8
CORA
The sun has no business shining on a day like today.
Golden light streams through the car’s windows as Mikhail pulls into the long, familiar driveway I ran down years ago. It was nighttime the last time I was here. The windows on the front of the house were dark except for the one next to the front door. That lone light glowed, one single window like an open eye watching me flee down the driveway with nothing except what would fit in my ratty old backpack.
As I turned my back on Alexander McAllister’s house, I swore to myself it would be for the last time.
But here I am again.
“Does it look how you remembered it?” Mikhail is grinning, watching me through the rearview mirror. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been home. Your dad will be happy. He’s missed you.”
“Alexander isn’t my dad.”
Mikhail stretches an arm across the passenger seat and looks back at me. His nose wrinkles. “You could use a shower. And a change of clothes.”
“Next time you kidnap someone and hold them captive, keep them at the Four Seasons then,” I snap.
His eyes narrow for only a second. Then he chuckles. “Alexander will understand. As soon as you open your mouth, he’ll know exactly why it looks like you were dragged through a sewer.”
Mikhail climbs out of the car and comes around to the back door. He opens it, but I stay put.
I can’t force myself to move. Can’t bring myself to slide across the seat and closer to Mikhail. A single inch closer to the house I’ve spent years running from is an inch too far.
He looks in at me through the door, his smile gone. “You promised, Cordelia.”
“Promised what?”
He arches a threatening brow. “You’d come willingly. If I have to force you, you won’t like how things end up.”
I don’t think I’ll like how things end up either way. But I slowly scoot my way across the seat and press my feet flat onto the pavement. I’m hungry and tired. The world spins as I stand up, my knees threatening to give way.
“Come on.” Mikhail tugs on my arm. “We’re running late.”
“I thought Francia was in charge.”
He stops and looks back at me. “No one is in charge of me.”
He says it softly, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to overhear. Probably because Mikhail and I both know he has never been in charge. His entire life has been him buckling under the leadership of his father. Now, it’s Francia. Maybe Alexander. Perhaps both. He’s a little fish in a sea full of sharks.
Which is why my true fear doesn’t kick in until he opens the front door of my stepfather’s house.
It smells exactly like I remember. Like bottled cinnamon and mint. My mom always loved potpourri. As a kid, I tried to eat a glittery decorative pinecone and shredded the roof of my mouth. I ate nothing but applesauce for a week.
The scent of it now makes me nauseous.
I only have a second to take in the staircase, the foyer, a glimpse of the den. Then Mikhail clicks his tongue in irritation. “This way.” He yanks on my arm again, dragging me up the stairs towards Alexander’s office.
The only time he ever asked me to meet in his office was when I was in trouble. Like the time I broke school dress code and wore a skirt that was half an inch too short. Or when I got caught sneaking out to meet a boy Alexander had not expressly approved of.
He wanted to control what I wore and who I spoke to. He wanted to groom me into the quiet, obedient pawn he needed.
Admittedly, he got close. But close isn’t good enough. Not when it comes to crushing a human spirit.
Alexander left a little too much of my willpower intact. By the looks of it, he’s fixing that mistake now.
Mikhail doesn’t knock on the office door. He just yanks down on the handle and shoves it open. And that is how I see my stepfather for the first time in three years.
In the blink of an eye, the door is open and there he is, standing in the middle of his office and staring at me. His hair is a little thinner, but I can tell by the swoop in his bangs that he’s trying to hide it. Otherwise, he looks the same. Dark suit, white collared shirt, clean-shaven face. It’s like no time has passed at all.
Except his mouth is hanging open slightly. He looks almost as stunned to see me as I am to see him. Like he didn’t really expect me to walk through this door today. Maybe he never truly thought he’d win one over on Ivan.
He quickly schools his expression into a much more familiar scowl. “You’re late.”
“Thank your daughter for that.” Mikhail pushes me into the room and slams the door closed.
I look around in vain hope for my mom. Not that she would do anything to stop what’s happening even if she was here, but I can’t bring myself to give up the hope that she’ll finally step up and be the mother I deserve.
I’m still trying to find my bearings and get my footing when Mikhail pushes me again. He hits my shoulder, shoving me towards the chair directly across from the desk in the middle of the room. I barely catch myself from falling.
“Idiot!” Alexander barks. “Careful with her.”
Is that concern in his voice? Is he feeling protective of me? It would be the first time. But at this point, anything is possible.
“She’s valuable,” he continues in a placid drawl. “The more you beat her up, the less she’s worth.”
Ah. There it is. Welcome home, Cordelia. Nothing has changed a bit.
Mikhail shifts behind me and gathers my stringy hair in his hands. He lays it over my shoulder as I fight hard not to cringe away from his touch. “I just have to keep her alive.”
“No, you just have to keep your fucking hands off of her.”
“But she screams so pretty.” Mikhail’s fingers dance over my throat. “How could I not want to hear it all the time?”
My stepfather sighs. “You can hear it as much as you want once she is officially yours. Until then, hands off.”
Finally, my brain unlocks. I clear my throat and lean forward. “But the wedding is—The wedding was called off. It was in the paper.”
I wondered how he and my mother would handle my disappearance. Whether they’d call the police and organize a search or simply try to sweep it under the rug. In the end, there was a small correction issued in the society section of a paper no one under the age of seventy-five read.
I hoped that would be the end of it, but based on the way Alexander is looking at me now, I know exactly how wrong I was.
When I first walked into the room, Alexander studied me. His eyes roamed over me, calculating, checking to make sure all the pieces were accounted for.
Now, he looks directly into my eyes. A chill runs down my spine. “I did the best damage control I could, given the circumstances,” he rasps. “But now, you are going to fulfill the commitment you made.”
“I never made a commitment! You made one on my behalf.”
“And he’ll fulfill it,” Mikhail chimes in. He moves around my chair to stand next to my stepfather, sneering down at me with pure contempt. “I’ve been clear since the very beginning, Cordelia: you were promised to me. You belong to me.”
It’s one thing when you have to sit and listen to a lunatic babble. But when everyone else starts agreeing with him? When person after person spouts the same story? It’s hard not to feel crazy.
I turn back to my stepfather. “You can’t be serious. My mom would never—”
“Your mother wants what is best for this family,” Alexander snaps. “What is best for this family is for you to follow through with your commitments. You were young and wild before, but now, you’re—well, older, if nothing else. And you’re back. You’re back and ready to fulfill your promise.”
A desperate laugh squeezes out of my lungs. “You can’t just rewrite history like this. I’m not some press release you can edit to your liking. You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No one is laughing,” Mikhail interjects.
“I am!” I raise a hand in the air. “I’m laughing my ass off. Because you must be insane to think I’m going to marry—”
A scream slices through the room and makes my blood run cold.
I whip around, trying to see where it’s coming from. Then I see Alexander is holding his phone. “Who is that?” I ask. Even though some part of me already knows.
The screen goes black and he pockets his phone. I want to claw it out of his hands and scream into it. Can she hear me? Is she on the line or is it a recording?
“You’ve always lived under the delusion that you have a choice, Cordelia. You don’t.”
“Who was that?” I ask again. “Who was screaming?”
My stepfather’s face creases. Faux concern is etched in the lines of his face. “Your little friend won’t fare so well if you give us any more trouble.”
“Jorden,” I breathe.
They have Jorden.
Mikhail told me she was sold off to someone, but he didn’t say who. It’s not a stretch that she was sold to someone they know. Someone sick enough to send them clips of her screaming.
What did they do to make her scream like that?
My stomach twists. I want to drop to my knees, but I know it won’t help. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I knew I’d need an insurance policy.”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“Then don’t make things difficult.”
“What do you want from me?”
“What I’ve always wanted.” He reaches out and plucks a strand of hair away from my face. “A quiet, obedient daughter.”
Bile rises in my throat. I want to spit it at him. He deserves worse than that. But Jorden’s scream is still echoing in my ears.
My decisions don’t just affect me anymore. If I don’t do what they ask, not only could I die, but I could take Jorden with me. I’d never forgive myself for that.
“Are you going to be a good girl and do as you’re told?” he asks.
In the end, Alexander is right. I don’t have a choice. I never have.
I lower my head and nod slowly.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I always knew you’d come around.”