Page 146 of I'm sorry, Princess

I can’t breathe. My throat feels raw, my lungs too small. My parents’ faces blur with the tears gathering in my eyes. I don’t recognize them anymore. Did they ever love me? Or have they always been like this, hiding behind polite smiles until the knife was ready?

“Get out!” The words rip from me, cracked and sharp. My voice echoes off the walls.

My father laughs, low, cruel, and stands, moving toward the door with slow, deliberate steps. My mother stays seated, legs crossed, calm like a queen in her court.

Is there a reason for this? Or are they simply… evil?

“If you want him out of jail, you will marry,” she says, her tone almost bored. She drops another envelope on the table. When I open it, I wish I hadn’t.

Photographs spill out like poison. Lorenzo. Andres. Lev. Dante. Men I don’t recognize. Some laughing in restaurants, others talking in shadowed streets. Surveillance, every one of them.

“Do you know who they are?” she asks, almost smiling. “Russian mafia. Italian mafia. Wanted men, every one of them. John can have him rotting in jail just for breathing the same air as these people. And if he does, well… even a short sentence would be enough to have him beaten to a pulp inside.” She laughs softly, the sound making my skin crawl. “So, if you love him…” She laughs again at the word, as if it’s a punchline. “…you’ll leave him alone and marry Ian. Although, I doubt he’ll want you back after what I’ve sent him.”

The air freezes in my lungs. “What?”

“The contract you signed, dated and all, was sent to that club, Cursed, under Lorenzo’s name. Five hours ago.” She winks. “We didn’t have his home address, but I’m sure it’ll find its way to him.”

No. No, no, no. My chest feels like it’s caving in. I’ll fix this. I’ll make him believe me. He loves me.

But my heart pounds so hard I think it might burst, and my stomach twists until I can’t stop it,

I vomit right there on the floor.

“Pathetic,” my mother says, wrinkling her nose as she rises.

“Why?” I choke out, my voice shaking so violently I barely recognize it.

She pauses at the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. “Why what?”

“Why do you hate me so much?” My vision blurs, my chest heaves, and my voice cracks into sobs. “What have I ever done to you?”

Her face twists into something unrecognizable, rage and something deeper, something ugly.

“You were born!” she spits, the words hitting me like slaps. “You destroyed my life the day you came into it. I gained weight because of you, and he started cheating. I lost my career because of you. We didn’t have time for each other because of you.” Her voice climbs higher, sharper. “Because of you, I lost my husband. Everything. You’ll pay for what you’ve done to me!”

Her face is blotched red, her voice shrill as she slams the door so hard I swear the walls shake.

I stand frozen, her words ricocheting in my skull, my breath ragged. The house feels colder than it ever has. I need to talk to him. I need to tell him the truth. That it’s all a lie. That I never signed that paper.

That I will never marry Ian.

I don’t even remember grabbing my keys, only the sound of them clattering against the table as my trembling fingers snatched them up. I don’t lock the door. I don’t care. My whole body is shaking, my vision swimming through a veil of tears as I stumble toward my car.

This can’t be happening.

My chest feels like it’s being crushed in a vice, each breath jagged and shallow. I fumble to start the engine, and the moment it roars to life, I slam my foot down on the accelerator.

I’ll fix this. We’ll be okay. We love each other.

Streetlights blur into streaks as I race through the city. My thoughts are a frantic loop, Cursed, the letter, Lorenzo’s face when I tell him the truth. I’ll explain why I never told him about my parents’ plans. Why I kept it buried. Why I was stupid enough to think it would just… go away.

He’ll believe me. He has to.

The club’s neon sign glows ahead like some kind of cruel finish line. I jerk the wheel into the parking lot, barely slowing before I stop dead in the middle of it. The engine’s still running. I leave the door wide open, my bag on the seat, my phone somewhere under my leg. None of it matters.

All that matters is him.

I burst through the club’s doors, every head turning toward me. The bass thrums through the floor, but all I hear is the pounding of my heart. My make-up is gone, my face is a streaked mess of black and saltwater, but I push forward, scanning the room for him.