Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
Poppy
Knowing very little about the Cristof world… I’d expected the worst.
I’d expected the brothers to bring Ivan to some underground, dimly lit warehouse where a doctor “off the books” would stitch him up with questionable tools and even more questionable ethics.
But I’d never been so wrong.
Instead, they barreled straight to the hospital.
Not a rundown clinic—not some mafia backdoor operation—but one of the nicest hospitals in the entire city.
A private floor. Armed guards everywhere.
Dimitri barking orders like a military general.
Alexei threatened to tear down walls if someone didn’t move fast enough, and that was where Ivan stayed. For an entire week.
I wasn’t allowed to see him. I didn’t blame them.
Not even for a second. Whatever boundaries the brothers set?
I deserved them. All of them. Ivan wouldn’t have been in this mess if it hadn’t been for me.
I’d accepted all of this, even if it hurt, and I spent my nights crying my eyes out, wondering if I would get the call that he’d died.
My phone buzzed, the soft vibration slicing right through the heavy quiet of Emeline’s home. My stomach plummeted. For a week, I’d barely left the penthouse except to get Jane to and from school. Don was glued to her side.
When I unlocked my phone, everything inside me went cold.
TEXT MESSAGE BUBBLE-
Donovan- Did you get my gift? It’s unfortunate the Cristof family won’t be planning a funeral.
I thought I was pretty thorough. My vision tunneled.
A cold sweat broke out across my spine. My fingers trembled around the phone.
He knew we saved Ivan. Of course, he knew, but what did this change?
Would he go after Ivan again? Would he go after Jane?
Was this just an example to be made? The longer I sat there and stared at my phone, the dizzier I grew. What did all of this mean?
My thoughts danced back to when Ivan disappeared. I’d contemplated killing for him. Could I still do that now that Ivan was alive, though not well? Could I go to my wedding night and slit Donovan’s throat?
With steely resolve, I decided that, yes, I could.
I couldn’t spend the rest of my life under the thumb of a monster.
I couldn’t constantly look over my shoulder and wonder who was next.
I couldn’t live my life in fear of how I needed to act or what I needed to say because Donovan would make an example out of someone I loved.
So the planning began. We were a month out from the wedding. I would be meeting his family this weekend, and I would put on the charm. I would make him believe I was a changed woman because of this incident. I would show him that I could behave… for now.
The next morning, I called Marta as I stared down at the Jackie Kennedy dress she’d picked out for me.
I wasn’t so sure it was appropriate for our engagement party, and I needed to have some kind of backbone when it came to this woman.
I had a feeling that was how I earned her respect, not that I cared all that much, but I needed glowing stars from her for Donovan to believe my ruse.
“Yes?” Marta answered on the first ring like she always did. She was always prompt and on time. I was sure she’d served in the military at one point in her life. There was no way around it.
“Hi Marta, I’m looking down at the dress we picked out for the engagement party today, and I’m not so sure it will work.”
You could have heard a pin drop on the other end of the phone. “Excuse me?”
“I found this blazer dress that I feel would be much more appropriate.” It even had a cape.
It was beautiful and never anything I would actually want to wear, but they constantly spoke about power and wanting to show just how powerful Donovan was…
this was the way to do it. “I just don’t think Donovan’s family will see the Jackie Kennedy dress as an actual power move, and you’ve been speaking a lot about how Donovan would like to be presented.
If we are going to be a power couple, then we need to dress like it.
Marta, I don’t want to look weak or meek. I think we should make a statement.”
I could practically hear her smiling on the other side. “This is a big change in you, Ms. Fairchild. I am highly impressed. Maybe Mr. Madden should have made an example out of your loved ones a long time ago. I approve it.”
The line clicked out, and I stared down at my phone in dread. I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I hated every second of it, but I’d made a move that actually worked.
I looked down at the dress.
Ivory. Structured. Shoulder pads sharp enough to wound someone.
A built-in cape that draped like something straight out of Emeline Cristof’s closet.
The fabric was heavy, expensive, authoritative— I was sure it was everything Donovan’s people worshiped.
It was one of the pieces his personal shopper had delivered after the fire, when we relocated to the Cristof penthouse.
I hadn’t been allowed to pick out a single item.
Every dress, every shoe, and every perfume bottle was chosen for me.
The ivory blazer dress was a cage disguised as couture.
I ran my fingers over the lapel, bile thick in my throat.
I didn’t want to look powerful. I wanted comfort and to go back to being blissfully innocent, but I couldn’t.
That girl was gone. She’d died a long time ago.