Page 16 of 10 Days to Ruin

Leander rises up as tall as he can. “There are no limits to what I would do to keep my family safe.”

The walls close in. My reflection fractures in the steel stall doors—a dozen trapped Ariels, wide-eyed and trembling.Fight, they scream.Fight!

But every single one of them knows I lost this war a long time ago.

“I’ll give you a moment to gather your thoughts,” my father says. “Meet me by the ice sculpture when you are ready to proceed. And Ariana… don’t try to run. I’d hate to have to chase you. This is hard enough on me already.”

He leaves, the door sighing shut behind him.

In the mirror, the girl in the stolen dress stares back. Green eyes. Loose braid. A cut she can’t stop reopening.

“Okay,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I echo.

Then I walk out to meet my cage.

Baba is standing by the ice sculpture in the middle of the ballroom when I emerge. It’s a swan, wings spread wide, though they’ve started to look like they’re drooping as they melt.

My dress and hair are mostly back in order. Not much I can do about my missing earring, but that’s low on my list of concerns right now.

It’s midnight. The clock begins to strike.

First toll: twelve sharp peals. A sound like a death knell. A sound like shattering cages.

Second toll: I feel him before I see him. A prickle across my skin. My blood remembers his hands better than my brain does.

Third toll: I turn.

Fourth: He’s watching me. The man from the bathroom. Sasha Ozerov. Suit pristine, hair perfect, mouth set in that same brutal slash. But the tendons in his neck stand out like tension cables. His pupils swallow the Arctic blue of his eyes whole.

Fifth: My knees unlock. My stolen Valentino heels don’t wobble. Small miracles.

Sixth: My father steps between us, grinning like this ishiswedding day. “Sasha, meet my daughter, Ariel. Your fiancée.”

Seventh: The ice sculpture weeps. I don’t. Can’t. Won’t.

Eighth: Sasha’s eyes darken to black.

Ninth: I want to laugh. Or scream. Or maybe book a one-way ticket to whatever dimension Lois Lane retired to afterSmallvillegot canceled.

Tenth: Instead, I arch a brow. “We really need to stop meeting like this. People will talk.”

Eleventh: His thumb brushes my bandaged palm—just a flicker, just enough to make my pulse hammer. “Our story’s just getting started,ptichka.”

Twelfth: The clock falls silent. The room holds its breath. And I realize, with the clarity of a bullet between the eyes, that happy endings are bullshit.

Some princesses get poisoned apples. Some get glass coffins.

Me? I get six feet of Russian nightmare wearing Brioni and a wedding ring.

“Well?” My smile could flay skin. “Ready to ruin each other’s lives?”

He doesn’t blink. “I was born ready.”

6

ARIEL

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