The white, demure design was a mockery, a pretty lie.

I fisted my hand around my makeup brush and studied myself in the mirror. I looked flawless, a beautiful doll for my new husband to own. To keep.

I pressed my petal pink lips together, swallowing the sourness on my tongue. I rolled my shoulders and straightened, gathering my resolve. Just like yesterday, I could endure this. I could endure anything Luca threw at me; I wouldn’t allow him to break me. He could treat me as a possession for the rest of our lives, but I wouldn’t lose myself, my identity. What he did to me didn’t matter. He wouldn’t alter the core of who I was.

I had years of practice at hiding my emotions behind a composed mask. My passion for dance had granted me poise and elegance that I used to shield my true self. If cruel men saw only a pretty, docile girl, they wouldn’t try to crush my hidden spirit. I’d slipped up and allowed Luca to see my defiance several times, a mistake I couldn’t afford to repeat. Not if I wanted to keep my soul intact.

Mostly, men left me alone because I didn’t give them reason to rebuke me. I was able to indulge in my books, ballet, and piano, and I had my sister: my best friend in the world. I wasn’t sure what kind of life my new husband planned for me, but I would do everything in my power to keep my individuality. If that meant obeying his commands, so be it. Obedience didn’t mean true submission. I would never succumb to him completely.

“Nora.” I stiffened at the command in Luca’s tone, the way he said my name with such familiarity. “Come in here.”

He was waiting for me in the bedroom. I straightened my shoulders and schooled my features to a calm mask before stepping away from the bathroom mirror. I was finished getting ready, anyway, and it was probably time to start receiving our guests.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw him standing in the center of the bedroom, right beside his—our—massive bed. He wore a tux that fit him perfectly, the powerful lines of his body enhanced by the tailored jacket. His sable hair was pushed back off his brow in an effortless sweep, and his dark stubble roughened his refined appearance ever so slightly, making him appear rakishly handsome.

He held out his hand to me, beckoning me toward him. I realized that I’d stopped in my tracks, staring. I swallowed hard and crossed the room to join him, placing my hand in his.

It was only when his fingers closed around mine that I noticed the syringe in his other hand. Alarm thrilled through me, and I immediately jerked away, but he held me fast.

“It’s just a birth control shot,” he said, his tone low and soothing.

As though that was meant to ease my panic.

Righteous anger spiked my fear. He was taking my choice away from me, taking control of my body and my future.