They Won’t Let Me Go

I was trapped in that room for three whole days.

Damien said it was for me to 'think about what I'd done.'

And Leo made it his mission to come and scream insults at me every day, as if it was his new favorite game.

On the third day, the door finally opened.

My father burst in, out of breath, his suit a mess.

His hair was a mess. He looked like he'd driven all night.

He saw the bruise on my forehead and his face went pale.

"Elara, my daughter." He opened his arms for a hug.

I stepped back. "What are you doing here?"

"Damien told me what happened," my father's voice trembled. "Elara, my God, what have you done? You can't leave him. You'll ruin us!"

"Ruin you?"

"Without Volkov protection, we're dead. Our business is gone." He suddenly dropped to his knees. "Our enemies will tear us apart. Competitors will swallow our territory. Your brother is still in college, your mother's medical bills—"

"Enough."

But he kept going, his voice growing more desperate. "A thousand people work for us. Their families depend on that money. They'll starve. All because you're throwing a fucking tantrum."

Tantrum.

There was that word again.

I heard a car engine downstairs.

Looking out the window, I saw a black sedan pull up to the front.

The door opened and a woman stepped out.

Long blonde hair, a slender waist. Even in the dark, I could see her delicate features.

She was wearing a red dress, identical to the one Krista used to love.

"Who is she?" I asked.

My father followed my gaze. His face fell even further.

"Sophia. Damien's new... assistant."

New assistant.

I watched as Sophia walked into the mansion. Leo immediately ran down the stairs to greet her.

He was smiling, genuinely happy, like he was seeing a long-lost relative.

"She looks a lot like Krista..." my father said carefully. "You're in trouble, Elara."

Trouble?

Because she was a better copy, and I was just the cheap knock-off.

Two bodyguards passed the door. I heard them talking.

"The new girl is seriously hot."

"Heard they got her from a club. She's a hell of a dancer."

"Way better than the ice queen upstairs."

"Shh, keep it down."

My father heard it too.

"Elara, listen to me, you have to—"

"Have to what? He already found a replacement!" I turned on him. "I've sacrificed enough for this family. I'm leaving!"

"No!" My father grabbed my arm. "You can't go! I won't allow it!"

"You won't allow it?"

"I am your father!" he yelled. "I have the right to decide your life!"

"You had that right," I said, my voice ice. "You sold it eight years ago."

My father stared, his face twisting into an ugly snarl.

SLAP!

The crack of the slap echoed in the room.

My cheek stung, but I refused to touch it.

"Ungrateful bitch!" he roared. "I raised you, and this is how you repay me?"

He raised his hand to hit me again.

I caught his wrist.

"That's enough," my voice was like ice. "As of today, we're even."

My father stared at me, his eyes full of rage and disbelief. "You're insane."

"No. I'm sober," I said, letting go of his hand. "More sober than I've ever been."

He stumbled back, pointing a finger at me. "You'll regret this. Without the family, without protection, you'll be nothing!"

"I'd rather be nothing."

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The room was quiet again.

I turned around and met Damien's dark, deep-set eyes.