Page 104 of Betrayal and Vows

I couldn't bear the thought of Anton's hands on me, knowing it would only make this morning worse.

Knowing it would make me want things I can never have.

So I said the cruelest things I could think of. Used my mother's words, Mikhail's taunts, the whispers I'd heard all night.

"You can only give me a life on the run."

The look on his face when I said it nearly killed me. But I forced myself to keep going.

"I will never be happy with you."

Each lie felt like swallowing glass, but I made myself say them.

Made myself push him away before he could destroy us both trying to save me.

A sharp knock interrupts my spiral of self-loathing.

"Lena." My mother's voice cuts through the door. I can hear her irritation. "Open this door. Now."

I don't move.

The door opens anyway. Of course the maid let her in. What I want doesn’t matter anymore.

She sweeps into the room wearing a cream-colored suit. Her makeup is flawless, her hair perfectly styled.

She looks like she's ready for a celebration, not a funeral.

Which is exactly what this wedding is.

My funeral.

"The maid tells me you're ill." Her tone suggests she doesn't believe it for a second.

"I am."

"Get up."

"I can't."

She moves to the window and yanks the curtains open. Sunlight floods the room, making me wince.

"This is your wedding day, Lena. The most important day of your life."

I want to laugh. Or scream. "The most important day for who?"

She turns to face me, her expression showing just how angry she is with my antics. "For your family. For your future. For everything we've worked toward."

"You mean everything you've worked toward." I pull the blanket higher, trying to disappear. "I never wanted this."

"What you want is irrelevant." She sits on the edge of the bed and sighs. "This is bigger than your feelings, Lena. This marriage secures our family's position. It keeps us alive."

I think of what Anton told me last night. About Vadim's plans. About how we're all marked for death anyway. But I can't tell her. She'd never believe me.

"Get up," she says again. "Shower. The stylist will be here in an hour."

"What if I said no?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "What if I just... refused?"

Something flickers across her face. Fear, maybe. Or recognition.