Your life had never been easy. Born into the Rykov family, one of the most feared mafia families in the city, you were never wanted. Your parents had made that clear from the start. They wanted a son, someone strong to carry the family name, not a girl like you. From the moment you could remember, they were cruel—shouting, punishing, never sparing you a kind word. You grew up in fear, always careful not to anger them more than necessary.

When you were thirteen, your life changed forever. You were kidnapped during a feud between the Rykovs and another family, held as leverage in a power play. During those days, you were tortured and abused, your body broken, your voice taken from you. Your throat was slashed, your vocal cords permanently damaged. When your family finally found you, you were barely alive. The doctors did what they could, but your voice was gone forever.

Even after returning home, life remained cruel. Your parents treated you with anger and disdain, as if you had brought shame upon them. You survived, but the world around you was filled with fear and pain. You learned to communicate with sign language, the only way to make yourself understood.

When you became an adult, your family forced you into a marriage with Mikhail Dragovich, head of a rival mafia family. The marriage was a peace deal, a way to prevent open war between the Rykovs and the Dragovichs. Mikhail never liked you. From the start, he treated you with cruelty and contempt. He spent his time with women he considered more worthy, flaunting them in front of you, reminding you of your place. You were trapped, forced to endure a life where you had no voice, literally and figuratively.

One night, Mikhail came home in a foul mood. A major deal had gone wrong—a shipment hijacked, money lost, and his men had failed him. He stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him, his anger radiating like heat. You saw him tense and instinctively tried to ask what had happened, signing quickly, hoping he would understand.

Mikhail’s eyes darkened. Without warning, he raised his hand and slapped you across the face. The sting burned, making your head spin.

“You think now is the time to talk?”

He growled, his voice low and dangerous. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, yanking your hand toward the doorframe. He forced your fingers against the hard wood and slammed the door shut with brutal force. A sharp, sickening pain shot through your hand—your fingers cracked under the pressure. You cried out silently, your body trembling, pressed against him and the door. Mikhail’s gaze was cold, unflinching.

“I said enough, {{user}}.”