Chapter 21
PENELOPE
My chest tightened as I realized half the women nearby were staring, their eyes sharp with curiosity, gleaming with judgment.
What the hell?”
This corner was far from where I’d hurled the wine bottle, yet whispers twisted through the air like smoke: “The infamous wife of Dmitri Volkov... a monster.” Let them talk. I didn’t care.
My chest still burned with adrenaline, my hands tingling from the act. I had made my point—no one, not even a dancer, would humiliate me in his presence.
“They should just stop staring,” I muttered under my breath, lowering my head, teeth clenched. Glancing was one thing—but gawking? Like I was a performance to be critiqued? Unacceptable.
A sleek brunette in a silver dress leaned slightly closer, chuckling softly. I turned, irritated. “Why do these girls keep staring at me?” My voice was low, brimming with a brittle edge. “Can they just look the hell away?”
She laughed again, eyes bright with mischief. “They’re shocked because of the shirt you’re wearing.”
My gaze dropped.
Dmitri’s oversized silk shirt hung loose on my frame, the hem brushing my thighs like a claim I hadn’t chosen.
My fingers froze over the tiny stars above the breast pocket, tracing them almost reverently. Stars... ours.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“Dmitri Volkov swore years ago,” the woman murmured, leaning closer as if sharing a forbidden secret, “that no woman would ever wear his clothes with those designs... not unless she was the only one he’d ever obsess over, protect, and burn the world for.”
He’d made this shirt mine, and every glance in this crowded club reminded me that I was his. Only his.
Heat and shame coiled tight in my chest. Pride? Yes. Fear? Yes. Desire? God, yes—but I hated myself for it.
I forced myself to straighten my spine, forcing a tight smile at the woman. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I said, my voice cool, masking the storm inside me.
I wove through the crowd, desperate to escape the scrutiny, the stares, the weight of being his.
The bathroom offered sanctuary, cold tiles grounding me as I slipped into a stall.
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to drown out the fluttering of my stomach, the betrayal of my own body responding to him.
Dmitri had made me wear this shirt, knowing every eye would see it as a claim.
And yet, why did it thrill me? Why did I feel marked, alive, under the weight of his obsession?
He was a monster—a captor, a predator—but a monster who had carved stars into my world, who’d worshipped my body in spite of its flaws.
A voice sliced through the hum of the bathroom. Urgent. Not Dmitri.
I stepped out, heart hammering, and found Antonio leaning against the sink, dark hoodie hanging loose over his lean frame. His eyes, calculating, flicked to mine with a smugness I hated.
“Good job,” he said. “You’ve done exactly what I asked... and exactly what he won’t see coming.”
“What do you want?” I snapped. “Why risk your neck coming here? Dmitri would—” I swallowed my fear. “—snap it without hesitation.”
“Your father’s in town,” he said.
“Oh!” I breathed, feigning surprise.
“He sent me to help you escape while he distracts Dmitri,” Antonio pressed, eyes flicking to the door. “I know a secret exit. We can disappear—now.”
My chest caved, doubt and hope warring inside me.
Escaping Dmitri Volkov couldn’t be that easy—not with his cameras, his guards, his iron grip on everything around me.
“Prove my father sent you,” I demanded, crossing my arms.
Antonio checked his watch, impatience flickering in his dark eyes. “We have five minutes before Dmitri comes looking. He’s distracted—let’s move.”
I stepped closer, eyes blazing. “You think I’d follow a man who lied to me for three years? Pretended to love me while despising my body, using me to get to my father’s wealth? You really think I’ll just walk out of here, trusting you?”
Antonio’s jaw tightened, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “This could get me killed, Penelope. But if it proves my word...” He pulled out a phone, dialed a video call, and within seconds, my father’s face filled the screen.
“Dad...” I whispered, my voice trembling, tears pricking at the edges of my eyes.
“Sweetheart, leave now—with Antonio. Don’t wait. I’ll explain later.” The call cut off abruptly, Antonio’s fingers moving fast.
Footsteps echoed outside—heavy.
“Penelope,” Dmitri’s voice called, sending a jolt of fear through me.
“Now or never,” Antonio hissed, gripping my hand. “Let’s go, now.”
“Penelope,” Dmitri called again, closer, sharper.
I yanked my hand free, heart hammering, and ran toward his voice.
Every instinct screamed at me to escape, yet a magnetic pull drew me to him, the monster who had claimed not just my body, but my very soul.
I rounded the corner and nearly collided with him. Towering, immovable, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine like predators on prey.
“Why are you walking so fast?” His tone was sharp, suspicion threaded through each word.
“It’s nothing,” I said, forcing a smile, though my pulse raced.
He stepped past me, moving toward the bathroom, and I prayed silently: please, don’t catch Antonio . If Dmitri realized—even by accident—that I’d spoken to Antonio, I’d pay in ways I couldn’t imagine.
Dmitri returned a moment later, phone pressed to his ear, expression unreadable. “I need the footage now,” he said, voice cold, eyes flicking to me.
I caught glimpses of cameras tucked into every corner, their lenses glinting like a thousand watchful eyes.
“Time to leave,” he said finally.
He took my hand, his grip claiming me without cruelty—and led me through the club.
Heads turned; whispers trailed behind us.
When we reached the car, he released my hand. The warmth vanished instantly, leaving a hollow ache in its place.
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the cold sweep through me.
He leaned against the hood, broad frame taut, his tailored suit straining over the stitches from his recent wounds.
His icy blue eyes, usually so cold, flickered with obsession and fury.
His phone buzzed, casting harsh light over his face as he watched a video.
Knuckles whitening, he gripped the device like it was a weapon. Then he raised his gaze, pinning me with that blade-sharp stare.
“What did he say?” His voice was dangerous.
My chest dropped.
He knew about Antonio. “He found me,” I admitted, voice trembling but steady. “It wasn’t planned.”
“Answer me, Penelope,” he growled, stepping closer, his presence suffocating, “What did he say?”
I swallowed. “He said my father’s in town and could help me escape. He said my father sent him and made a video call as proof.”
Dmitri’s eyes narrowed, scanning mine like he was measuring truth and betrayal. “So why didn’t you go with him?”
“Because I chose you,” I blurted, words raw and reckless.
Truth burned in my throat, shame twisting inside me.
His jaw tightened; his expression didn’t shift—like my choice meant nothing.
“Or because you’re scared of consequences,” he said, voice cold.
“No,” I shot back. “I could’ve left already.”
“And your precious father would’ve had a bullet in his head,” he snapped, hand twitching like he wanted to grab me. “Get in.”
“You don’t get to order me like I’m one of your soldiers!” I shot back, my voice trembling but sharp with fire.
“Get. In.” His growl sliced through the night, dangerous, impossible to ignore. “Now.”
My legs quivered as I hesitated, every instinct screaming to flee, but the weight of his presence pressed down on me.
Swallowing, I slid into the passenger seat, chest tight, fingers trembling, the engine’s roar filling the tense silence between us.
The road stretched before us, familiar yet alien, my stomach knotting as suspicion prickled. “Where are we going?” I asked, voice small but firm, clinging to what remained of my defiance.
“You want to see your father, don’t you?” Dmitri’s voice was controlled.
His eyes stayed on the road, but the weight behind his words pressed down like steel. “Then you will.”
My mind spun.
Why now?
Why this sudden shift, letting me see my father after all he’d said—after all his rules, his threats? He’d sworn I wouldn’t speak to them, not until I carried his child. What had changed? Something had to be wrong—Dmitri Volkov didn’t alter his plans, his obsessions, without a reason.
I stayed silent, anticipation and fear coiling together.
We pulled up to an ancient estate, stone facade looming like an 1800s castle.
Turrets pierced the night sky, ivy strangled the walls, and the windows glowed faintly, casting eerie shadows.
Dmitri leaned against the hood, silhouette sharp in the moonlight. “Go in,” he said, voice commanding. “Your father’s inside.”
I froze. My father... inside this fortress? What was he doing here, and did he even know I would come?
“Why the sudden change of heart?” I asked, suspicion curling through my chest. Seeing that he ignored me, I added, “You’re not coming?” My eyes searched him for any hint of the trap I knew was lurking.
He shook his head, pulling out his phone. “Giovanni’s representing me. I don’t need to be there. Your father leaves tomorrow—this is your only chance.” A flick of his wrist, already dialing, dismissed me with casual authority.
I turned from him and began toward the ancient building, each step heavy with uncertainty.
Instinctively, I glanced back. Our eyes met for a heartbeat—his gaze locked on me, intense and raw. Not the cold disgust I had braced for, but a fierce, unguarded fire that made my breath hitch and my pulse spike.
For a moment, I saw not the monster who had claimed me, but the boy I once loved, twisted into obsession and need.
He looked away quickly, caught, and I forced a smile, feeling the strange thrill of being seen, marked—the stars on my shirt pressed against my skin like a brand.
I approached the massive main door, its ancient wood looming like a barrier to truths I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.