Page 60 of Ruthless Reign

“It's lemon curd,” she corrects as if I care.

“Right, curd. Tastes amazing either way. Perfect choice for the wedding cake.”

Yeah, perfect for a wedding that’s not going to be happening. At one time, I would have felt guilty that my mother is going to such lengths for an event which will be canceled if I’m successful. But not anymore. My parents have never prioritized my needs or what's best for me. Roman is right—it’s time to let them fend for themselves.

How long can I keep sacrificing my happiness for theirs? If left to them, it would be indefinitely. That’s the problem. They will continue taking from me until there’s nothing left.

“Maybe it’s better to go with vanilla,” my mother frets, worry creasing her brow. “It's usually safer to keep things traditional.”

I barely suppress an eye roll. “Sure, Mama. Whatever you prefer.”

I’m glued to my phone hidden under the table as the stock price steadily climbs. Shit, I’m going to need to sell soon.

“I can’t decide on the tablecloths, though. White, off-white, or cream?”

My finger hovers over the sell button, ready to act as soon as the price hits my target.

“Liza, did you hear me?” my mother snaps peevishly.

With a quick tap, I sell, locking in a tidy profit of twenty thousand dollars. It’s been a week since I started trading, but the results are already impressive. I’ve made two hundred thousand dollars off my initial capital. It’s a good start, but I'll need to pick up the pace if I’m going to make a million dollars before this wedding in under two weeks.

“Pick whichever, Mama. It's fine.”

I glance up to find her frowning at me.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but this is your wedding. The most important day of your life—of all of our lives—and your lack of interest is concerning. All of Moscow's elite will attend. You ought to prioritize planning over whatever it is you're constantly doing on your phone.”

I sigh and make sure the trade has gone through before lowering my phone into my lap. “I was texting Kira.” The lie rolls smoothly off my tongue. “She asked if I needed any help with the planning, but I’d say you have it under control. You and Mrs. Petrovich seem to be more than happy to handle the details.”

“Speaking of which… Talya and Katerina will be here any second, and I won’t have you acting like a sullen teenager. Show that you actually want to be part of their family.” She sniffs. “You have no idea what a privilege it is to take the Petrovich name.”

An honor for her. The woman who doesn’t actually have to marry Anatoly.

“I don’t care about privilege and a good name. That’s your concern,” I bite back, unable to keep the anger from bubbling to the surface.

“How can you be so selfish?” my mother snaps, her low voice filled with indignation.

The wedding planner enters the room, but one look from my mother sends her scurrying away.

“Do you think I married for love? No. Marriages are unions; they’re meant to strengthen families and secure futures. It's about duty, not personal happiness.”

“That’s not true. At least, not always,” I point out. “Kira and Maxim are crazy in love.”

Her eyes turn to slits. “Didn’t their marriage start as a business arrangement?”

I gnash my teeth. I don’t know why I’m bothering with this conversation because my mother won’t be swayed.

“Your sister needs this union more than anyone.” My mother slams her hand down on the table. “If we sank into poverty, do you think there’d be a chance in hell anyone would want to marry Sofiya?”

My grip tightens around my phone. “What if we don't need the Petroviches' money? What if I found a way to be financially independent from them?”

As if on cue, my phone buzzes with an alert for a promising stock. I ignore it.

The frown marring my mother’s perfectly made-up face isn't what I hoped for. “What are you talking about, Liza? Have you lost your mind?”

What she really means is, Where’s my sweet, obedient daughter who never pushes back, never questions, and never wants anything for herself? That’s who I was for so long: the dutiful daughter, living her life to clean up everyone else’s mistakes.

My mother continues to stare at me as if I’m an alien. It’s my fault, in a way, because I’ve never stood up to her before.

---