The Last Hope

4

Selina

His touch made me want to tear off my skin, despite the dress covering me. I tried once again to move away from his hand at the small of my back, but it was futile. I exhaled slowly, feeling Nikolai Ivanov's gaze burning into my back. He had seen the marks; he shouldn't have. What if he told Antonio? A shiver ran through me, and I gripped my son's hand tighter.

The heavy gaze wouldn't let go, and if Antonio noticed, he would kill me. I wanted to grab my heel and throw it at that damn Russian's face—what was his problem?

Antonio's arm wrapped around my waist like a serpent, and as I looked up at him, he lowered himself slowly.

"You'll need to take a trip to the restroom, mia cara, touch up your makeup," he whispered in my ear. He stepped back, smiling, gently pushing me towards the exit. My eyes glanced at my son, already looking at me with concern as I moved away.

"Don't worry, mia cara, I'll keep an eye on our son," Antonio said cheerfully.

Tears welled up, anger burning within me. He knew I would never escape without my son. He used him like a leash around my neck, keeping me at his feet. My helplessness choked me; I wanted to scream, to hit him, to be heard, to be seen for who I was, to get help. But I did nothing, just nodded, giving a final glance to my son who pleaded with his eyes. I smiled gently at him and headed towards the hall, legs trembling.

I entered the restroom, smiled at a little girl leaving, and waited a few seconds to ensure I was alone. Trembling, I placed my bag next to the sink and looked at my reflection, grimacing at a mark becoming visible on my neck. I opened my bag , took out my foundation, and began to apply it.

I didn't even feel it escape from my lips—a sob, my whole body trembled. I felt my cheeks moisten, but I continued to cover the marks that would never disappear. I put down the brush, grabbed a tissue, and angrily wiped away my tears, ignoring the physical pain. I had long learned to ignore that pain, accepting to surrender my pride and honor with each blow I received. My only reason to live was now my son, who was currently alone with our tormentor. I seized the brush again and started applying it to my face, thinking of joining my baby soon.

I eventually finished redoing my makeup, calming down gradually. I cast a last glance at my reflection, ensuring no marks were visible, grabbed my bag, straightened my shoulders, and left the room. I walked down the corridor to the hall with stiff and rapid steps when something collided with me full force. I let out a cry and found myself on the floor, a mass on my knees.

I looked down and found myself face to face with a little boy with teary eyes, a red nose, trembling lips, and shoulders shaking with sobs. He suddenly buried his face against my belly, wrapping his arms around me. I froze, not knowing what to do as he continued to cry against me. I looked around but didn't see his mother—or anyone else; we were alone.

I placed my hand on his back, gently stroking it, then ran my fingers through his hair—shorter than my son's, who had slightly longer, curly hair. Then my hand slid to his neck to hug him gently. It'll be okay.

He raised his tear-stained face, sniffling softly, and his eyes met mine again. I smiled at him and wiped his tears as I had done with mine just a few seconds ago.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," he replied in a small voice, making me laugh.

"Do you think we can stand up?" I asked.

He looked at me for a few more seconds behind his tears and finally nodded. I helped him to his feet, doing the same while grumbling. He kept his head down, shoulders slumped, and wiped his nose on his sleeve, making me smile again.