Chapter 3
Elena
The gallery show I'd been waiting on for months was already halfway over, and still nobody stayed at my booth longer than a minute. I got it. In the art world, I was nobody.
But the way their faces shifted—first impressed, then flat-out disappointed—once they heard my name still twisted something in my chest. That drop felt just as brutal as what Kiryan had done to me last night.
He had held me, driven into me like I belonged to him. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel his heat. And then he'd pointed at me and called me the nastiest thing I'd ever heard.
"Get the fuck out, you disgusting slut."
It cut straight through me.
All night my eyelids had weighed like stone, and I still couldn't sleep.
I knew I shouldn't have expected anything from him. But I didn't get to choose what I felt—same way I never chose to fall for my sister's fiancé. That alone was torture. Now I had to swallow the disgust of the man I loved.
God—if you were there—couldn't you tell me why I had to hurt like this?
I kept my head down, trying to blink away the sting at the corners of my eyes. That was when a pair of stilettos stepped into view.
I forced a smile, ready to greet someone who might actually care about my work.
"Elena, you're still playing this little pretend-artist game?"
The second I looked up, the familiar voice froze my mouth.
Isabella.
She rarely wore anything this tight—an evening dress with big cutouts across her chest and along her waist. Her loose, wavy hair made her look lazy and sexy, not her usual polished perfection, but beautiful all the same.
She had a suitcase with her. Like she was heading out of town. That wasn't strange—traveling for social reasons was basically her job. But why the hell was she here? She usually couldn't care less about anything I did.
"Why are you here?" I asked, wary.
"My little sister's first art show. How could I not come support you?" She walked right up beside me, her nails dragging hard over the surface of my painting. "Even though I had no idea how someone like you even got invited. Still—congrats. You finally aren't just a parasite living off the family."
Isabella had always been like that. For years she had chipped at me, shoved me down, grabbed every chance to humiliate me. And Dad had never stopped her. He'd basically encouraged it.
Because I didn't bring the family value. I didn't give him anything to brag about in his precious upper-crust circles.
"Isabella, if you aren't here for the art, then leave." I pushed her hand away.
The girl in the painting showed only her back, standing in an endless open field, reaching for a hat the wind had stolen. The hat almost lined up with the setting sun, like she was chasing it before it dropped away.
I wiped the frame with care, letting it catch the bright lights again.
"Elena, you only ever belong in a sad little place like this." She looked around, then let out a scornful laugh. "A tiny show like this can only afford a washed-up 'artist' like you. Your paintings are just like you—total trash. Nobody is ever going to like them."
My breath snagged in my throat, pressure building in my chest. She could spit on me all she wanted. But I wasn't going to let her stand there with that smug face and tear into my work.
She didn't know a damn thing about painting.
"Take it back, Isabella." I kept my voice low so I didn't scream in the middle of the hall. "Who the hell are you to judge my art?"
"I just said what is true." She shrugged, all fake helplessness. "And you always act like I'm attacking you."
"Aren't you?" I stared into her hazel eyes—eyes the same color as mine—and felt like I was looking at a stranger.
How long had it been since she'd shown me any kindness?
The memory of her holding my hand and dragging me into the back garden to play felt like it belonged to another lifetime.
What I remembered more clearly was her stealing my toys and tossing them out; her shattering one of Dad's antique vases and blaming it on me.
Then we got older. She'd told me I was ugly, too quiet. She'd said I didn't deserve to look up, didn't deserve to be a Rossi daughter.
"Why?" My throat went dry. "Why do you hate me this much when you're my sister?"
"Hate?" She folded her arms and looked me up and down. "Elena, you think you're the victim? You get to do what you like. You get to chase your little dream. Me? I have to live exactly the way Dad planned. I have to be the perfect social princess, every second."
She sounded like a judge passing sentence, and I didn't even know what crime I'd committed.
"Didn't you already get everything?" Every word felt like it tore something loose inside me. "Dad's attention. Kiryan's obsession."
Those were the things I could never have.
"Not enough." Her long, sharp nail jabbed into my shoulder. "Maybe I'd finally feel satisfied if you disappeared from my life for good. After all, you are my dearest little sister."
The open cruelty in her voice made my skin crawl.
"Isabella—" I wanted to curse her out. To spit her own poison back at her. To tell her she didn't deserve to be my sister.
But I couldn't. My lips only shook, and my voice came out small and pathetic. God, I hated myself for it.
"I just paint," I whispered. "I don't know what I do wrong."
"Elena, sometimes I honestly admire how pure and patient you are." Isabella's gaze darkened. "So pure. So patient it is disgusting."
I didn't answer. I knew what she meant. Pure meant stupid. Patient meant weak. I'd never been as sharp as her, never as bold. In everyone's eyes, I'd always been the disappointment.
We'd gone on too long. People were starting to glance our way, annoyed—this was a gallery, not a street fight.
"You're going to miss your flight," I said at last. "Stop wasting time on me."
I turned away and kept wiping down my frames, pretending she wasn't there. She'd get bored and leave. I told myself that like a prayer.
This was my first invitation to a real show. I couldn't blow it. I'd dragged myself here hungover and sore as hell, not to make a scene. And I couldn't let her see me crack again. That only made her digs sharper.
"Don't shoo me off." Her voice softened—and it made my blood run colder. "You had a pretty good time last night, didn't you? You and Kiryan."
My heart seized. A hard buzz filled my skull. Last night—how did she know?
"That was an accident!" I spun around to explain, and nearly collided with her.
She was less than an inch from me. I could see her thick lashes, her narrow eyes—and that little spark of smug triumph in them.
A sick feeling rolled through me. If she'd found out her fiancé betrayed her, she should've been furious. Destroyed. Instead she looked... amused. Like everything had gone exactly the way she'd wanted.
"Accident or not, I don't care what happened between you two." Like she'd read my thoughts, she tilted her head. "I don't love Kiryan."
I couldn't even name the expression on her face. She smiled, and it still made my spine go cold.
"Getting engaged to Kiryan has been partly for Dad. Marrying into the Morozov family is the kind of thing he'd brag about until he dies." She let out a sharp breath through her nose. "But mostly? It's because he's the man you want."
"Because you like him, I want him. I want to watch you hurt. It's fun."
Her words rang in my ears, loud and relentless, and dizziness spread through me like a tide.
So it had all been planned. She'd stolen the man I loved, rubbed it in with every touch, every kiss, just to make me jealous and sick and broken—then sat back and savored it. And it had worked. I was choking on my own pain, and she was standing there enjoying the show.
"Enough!" I didn't know how that sound came out of me—sharp, raw, weaponized. Even Isabella paused.
"So you finally got mad?" Her voice turned bright, playful. The teasing grin slid back onto her face. "I honestly didn't think you had it in you. I dated Kiryan right in front of you, kissed him in front of you. I even made you deliver condoms for us, and you never looked like this."
The pulse pounding at my temples hurt. Rage kept stabbing at every weak spot in my will.
"You're insane." I grabbed her arm.
"I am." She didn't even flinch. "But if you have time to judge anyone, you should worry about what is coming for you."
"What the hell do you want?" My grip tightened, unease crawling up my throat.
"You should thank me. I am going to make your wish come true." She smiled coldly, looking at me like she was handing out charity.
Before I could react, she yanked free. At the same time, a security guy a few steps away strode over fast, his big body cutting between us.
"Say it clearly!" I tried to step around him, still chasing answers. "You—"
His arm snapped out, blocking my chest. I moved left—he moved left. I tried to slip the other way—he sealed it off like a wall.
Isabella didn't look back. She put on her sunglasses like she had all the time in the world, wrapped her hand around the suitcase handle, and walked toward the exit. Only after she disappeared at the far end of the hall did the guard finally drop his arm.
I stood there staring after her, my mind shredded.
On the drive home, the city slid backward outside the window. The closer I got to the Rossi estate, the faster my heart hammered.
Worry about what was coming for me. Make my wish come true. Those words stuck in my brain like splinters I couldn't pull out.
I parked by the garden and headed inside. The second I hit the foyer, Lydia was waiting by the door.
"Elena. Mr. Rossi wants to see you. He is in the study." She said my name like it tasted funny, a hint of glee in her voice.
If it had been Isabella, she would've said Miss Isabella. I was used to the difference.
Every servant in this house knew Dad didn't treat me like a real Rossi. To him, I was dead weight he couldn't just toss out. I took a breath and walked toward the study.
The whole mansion was quiet in a way that felt wrong. All I heard was my own heavy breathing. Why was he calling me in out of nowhere? I hadn't done anything today besides the show.
Had Isabella told him I'd exhibited? Dad always said painting was a waste of time. And he definitely wouldn't let me show up at some "embarrassing little event" with the Rossi name attached.
I braced myself for his screaming and a few days locked in the basement again.
The study door was cracked, but I still knocked twice.
"Come in."
I stepped inside carefully and stopped in front of his desk. Something flew at me. I didn't dodge in time. The sharp edge of heavy paper scraped my cheek, stinging.
"Elena, you made me fucking ashamed." Dad stood behind the desk, staring at me like he wanted to rip me apart.
"Father, if this is about the art show—"
"You think I give a damn about your worthless paintings?" He slammed his palm onto the desk hard enough to rattle the files. "Pick up that letter on the floor and see what you've done."
I hesitated, then bent and grabbed it. The paper was thick. Only a few lines.
"Dad, I have left New York.
I can't accept my little sister sleeping with my fiancé. I can't pretend nothing happened and still go through with this wedding.
—Isabella."
My head went off like a bomb. So she hadn't been traveling.
"Why would she—"
"You still have the nerve to ask why?" Dad crossed the room in two strides, fisted my collar, and hauled me up like I weighed nothing. "You little whore. You slept with Isabella's fiancé, and you expected her to stick around and smile through the wedding?"
All the blood drained from my face. Even if Isabella had claimed she didn't care. Even if she'd said she didn't love Kiryan. She'd still left.
"I can... explain. It was an accident." I fought to speak, my words breaking as his grip tightened. "I was drunk. I read the... room number wrong. I thought it was mine. Kiryan thought I was— I knew I shouldn't have walked into the wrong room, but I never meant to ruin their marriage. I never—"
My feet dangled. I clutched at his wrist, gasping harder and harder.
"But you did ruin it." His eyes were dark, full of disgust. "First you wasted your days on useless painting. Now you've blown up an alliance between two families."
"I'm sorry, Father." My voice shook.
The lack of air made my fingertips go numb, like I'd been plunged into ice water. Even my thoughts stiffened. I should've begged forgiveness, but I didn't know what could ever be enough. Maybe I should've just died. Maybe that would've been better for everyone.
I shut my eyes.
Then, like he couldn't stand touching me anymore, he hurled me away. My feet hit the floor again. The force sent me stumbling. I grabbed the edge of a table before I went down.
Air flooded back into my lungs, and I bent over, dragging it in.
"Elena. This wedding matters to the family. But Isabella left. And that was on you. So you are going to take Isabella's place and finish this wedding."
I froze. "What?"
"You are going to marry Kiryan. You are going to be his wife. The Rossi family has fed you for twenty-three years. Now you are going to pay it back."
Cold seeped through me, inch by inch.
"I don't want to marry him like this."
It was the first time I'd said what I wanted to his face, clearly. His eyes turned dangerous.
"You don't get to refuse." There wasn't a trace of negotiation in his voice. "From now on, you aren't leaving this house. Not one step. And you aren't telling anyone why Isabella left. You are going to put on her dress and seal this alliance."
I stared at his icy face and finally understood what Isabella had meant by "making my wish come true."