Page 119 of Royal Bargain

“Yeah, I did. And she can go fuck herself if she thinks that justifies sending you out into the open when Anatoly just got released from jail.”

I flinch. The name still lands like a slap.

“I signed a contract,” I mutter. “She has every right to drop me.”

“She doesn’t have the right to put your life at risk,” Liam snaps. “You’re not going.”

I go still. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I carefully set Lily down on her playmat, my hands suddenly trembling. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, Liam.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive, Ana.”

“And I’m trying to keep myself me.” My voice rises before I can stop it. “You think I don’t want to stay here where it’s safe? That I don’t feel like I’m walking around with a target on my back every second of the day? But if I keep giving up every opportunity that comes my way because of who my father is, I’ll never have a life. I’ll just be his ghost!”

Liam’s shoulders tense. He drags a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before turning back to me.

“I get it,” he says, quieter now. “I do. But Ana, this is the worst possible time. You’ve got a daughter. A tiny, helpless little girl who needs you to come home. If you walk into that club tonight, I can’t guarantee that you will.”

I blink hard, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.

He crosses the room and crouches in front of me, not touching me yet, but close enough that I can feel the weight of his concern.

“You don’t have to let Ingrid push you around. Not when you’ve got leverage.”

I frown. “What leverage?”

“Miranda.”

I stare at him.

“If Ingrid’s playing hardball, Miranda can outmatch her. She got you that deal in the first place, right? She’s the one who brought you two together. If anyone can talk her down—or delay the performance—it’s her.”

I want to argue. I want to scream. I want to sing.

But he’s not wrong.

I glance at my phone again. Then at Lily, still babbling softly as she grabs at her bunny’s ear.

I don’t know what to do.

So I do what I do best. I focus on my daughter. Carrying Lily into the bedroom, my arms aching with exhaustion I can’t shake, I press a kiss to the crown of her head as I lay her gently on the changing mat. She smells like milk and sleep and the faint hint of baby shampoo.

She kicks her legs, gurgling as I wipe her down and swap her into a fresh onesie. I hum softly to keep her calm—one of the songs I used to sing under my breath in the Volkov halls when no one was listening. The kind of song I only let myself believe in when I was alone.

I settle Lily down on the bed, her tiny hands gripping the edge of her blanket as she babbles sleepily. I smooth her curls away from her forehead, then step toward the corner of the room where my phone sits charging.

The call to Miranda rings twice before it connects.

“Annika,” she says, her voice like silk and smoke. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I take a breath. “It’s about Ingrid.”

“Ah. So she did tell you about tonight.”

“She didn’t give me a choice,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “She called this morning and just informed me I’d be performing at The Gilded Cage. I tried to explain I wasn’t available, and she told me if I didn’t show, I’d be in breach and she’d drop me.”