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He growls but heads toward the posh waiting room with the restroom signs leading down two separate halls.

“Sorry, I’ll be quick,” I say.

“Do not apologize, so?lnyshka . I am here if you need anything, but I will come in if you take too long,” he warns.

I let go of his arm and start down the short hall to the women’s restroom while he sets up sentry at the entrance. After pushing through the door to the powder room, I continue straight through to the toilets and freeze as I come face to face with my mother.

She drops her polite mask, grabs me by the arm she knows was broken, and yanks me over to the nearest sink. I dig the heels of my sneakers into the marble and try to pry her fingers off, but she tightens her grip hard enough to leave bruises.

The air whooshes from my lungs and white-hot agony spears through my stomach as she flings me into the edge of the sink. Deep, burning pain radiates up my arm and into my shoulder.

“Give me your phone,” she snarls.

Before my diaphragm relaxes enough for me to draw a breath, she wrenches my purse off my shoulder and snaps it open.

“If you ignore my call one more time, I’ll marry you off to the oldest, sickest socialite I can find. Capisci , Camilla?”

I shake my head and reach for my phone, but she swats my arm and shoves me against the sink again.

“Your sister should’ve never dragged you into her mess. She’s using you, you know that, right?”

Her words make no sense. Serenity gains nothing from me but heartache and worry.

My mama was never a good mother figure, but she was the only one I had, but no longer in the dark pit of depression, I now realize how desperately I needed Serenity’s intervention.

My mother is the reason I cut ties with my family after I accepted my dream modeling job. I was never good enough for her. Never perfect enough. Never enough of a doormat.

Fury sweeps through me, followed by a rush of adrenaline. I push off the sink and knock my phone out of her hand.

“Serenity loves me, Mama. You’re the one using me.”

I’ve never raised my voice to her, too afraid of her vicious reprimands, but I’ve also never had someone to protect before.

She grabs my ponytail in an iron grip, yanks me off balance, and drags me to the sink.

“I don’t care who loves you. I raised you. You will obey me ,” she demands.

Alarm jolts through me as she turns on the hot faucet and steam billows up from the spitting water.

She presses her high heel onto the toe of my sneaker, but I may as well not have shoes on with how much it hurts, and she leans me over the sink by my hair. I brace my arms on the edge of the basin, but the wet marble proves too slippery.

“Say you’ll marry Tomasso Bonnetti before the end of the week, and all this can stop,” she says.

I shake my head as much as her grip will allow. My hand slips off the edge, and my face dips closer to the steaming water.

She releases my ponytail and grabs my wrist. I hiss and jerk away, but she hits my sore forearm, yanks my sleeve up, and wraps her fingers above my elbow, locking me in her brutal grip.

“No! Mama, stop! I won’t marry Tomasso,” I plead.

I hate hearing the desperation in my voice. It’s too much like the wounded animal noises I made that night so long ago.

The door opens as my mother pulls my arm closer to the sink.

“Get your hands off my wife.”

Dimitri’s voice bounces off the tiled walls.

Relief spears through me, but I fight the urge to sag and elbow free of my mother. My body moves of its own accord, launching me across the room and against Dimitri’s chest. I’ve never hugged a grown man—not even my father—but I wrap my arms around him and press my face against his hard chest.

When his arms close around me, it feels like coming home.

Like my real home. Not the stuffy mansion my parents forced me to be perfect in or the minimalist apartment I kept before my accident or the impersonal room in the facility.

It’s a place where I’m safe to be myself. I’m free to be broken, miserable, and pathetic encased in his arms. He’ll be strong enough for both of us.

When my breath hitches, he tightens his hold on me and cups the back of my head in a gentle embrace.

“Your wife?”

My mother’s skeptical yet overly sweet voice jerks me out of my spiral. I take a deep, calming breath and savor the masculine musk filling my nostrils before exhaling and lifting my head. Dimitri loosens his hold on me but supports my head as though I’m the most precious thing in the world.

“Yes, Mama. I’m already married, so stop trying to sell me off in some pathetic ploy for power. You lost. Leave us alone,” I demand.

Her pupils shrink, but she barely spares me a glance as she studies Dimitri from head to toe.

Possessiveness rises from my depths. I fill my fists with his jacket and pull him tighter to me.

“Where are your manners, Camilla? Introduce me to your husband,” she simpers.

Actually simpers like a schoolgirl.

“No. He’s mine, not yours. He’ll never be yours. Let’s go, amore mio ,” I snarl.

I know I’ve gone too far, but I take his hand, weave my fingers between his, and snatch my phone and purse off the floor before stomping out of the room with him in tow. We no doubt look ridiculous, but I don’t care.

I’m done letting my mother oppress me. She’ll never sink her claws into me or my siblings ever again.

My father’s eyes widen and he leans forward on the couch in the waiting room as though he can’t believe what he sees. I send him a glare before ignoring him as I cart Dimitri to the most expensive set of jewelry in the store.

As my adrenaline fades, so does my certainty, but I point toward the largest diamond ring in the showcase. My finger trembles.

“I want that one,” I announce.

Wearing sweats with one sleeve pushed up to reveal my reddening arm and my hair in the messiest ponytail in history, I select the most lusted after wedding ring set in New York City with absolutely no idea if the massive, tattooed, and brutal Russian bratva man beside me will support my ridiculous farce.

I lift my gaze to his and almost melt to the floor from the fiery hunger in his eyes.

“Anything for you, so?lnyshka ,” he murmurs.

His lips quirk in the tiniest smile, and for a moment, I want this to be real so badly my chest aches, but the excited whispers flowing through the store remind me of what’s at stake.

Dimitri wanted a big show. I delivered. Every member of the upper class will hear this story within the next few hours, and it’ll just keep spreading.

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. I turn my attention to the jewelry, not really seeing it but needing a distraction from my thoughts.

They refuse to be quiet.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle his hands on me after we exit the store, but I can’t deny that this feels right. My fingers clutch at his as though I’ll die without the contact even as nightmares echo in my ears.

I want to marry Dimitri Volkov, even if he ends up resenting me for not being able to give him the future he should have.