Page 5 of Sweet Obsession
“And fashion,” I said. “Tetanus and fashion. A fair trade.”
She looked down at her brush, fingers tightening. “This isn’t a game anymore, Luna.”
I reached forward, gently took the brush from her hand, and set it down. “Then let’s stop pretending we’re pawns.”
Her eyes met mine in the mirror.
“I don’t care what Papa says,” I whispered. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll back you up. Whatever it takes.”
She turned toward me slowly, her voice so small it hurt. “What if saying no isn’t enough?”
“Then I’ll burn the deal myself,” I said. “Just say the word.”
She looked like she wanted to believe me.
But before she could speak, a sharp knock rattled the door.
One of the housekeepers peeked in, wide-eyed. “Señor Rojas requests your presence in the dining room. There’s... a guest.”
I frowned. “A guest?”
“He said dinner would be informal tonight.”
I stood slowly, a chill running down my spine. Gabriela’s face had gone pale.
“He’s not supposed to arrive until tomorrow,” she whispered.
I frowned. “Maybe Papa knew. And didn’t tell us.”
“Of course he didn’t. That’s how he keeps us off balance.”
We walked the long corridor together in silence, Gabriela’s arm brushing mine with every step. She paused halfway, turning to me, and I saw it.
Not just fear.
Terror.
Not of Misha.
But of what would happen if she said no.
My father had made a deal with the devil, and if it breaks, we lose everything. Protection. Supply lines. Power. We’d be a target.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “People die when the wrong families go cold.”
I’d heard it before. Words thrown like threats at cartel meetings, whispered by guards, etched into our upbringing like gospel. But hearing her say it?
It felt real.
Too real.
“Then I’ll find another way,” I said firmly. “I’ll talk to Misha Petrov myself.”
She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “He doesn’t strike me as the negotiating type.”
She kept walking. I followed, the silence stretching taut between us.
She wasn’t wrong.
