5. The Show
The Show
Monika
The dress is red.
Of course it's red. It's always red. Aleksander chooses it because red is the color of blood and power and the Mire family crest. Nathan chooses it because red is the color of passion and possession and everything he wants to consume.
Gabriel doesn't choose it—Gabriel never chooses anything for me—but he looks at me in it with those sad, hungry eyes, and I know he sees the same thing they do.
A possession. A symbol. A woman who belongs to men who don't know how to share.
I stand in front of the gilded mirror in my room, and I don't recognize the person looking back at me.
The dress is silk. Blood-red silk that clings to every curve of my body like a second skin.
The neckline plunges low—too low—revealing the pale expanse of my chest, the delicate hollow of my throat.
The sleeves are long and fitted, ending in small buttons at the wrists.
The skirt falls to the floor in a cascade of fabric, but there's a slit up the side that reveals my leg with every step I take.
I look like a mistress. I look like a trophy. I look like exactly what I am.
Ashlynn helped me dress. She didn't say anything—she never says anything when she's helping me prepare for these events. She just moved around me with those gnarled hands, buttoning and smoothing and adjusting, her pale blue eyes seeing everything and revealing nothing.
When she was done, she stepped back and looked at me for a long moment.
"You look beautiful, Miss Monika," she said.
"I look like a sex doll."
"You look like a woman who's about to walk into a room full of wolves."
I didn't answer. I didn't have to.
She left. I stayed.
I've been standing here for twenty minutes, maybe longer, staring at my reflection and trying to find the girl I used to be. The farm girl with calloused hands and dreams of veterinary school. The diner waitress who pulled a bullet from a stranger's side and thought she could save him.
She's not here. She's been gone for a long time.
The gala is a performance.
The mansion has been transformed. The ballroom—the one I've only seen a handful of times, the one that's usually locked and dark and gathering dust—has been opened for the first time since I arrived.
The chandeliers are lit, their crystals casting prismatic light across the marble floors.
The walls are draped in white silk, the windows covered with heavy velvet curtains.
The air smells like roses and champagne and the particular sweetness of money.
White roses. Everywhere. On the tables. On the mantels. In vases that cost more than my father's farm. Aleksander's choice—because they remind him of Elena. Because everything in this house reminds him of Elena. Because I'm just a ghost standing in the shadow of a dead woman.
I walk down the staircase, my hand on the banister, my heels clicking on the marble. The guests are already arriving—men in tuxedos, women in gowns that cost more than my annual salary. They turn to look at me as I descend, their eyes traveling over my body like I'm something to be appraised.
I am. That's exactly what I am.
Aleksander is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He's wearing a black tuxedo, his silver hair combed back, his grey eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my stomach clench. He looks like a king. He looks like a god. He looks like a man who owns everything he sees.
"You look beautiful," he says.
"I look like a whore."
"You look like a Mire."
He takes my hand. His fingers are warm against mine, steady and strong. He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles—a gesture so formal, so public, that I feel the eyes of the room on us.
The other guests are watching. The donors. The politicians. The journalists. They're all wondering who I am and why I'm on Aleksander Mire's arm.
I'm wondering the same thing.
The ballroom is a spectacle.
I've never seen anything like it. The chandeliers alone are worth more than everything I've ever owned.
The orchestra is playing something classical—Mozart, maybe, or Beethoven—and the music swells through the room like a living thing.
The guests are dancing, their gowns swirling across the floor, their laughter rising above the music.
I stand at the edge of it all, a glass of champagne in my hand that I haven't touched. Aleksander has been pulled away by a group of donors—something about a new hospital wing, something about his "generous contributions"—and I'm alone for the first time all night.
I watch the crowd. I watch the way the women look at me, their eyes sharp with curiosity and judgment. I watch the way the men look at me, their eyes traveling over my body with a hunger they don't bother to hide.
I watch the Mire family.
Aleksander is in the center of the room, shaking hands, making deals.
He's the patriarch, the architect, the man who built this empire with his own two hands.
But I can see the cracks in his composure.
The way his jaw tightens when someone mentions his sons.
The way his eyes flicker toward the staircase every few minutes, checking for threats.
He's losing control. He knows it. I know it.
Nathan is working the room like a predator. He moves from group to group, shaking hands, flashing that sharp, beautiful smile. He's dressed in black—always black—his dark hair disheveled just enough to look intentional. He's charming. He's magnetic. He's everything his father built him to be.
But I can see the hunger in his eyes. The way he looks at the other men in the room, sizing them up, calculating their worth. He's not here to celebrate. He's here to hunt.
Gabriel is in the corner, trying to blend in. He's wearing a dark suit that doesn't quite fit him, his hair combed back from his face, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks uncomfortable. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.
He looks like the only person in this room who isn't pretending.
I want to go to him. I want to take his hand and let him lead me out of this place. I want to pretend we're somewhere else—somewhere clean, somewhere safe, somewhere we could be together without the weight of his family crushing us both.
But I don't.
Because I'm not that girl anymore. And this isn't that kind of story.
The conversation happens an hour later.
I'm standing by the window, watching the snow fall over the garden, when I hear Nathan's voice behind me.
"There you are." His hand finds my waist, his fingers pressing into the silk of my dress. "I've been looking for you."
"I've been here."
"I know." He turns me to face him. His eyes are dark, intense, the same whiskey color they've always been. "You look beautiful."
"I keep hearing that."
"Because it's true." He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "You're the most beautiful thing in this room. Everyone knows it. Everyone's watching you."
"Let them watch."
He pulls back. His smile is sharp, predatory. "That's what I love about you. You don't care what anyone thinks."
"I care too much. That's the problem."
"No." He shakes his head. "You care about the wrong things. You care about being good. You care about being kind. But none of that matters in this world."
"Maybe it should."
"Maybe." He shrugs. "But it doesn't."
The conversation happens on the dance floor.
Nathan holds me close, his hand on my lower back, his body pressed against mine. We move together across the floor, and I can feel the eyes of the room on us—watching, judging, calculating.
"They're all wondering who you are," Nathan says. "Wondering why you're on my arm."
"Let them wonder."
"They think you're my mistress."
"I am your mistress."
"No." He pulls me closer. "You're my everything."
I don't answer. I don't know how to.
The gala is winding down, the guests beginning to leave. I'm standing with Aleksander and Nathan—Gabriel has already retreated to the greenhouse—when the topic turns to the future.
"The empire is stable," Nathan says. "But stability isn't enough. We need to expand."
Aleksander's jaw tightens. "We've discussed this."
"We've discussed it, but we haven't done anything."
"Because there's nothing to do. We have what we need."
"We have what we had ten years ago. The world is changing. If we don't adapt, we'll be left behind."
"Adapt how?"
Nathan smiles. It's a terrible smile. "There's a market we haven't explored. A demand we haven't met."
"What market?"
"The workforce." Nathan's eyes flick to me, then back to his father. "The labor market. We need workers. People who can't say no. People who can't run."
I feel something cold slide down my spine.
"What are you talking about?" I ask.
Nathan looks at me. His eyes are unreadable. "I'm talking about the future. About building something that lasts."
"By exploiting people?"
"By giving them purpose."
"That's not purpose. That's slavery."
"That's business." Nathan's voice is flat. "The world is built on the backs of people who can't fight back. That's the way it's always been. That's the way it will always be."
"You're talking about children." My voice is shaking. "You're talking about trafficking children."
"I'm talking about meeting demand. The market wants what it wants."
"The market doesn't want children."
"The market wants workers. Children are more compliant."
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
"Nathan," Aleksander says. His voice is sharp. "That's enough."
"No. Let's talk about it. Let's talk about what we're actually building. Let's talk about the women in the cages. The children in the warehouses. Let's talk about the future."
I've heard enough.
I turn and walk away. I don't know where I'm going. I just need to get out of this room, away from these people, away from the weight of what I've just heard.
I find myself in the library.
The room is dark, the fire burned low, the bookshelves looming in the shadows. I close the door behind me and lean against it, my heart pounding in my chest.
Children. He's talking about trafficking children.
I think about the girl from the warehouse. The one I fixed. The one who looked at me with empty eyes and asked for nothing because she'd already given up.
I think about the cages. The women in the cages. The way they looked at me like I was their last hope.
I think about what I've become.
I'm complicit. I've been complicit since the night I pulled that bullet from Aleksander's side. I've taken the money. The safety. The love. And I've looked the other way while they built an empire on blood.
I can't do it anymore.
I can't look the other way.
I don't sleep that night.
I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, and I think about what I've heard. About Nathan's expansion plans. About the darkness he's considering. About the women in the cages, the children they might become.
I think about Aleksander. About the way he looked at me when I walked down the stairs. About the way he said I looked like a Mire.
I think about Gabriel. About the way he looked at me across the room. About the way he's been trying to save me for a year.
I think about Nathan. About the way he touched me. About the way he said I was his everything.
And I think about myself. About the girl I used to be. About the girl I've become.
I don't know what to do. I don't know how to stop him.
I don't know how to save anyone.
I fall asleep with tears on my cheeks.
When I wake, the sun is rising.
The house is quiet. The guests are gone. The roses are wilting. The world is still spinning, even though something in my chest has gone very, very still.
I get out of bed. I walk to the window. I look out at the garden, at the snow, at the frozen pond.
I think about my mother. About the barn. About the way she taught me to lean in when everyone else runs away.
I'm leaning in.
But I don't know if I can save anyone.
I don't know if I can save myself.