Ruthless Hearts

pte

Preparat

ck, to save her parents because she can't forgive herself if anything happens to them. Valeria, unable to let her go alone, borrowed her boyfriend's car and drove her home. As they pulled into the driveway, Camilie's heart pounded. The sight of those black SUVs made her stomach churn. Luciano's men were already here. They rushed inside-and the first thing they saw was a gun pointed at Gladys. "No!" Camille lost control, shoving the man away from her mother. Valeria gasped. The entire room went silent. Slowly, Camilie turned-facing the man she hated most. Mr Luciano. "Leave my family alone, you monster!" she screamed. "You want me? Then take me!" Luciano's expression didn't change. Calm. Cold. Calculated. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between them. His hand wrapped around her throat-tight. "I am the boss here," he hissed, squeezing until she choked. "Mind the way you speak to me, bitch." Then he threw her to the ground. Valeria caught her just in time, keeping her from hitting her head. Luciano adjusted his suit, indifferent to the terror in the room. "You have two days to get your family together," he said. "The wedding is happening on the third day." Then he turned and left with his men, leaving behind only silence. Camille, Valeria, and Gladys held onto each other, their tears falling freely. This wasn't just about marriage anymore. Luciano had destroyed their lives. Nikolai on the other hand is regretting his decision realizing how much pain he had caused his family because of greed. And how much his wife and daughter despise him now. *The Day Before the Wedding* The house was eerily quiet, filled with an air of surrender. Everyone had accepted their fate. Gladys and Nikolai had stopped fighting the inevitable, focusing instead on preparing for the nightmare ahead. There was no escape, no hope. Only survival. A sharp knock at the door echoed through the tense atmosphere of the house. Camille, who had been sitting in the living room lost in her thoughts, snapped her head up. She hesitated for a moment before pushing herself up from the couch, her heart already tightening in anger at the thought of who might be behind that door. As she pulled it open, she was met with the sight of a woman in her late thirties, elegantly dressed in a fitted black coat and matching heels, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense bun. She carried herself with a level of grace that immediately told Camilie she was used to high society-used to dealing with wealth and power. But the moment the woman's eyes met hers, there was something else in them, something colder. Behind her stood two assistants, both dressed professionally, holding bags and measuring tools. The woman gave a polite but firm smile before speaking. "Good afternoon, Miss Petrov. I am Mrs. Flora," she announced, her tone smooth but with a subtle authority. "I was sent by Mr. Luciano to take your measurements and ensure that everything is perfectly tailored for tomorrow's wedding." The mention of Luciano's name sent a fresh wave of anger through Camilie's body. Her fingers tightened on the door handle, her jaw clenched. "We already have something planned. I don't need your assistance," she replied curtly, her voice laced with defiance. Mrs. Flora barely blinked. Instead, she took a slow step forward, her presence commanding. "I understand, Miss Petrov, but I am only here to do my job. Mr. Luciano has instructed that everything be prepared to perfection, and that is exactly what I intend to do." Her words were laced with finality, a silent warning that rejecting her would mean rejecting Luciano's orders. Before Camilie could respond, her mother, Gladys, placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Let her do her work, my dear. We cannot afford to disobey him," she said gently but with a quiet urgency that made Camilie's stomach twist. Camille turned to her mother, searching her face for any sign of resistance, but there was none. Only resignation. The same resignation that had settled over the house since Luciano walked into their lives like a storm, dictating their every move. With a sharp inhale, Camille stepped aside, allowing the woman and her assistants to enter. The living room immediately felt smaller as they moved inside, their presence exuding professionalism mixed with an unsettling efficiency. Mrs. Flora wasted no time. One of the assistants unzipped a large leather bag, pulling out a sleek black measuring tape, while the other carefully took out a thick notebook filled with fabric samples, design sketches, and color swatches. "Stand straight, arms at your sides," Mrs. Flora instructed, already circling Camilie like a hawk as her assistant extended the measuring tape. Camille bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay still as cold fingers brushed against her waist, shoulders, and arms, marking down every detail with precision. The assistant scribbled notes rapidly, occasionally n