Chapter 5

I stare at him. "Dante. What if I refuse?"

He laughs once. Cold.

"Sweetheart. Since when do you get to say no to me?"

He flicks a glance at the crowd behind him. That's all it takes. They erupt on cue.

"You heard the Madonna! On your knees,you filthy dog !"

"You lost everything down to your panties , and you still think you can negotiate?"

These are the same men who called me Madonna. Who bowed when I walked past. Who kissed my ring. Now they've turned like wolves, every last one of them falling in line behind Anya.

My chest crushes inward. The pain goes numb.

There's a wall of soldiers behind me. I can't run. Dante is unhinged enough that fighting will only drag this out longer — and Gran is on an operating table right now. Dignity is a luxury I can't afford.

"You'll keep your word. After this, I leave."

I choke the words out. I undress. I get on my hands and knees on the polished marble.

The room sucks in a breath.

"Woof."

Laughter explodes around me. I feel tears slide down my face.

"Woof."

Someone kicks me in the ribs — I don't even see who.

"Woof."

Dante's voice cuts the room cold. "Enough."

"Get her out of my sight."

I grab my dress off the floor, yank it on crooked, and stumble out barefoot.

It's pouring outside. I don't know when the rain started.

I flag down a cab with shaking hands and tell him the hospital. Fast. Please.

I sprint through the lobby. I burst into Gran's room.

She's not there.

I tear through the hallways like a madwoman — and then I see it. The OR doors swing open. A gurney rolls out. There's a white sheet over the body, and one hand has slipped out from under the cloth.

On her wrist is the silver bracelet I gave her for her seventieth birthday.

Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice.

"Gran!"

I throw myself onto the gurney, screaming.

The surgeon exhales, exhausted. "I'm so sorry. We did everything we could. She kept asking to see you one last time. We tried calling — we couldn't get through. We had no choice but to proceed without you."

I don't hear the rest. The room spins. I hit the floor.

When I open my eyes, I'm in a hospital bed.

A nurse adjusts my IV, her face tight with worry.

"Honey, I know you just lost your grandmother and it's awful. But you have to take care of yourself now. You're pregnant."

The words hit me like a slap.

"What?" My voice cracks. "I'm — I'm pregnant?"

"Three months along. You really had no idea?"

I press my hand against my belly. A tremor runs through me , something alive, something small, underneath my palm.

I go cold all over.

Once, I dreamed of this. Dante's child. A home. A real life.

It came now. Now. When the man I built my world around doesn't love me anymore.

The door opens.

Dante walks in carrying half a cake on a plate.

"Wren, you embarrassed me today." His voice is flat with contempt. "Anya's sweet. She thought you might be hungry. She saved you cake."

I look at the mangled thing on the plate — pawed at, half-eaten, barely recognizable. It's not food. It's a slap in the face.

"You're not even with your grandmother. You're here, faking sick to get my attention?"

"Get out!"

I hurl the water glass at his head.

He dodges. His eyes go pitch black.

"Ungrateful. You're not half the woman Anya is."

He slams the door behind him.

I break apart. I sob until there's nothing left inside me.

For the next few days, Dante parades Anya across the city. Diamonds dripping from her throat and wrists. Yachts, rooftop parties, flashbulbs chasing them at every turn. Cameras everywhere.

I bury Gran alone.

The day we put her in the ground, the sky splits open and the rain doesn't stop. While I'm standing graveside in the mud, Dante is at a charity gala downtown, presenting Anya with a flawless museum-grade diamond in front of the press.

I go back to the penthouse. I pack one suitcase. I walk out.

I rent a tiny studio across town.

He calls. I pick up.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Dante. The game is over. We are nothing to each other."

He finds me the next day.

He looks around my studio — the peeling paint, the narrow bed, the bare lightbulb — and his nose wrinkles like he smells garbage.

"You're living in this hole? Cute." A mocking smile. "You're playing hard to get."

"It's none of your business. Get out."

His eyes flatten. He nods at the men behind him. They grab my arms before I can move.

"Let's go. Anya wants to take you somewhere fun."