The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, her words echoing.
Revna's crying. I made her cry.
I've tortured men without blinking, ordered deaths without remorse, built an empire on blood and fear.
But the thought of her tears breaks something in me.
I text Mikhail:
Is she still there?
Within a few seconds I have a response:
Yes. No movement from the house.
I want to go to her.
Every instinct screams to fix this, to make her understand.
But maybe that's the problem—I always try to make her understand my perspective instead of understanding hers.
My phone rings again.
Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"You fucking bastard." Dalla. "She's trying so hard to make this work, to find something good in this arrangement, and you just proved every fear she had right."
"Dalla—"
"Shut up. I'm talking. My sister has given up everything for your family's alliance. Her choice, her freedom, her future. The least you could do is treat her like her opinion matters."
"I do?—"
"No, you don't. You treat her like a pet. Your 'little wolf' that you can dress up and show off and make decisions for." Her voice cracks. "She was happy, you know? After Vegas, after you. She was actually happy about marrying you. And you ruined it."
"I'll fix it?—"
"How? With more surveillance? More controlling behavior? More decisions made without her input?"
"I... I don't know."
"Figure it out. Because if you don't, if you keep treating her like property instead of a person, I'll help her run. Alliance be damned."
"You wouldn't?—"
"Try me. I'll get her so far away you'll never find her. And before you threaten me, remember—I'm about to be your family too. Hurting me hurts her."
She hangs up.
I sit in my empty penthouse, surrounded by luxury that suddenly feels hollow.
There’s only a few more days until our wedding, and I've managed to break us before we even begin.
My phone buzzes.