Chapter 2

The guard appeared the next morning and unlocked the cell door.

"Mr. Castro says you can go back to your room." He wouldn't look at me. "But you stay on the property."

I followed him upstairs, legs unsteady from a night on concrete.

He stopped at my bedroom door and handed me a phone before leaving.

I stared at the device in my palm. A friend request notification sat on the screen.

Anya Russo.

My hand trembled. I accepted it before I could stop myself.

Her profile loaded immediately, no privacy settings, everything public.

The first post made my stomach drop.

Five nights ago. The timestamp matched my first night in that cell.

Victor stood beside Anya in formal attire at what looked like an underground auction house.

The caption read: [Thank you for tonight. I'll treasure these forever.]

The photos showed Victor raising his paddle. A diamond tiara being presented on black velvet. A pink diamond necklace so rare I recognized it from auction house rumors, only three existed worldwide.

I scrolled further back, my chest tightening with each post.

Five years ago. My mother's funeral date.

My father stood in the photo wearing a dark suit. Anya's mother cutting a birthday cake while my father stood behind her, hand on her shoulder.

He'd left my mother's funeral early to attend his mistress's birthday party.

The next photo stopped my breathing entirely.

My father's hand, sliding the Russo family signet ring onto the mistress's finger. The ring that should have gone to my mother's successor. The ring that represented control of the docks, the weapons routes, everything my mother built.

The caption from one of the guests: Congratulations to the new matriarch of the Russo family.

I kept scrolling, hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone.

Yesterday. A birthday invitation posted to Anya's story.

[Save the date: Tomorrow evening.]

Tomorrow. They'd scheduled Anya's birthday party for tomorrow.

I checked the calendar and felt ice spread through my veins.

Tomorrow was Anya's birthday.

Tomorrow was also my mother's death anniversary.

They'd planned it that way. Deliberately.

The bedroom door opened without warning.

Victor walked in carrying a dinner tray. He set it on the desk without looking at me.

"Eat."

I turned my head toward the wall, fixing my gaze on a blank spot where paint was peeling.

"Alice." He said my name the way someone might call a disobedient dog.

I didn't move.

His footsteps approached. Stopped beside me.

"Look at me."

I kept staring at the wall.

Something inside me had frozen solid during that night in the cell. The part of me that once wanted to be close to him had gone cold. Turned to ash.

"Alice."

I finally turned my head, met his eyes.

"I'm not hungry."

His jaw tightened. "You haven't eaten since yesterday."

"Then I'll go another day."

His hand shot out and gripped my chin, forcing my face up.

"Don't push me. You know how this ends."

I smiled without humor. "Do I? Turns out I never knew anything."

His fingers dug harder into my jaw. Then he released me abruptly and swept the entire dinner tray off the desk.

"You think starving yourself gives you leverage?" He leaned down, voice dropping low. "This isn't a negotiation, Alice. You don't have cards to play."

"Then why do you care if I eat?" I held his gaze. "If I'm nothing like you said—"

"What happened at the docks five years ago," He cut me off, straightening up. "Your mother made the first move. She's the one who had Anya's mother dragged off the property. She chose that path. Can't blame anyone else for what came after."

Pain detonated in my chest like a gunshot.

"My mother protected what was hers." My voice came out raw. "She had every right—"

"She had no right to humiliate people who'd already been through enough." Victor's tone went flat. "Anya spent twenty years as a bastard daughter nobody acknowledged. Your mother could've handled it quietly. Instead she made it a spectacle."

I stared at him. Really looked at him.

This man who'd sworn vows to me. Who'd promised to protect me.

He was defending my mother's killer.

"I want out." The words came out steady, almost calm. "Divorce. Annulment. Whatever."

Something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Then it hardened into contempt.

"You think that's still an option?"

I pushed myself to standing, legs unsteady but rage keeping me upright.

"End it. However you want." I moved closer. "I don't want to be a Castro anymore."

Tears ran down my face but I was smiling. I raised my fist and slammed it into his chest, right over his heart.

"I don't want your name. I don't want your protection." Another hit. "I don't want anything from you ever again."

He caught my wrist before I could strike again.

"You think you get a choice?" His voice went dangerously quiet. "After everything that's happened, you think you just walk away?"

He yanked me closer, fingers crushing my wrist.

"You're nothing, Alice. You get that? You are nothing."

The words hit like physical blows.

"You lost your family name when your father signed those papers. Lost your inheritance when we committed you. Hell, you even lost the baby you didn't know you had." He stared down at me with something cold and clinical. "What exactly are you walking away with?"

I tried to pull free. His grip tightened until bones ground together.

"Let go—"

He released my wrist and reached into his jacket instead.

A stack of papers landed in my lap as he shoved me backward into the chair.

"Read."

My hands shook as I picked up the documents.

Asset transfer agreements. Every property, every business holding, every shipping route and weapons cache that belonged to the Russo family.

All of it signed over to Anya Russo.

I flipped through page after page, vision blurring.

The beneficiary line on every single document: Anya Russo.

The notarization date made my stomach turn.

That day they locked me in that facility.

"Your father needed to make things right with Anya's family." Victor crouched in front of me, "He owed them. The damage your mother did when she threw them out, someone had to pay for it. And it was never gonna be him."

He gestured at the documents in my lap.

"The paperwork's filed. Assets are transferred. It's done." He paused. "But you can still have a place here. If you're smart."

I looked up at him.

"Just accept it, Alice. Accept Anya's position." His tone shifted, almost gentle. Almost. "You keep the Castro name. You keep the protection. The security. The lifestyle."

He reached out and tucked hair behind my ear, the gesture horribly familiar.

"Just this once, pick the smart option."

His phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, saw the name, and picked up without hesitation.

"Hey." His whole tone shifted. Went softer. "What's going on?"

He kept his eyes on me while he listened.

"Monaco?" A pause. "Tonight?" The corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah. I'll get the jet ready."

He turned toward the door, phone still pressed to his ear.

"We'll find you something good for your birthday. Whatever you're thinking." He listened again. "Twenty minutes. I'm leaving now."

The door clicked shut behind him.

He never came back.

I sat there holding those documents until my hands went numb.

Later that night, I couldn't stop myself from checking Anya's social media.

New posts had already appeared.

Photos of a private jet interior. Champagne glasses. The Monaco coastline at sunset.

Victor sat beside Anya, his arm around her shoulders.

The expression on his face made something crack inside my chest.

I'd seen that look before. Years ago. In the beginning.

He used to look at me that way. In private. When no one was watching. Like I was something precious.

Now he wore that expression in front of cameras. Posted publicly for everyone to see.

And he was giving it to her.

The comments under the post multiplied while I watched.

[Finally seeing Victor smile like that. She's good for him.]

[They look so natural together. Like they were always meant to be.]

[The real Mrs. Castro. Anya fits the role perfectly.]

I kept scrolling, unable to stop.

Someone had posted a side-by-side comparison. Anya in designer clothes and jewelry next to an old photo of me from five years ago.

The comment read: [Victor only protects what's worth protecting. She's lucky to be alive. That's more than she deserves.]

Another reply underneath: [Exactly. Russo bloodline or not, the ring isn't on her finger. She's nobody. A woman her own father locked up in an asylum—who's gonna take that seriously?]

I checked Victor's account.

He'd reposted Anya's photos. Added hearts to her captions.

Not a single word defending me. Not one deleted comment. Not even basic moderation.

He was watching it happen. Allowing it. Maybe approving.

The phone slipped from my hands onto the bed.

I understood now.

This was the play. He wanted me to break. Wanted me to see how replaceable I was. Wanted me crawling back, begging to stay.

Wanted me to take back everything I'd said about leaving.

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

"I won't." I whispered.