Chapter 7 #2
“Don’t touch me, you monster,” I spat, my voice trembling with defiance. “You disgust me. You cheat—you chain me here while you crawl into another woman’s bed. It’s pathetic.”
Something flickered in his gaze, fury or hunger, I couldn’t tell—but he lunged.
His hands clamped around my arms, yanking me forward, my body slamming against his chest.
His grip was bruising, suffocating, his scent crashing into me like a storm.
“Jealous already, milaya?” he taunted, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.
“The fuck?” I hissed, shoving at his chest, my palms pushing against iron. “I have no reason to be jealous. You could’ve just chained me here without dragging me into this farce of a marriage. Go fuck whoever you want—just don’t pretend this is anything but a prison!”
His eyes darkened.
His hands slid to my waist, caging me, dragging me closer until every frantic beat of my heart thudded against him.
His strength smothered me, overwhelming.
“You’re not a pawn, milaya,” he growled, voice hot against my ear. “You’re mine. My possession. My obsession. My everything.”
His lip curled, but his eyes—God, his eyes—flashed with something fleeting, before the ice slammed back in. “Seraphina exists. But I’ve never touched her. Not tonight. Not ever. Only you.”
His vow was twisted.
Obsession burned in his gaze, a hunger that terrified me more than any blade.
“Keep your excuses,” I spat, my voice trembling but loud enough to crack in the silence.
“I don’t care who you fuck.” My throat tightened. “Just don’t—” I swallowed hard, my eyes stinging. “—don’t rape me. Please.”
That word detonated in the air between us.
In a flash, his hand snapped to my jaw, squeezing until white-hot pain shot through my bones.
My cry caught in my throat. His face was inches from mine, his breath hot and furious.
“Don’t use that word in my house,” he snarled.
His voice wasn’t human—it was fire wrapped in steel.
Then, without warning, he crushed me beneath him, slamming me onto the couch.
My back hit velvet cushions, his weight caging me, his body a fortress I couldn’t fight.
Panic clawed up my chest, my fists pounding his shoulders, my legs thrashing wildly.
“Let go! Let go, you bastard!” I screamed, my voice raw. “Don’t you fucking rape me! I’d rather die!”
Dmitri’s mouth seized mine, not a kiss but a conquest—hungry, brutal, as if he meant to swallow me whole.
His teeth sank into my lip, merciless, tearing until pain flared white-hot. Blood spilled between us, metallic and coppery, and still he didn’t let go.
His tongue licked the wound like a claim, a groan vibrating through his chest as though my pain fed him. I gasped, choking, my nails digging into his arms, clawing for release, desperate to push him away even as his grip only tightened.
“It hurts,” I wheezed when he finally tore back, my lip bleeding, my chest heaving under his crushing weight.
His eyes burned down at me, rage and obsession intertwined.
“Say that word again,” he hissed, his voice lethal, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Blood trickled down my chin, my jaw aching under his grip.
My body trembled with terror, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking.
I lifted my eyes to his, blazing with fury and defiance.
My voice shook, but I forced the words out anyway, sharp as broken glass.
“What word?”
“Rape,” he said, his voice a low growl, his grip loosening just enough for me to breathe—though his body still caged mine. “Say it again, Penelope, and I’ll do exactly that.”
My blood ran cold.
His words cracked through me like thunder, yet something in his eyes—dark, tortured, violent—held me prisoner just as tightly as his arms did.
“Didn’t you plan to force yourself on me?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“No.” His answer was final. “If I wanted your body, Penelope, I could have taken it the moment you collapsed in my arms. But I don’t want a corpse that hates me.
I want you—breathing, burning, breaking for me.
And I’ll wait as long as it takes, because I don’t need to force what already belongs to me. ”
He pushed himself off me at last.
His shadow still loomed.
His eyes burned with that same obsessive fire that both terrified and bound me. “You’ll be mine, milaya. And I’ll be yours—in this life and the next. You’re bound to me forever. I don’t give a damn what you think you feel.”
His vow wasn’t love—it was chains.
“I’ll never be yours,” I spat, dragging myself upright, my lip throbbing.
I wiped the blood from my chin with the back of my hand, smearing red across my skin like war paint. “Not in this world, not in your dreams. You don’t treat people like this and expect them to—”
“I didn’t sleep with any woman,” he cut in, his voice like a blade.
His gaze pinned me, daring me to doubt. “And I won’t break the vows I made at that altar.” His mouth twisted, the faintest shadow of a sneer curling his lip. “Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant.”
The words snapped between us like a whip, leaving my breath jagged.
He turned before I could fire back, his boots striking the marble in measured, deadly echoes.
He strode to the side room, shoulders broad.
“So who the hell is Seraphina?” I demanded, my voice hoarse. “And how the fuck did those hickeys get there? They don’t appear magically, right?”
He froze for half a second—then silence.
He didn’t turn, didn’t answer, just kept walking until the door shut behind him with a cold, final click.
I sat there, staring at the polished wood that had swallowed him whole, my body aching, the taste of iron still hot on my tongue.
My lip throbbed, my arms bore the shadow of his grip, and yet it was the silence that gutted me most.
His obsession was a noose tightening around my throat.
His hatred was a blade, sharp and merciless. And I was caught between them—trapped in his golden prison while my family waited across an ocean, candles unlit, cake untouched, laughter fading into silence.
On the night I should’ve celebrated life, Dmitri Volkov had stolen it.