Chapter 19 Rose
ROSE
Iwake up choking on the smell of polish. A cold shiver runs up my spine. My body feels heavy, sluggish, like I’ve been packed full of sand. My head throbs dully at the back, pain blooming every time I try to move.
Then I see the canopy.
White silk. Embroidered with tiny gold thread. Perfectly pressed.
My stomach drops as I start to process all of this. It’s my childhood bed. I don’t need a soothsayer to know this. The horrific phase of my life began right here, in this very room.
The room hasn’t changed. Of course it hasn’t.
The walls are still the same pale cream my mother once insisted was “timeless.” The dresser is exactly where it always was.
The mirror, too. Even the faint crack near the window frame is still there, the one I used to trace with my finger when I couldn’t sleep.
I squeeze my eyes shut, heart slamming against my ribs.
No. No, no, no.
“Finally. I was starting to wonder if I'd killed you.”
My eyes fly open.
He’s leaning against the doorframe like he belongs there. Tall. Immaculate. Familiar in the way nightmares are familiar. Dark hair, same sharp mouth, same eyes that never learned the difference between want and ownership.
Anton Pavlov.
My breath comes out in a broken gasp. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t come any closer.”
He smiles slowly, deliberately, like he’s savoring the fear. “Still skittish as ever, Brooklyn,” he says. “Not for long, I hope.”
Memory crashes into me all at once.
The engagement party. The champagne. My mother’s hand on my back, fingers digging in just hard enough to hurt.
Smile, Brooklyn.
I sit up too fast and nearly black out again. My pulse roars in my ears. “You don’t get to call me that,” I say, voice shaking. “You don’t get to touch me.”
Anton laughs softly. “You ran,” he says. “You embarrassed a lot of very important people. Including me, you know.”
“I chose myself,” I spit. The hate in my heart is still as raw as before.
“You chose chaos,” he corrects. “But that’s over now.”
He steps closer. I scramble back until my spine hits the headboard, every instinct screaming at me to run even though there’s nowhere to go.
“You’re home,” he says. “Your family missed you.”
I think of my mother’s cold eyes. Of the silence that followed my disappearance. “They sold me,” I announce, like he didn’t already know. “To you.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“That’s how alliances work,” Anton says mildly. “My brother Georg and I will inherit all of this, soon. The Bratva expects continuity. Stability.” His gaze drags over me. “And heirs. You fit beautifully into that picture.”
Terror coils tight in my chest. “I won’t marry you.”
He tilts his head. “You will.”
I shake my head violently. “I’d rather die.”
Something flickers in his eyes at that. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs. “You just might get it.”
He touches my cheek. Lightly, like I'm a toy he can't wait to try out. “Get some rest,” he says. “Tomorrow is a big day.”
My blood turns to ice. “What day?”
He pauses just long enough to look back at me over his shoulder.
“Your wedding day.”
The door closes softly behind him.
I collapse back against the pillows, shaking, the truth finally naked and undeniable.
Rose Brown is gone. Brooklyn Lark has been dragged home.
Time stretches into something thick and shapeless. I stare at the ceiling for what feels like hours, counting the tiny imperfections in the plaster, the faint shadows where the light doesn’t quite reach. My body is still heavy, my head still aching, but the real pain sits relentlessly in my chest.
The door opens again without a knock.
My mother, Dora, walks in like she’s stepping into a meeting she’s already late for. Perfectly dressed. Perfectly composed. Not a hair out of place.
“Brook,” she says, brisk and familiar, like nothing is wrong.
“That’s not my name anymore,” I answer, pulling my gaze away from her.
She pauses, just long enough to register the inconvenience, then dismisses it with a flick of her hand. “Don’t be dramatic. This is not the time.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, heart pounding. “You can’t make me do this,” My voice rises a notch higher. “You can’t marry me off to him.”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“We don’t have a choice,” Dora replies calmly. “The family has debts. Serious ones. The Pavlov money fixes that.”
I laugh, sharp and broken. “So that’s it? You sell me and the books balance?”
Her eyes harden. “Watch your tone.”
“Where’s Dad?” I ask. The question slips out before I can stop it. “Does he know you dragged me back here like property?”
“He’ll be at the wedding,” she informs me. “That’s all that matters.”
The words land harder than any blow.
He didn’t even come to see me.
Something in me finally gives. “I’m not a thing you can trade,” I say, voice shaking. “I’m your daughter.”
Her composure seem to crack at the sound of those words, not with guilt, but irritation.
“You are a Lark,” Dora snaps. “And you will do what’s required of you.”
“You can’t force me,” I bark at her.
“I can,” she retorts.
I’m boiling with anger. “You won’t dare.”
She doesn’t say another one, instead I feel a sharp crack of pain across my cheek, heat blooming instantly. I gasp, more in shock than hurt, fingers flying to my face.
“Enough,” she says right after slapping me. “Behave, or I’ll have you drugged until it’s time to drag you up that altar.”
She turns, pulls the door shut behind her, and I hear the lock slide into place.
I’m alone.
The silence rushes in, suffocating. My legs give out and I curl in on myself on the bed, sobs tearing free at last, raw and unstoppable.
They never wanted me back.
They just wanted the price tag I came with.
And now, they have it.