And I could feel Ethan’s pain radiating through the metal barrier between us. I didn’t know if he was conscious, if he was fading. I didn’t even know if he’d make it through the night.
“Stop the car,” I whispered.
No one moved.
“STOP THE FUCKING CAR!” I screamed.
Luca swerved slightly, amused. “My bride has a temper.”
“I’m not your fucking bride,” I snarled. “You’ll never touch me. You’ll never own me. Even if I’m dead.”
Vincent flicked ash from his window.
That was when the tears came, neither soft nor cinematic, just violent and ugly.
I was sobbing uncontrollably now, shaking so hard I nearly hit the door with my shoulder. I didn’t care. I wanted to open it mid-motion. Jump. Die. Anything but this.
Vincent finally looked at me.
For one second, his expression shifted—almost something human. But it passed. Like a mask settling back on his face.
“You used to protect me,” I cried. “You used to say I was the only person who never wanted anything from you. And now... now you’re doing this?”
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t. Because the truth was loud in the silence.
He’d chosen his side.
And it wasn’t mine.
We drove for what felt like an eternity.
I lost track of time. Of miles. Of blood.
Until finally—
The car stopped.
A large rusted gate groaned open in front of us, guarded by Bratva men with rifles and dead eyes. We rolled into a compound surrounded by pine trees and floodlights. Industrial.
“Home sweet home,” Luca said, killing the engine.
My heart shattered against my ribs.
Cassian wasn’t coming.
Maybe he didn’t even know.
Maybe the blood trail in the woods was already drying in the dirt.
They opened the trunk.
Ethan didn’t move.
“Get him inside,” Luca barked, voice sharp with irritation. “If he dies too quickly, we lose our leverage.”
Two men dragged Ethan out like a corpse. His body hung limp, blood streaking down his leg and onto the concrete. I lurched forward, tried to follow, but Vincent grabbed my shoulder.