’m not sure either of us believes it.
All I have is this fragile thread between us, all the things we can’t say out loud, and the ache that none of it can fix what’s been done. I love my sister more than anything but I can’t help but resent her now.
All my life, I’ve paid for her mistakes.
I’ve had my knuckles bruised when Dad got too mad at something she did, or I was locked in my room for weeks.
I never got the freedom she did until I took it for myself and left.
And now that I’m back, it’s like things never changed.
I’m still picking up after her. I got married to the man who was meant for her.
She would have made something of this life. I know that. Maybe she would have made the Volkovs like her; she would have found a way. But I’ll always stick out like a sore thumb. And there’s nothing I can do to change that.
After Julianne hangs up, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, the phone still pressed to my chest. My body aches in every way, tired, wrung out, heart bruised and raw. I try to steady my breath, to forget Sergei’s voice, but his words linger, sharp as glass.
The door opens quietly. I freeze, half expecting another interruption, but it’s Dante. He steps inside, his silhouette filling the small space, gaze flicking over me—curled up, red-eyed, still dressed from earlier.