Chapter 9
NINE
Callista
The Kappa House ballroom hums with life. Strings of fairy lights hang from the ceiling, their soft gold glow reflecting off the glass cases arranged along the walls. The air smells like perfume, champagne, and ambition.
It is not a grand event, but it feels elegant enough. Rows of chairs face the small stage. The fraternity boys from Delta Sigma are scattered through the audience, laughing too loudly and waving their paddles in mock seriousness as bids fly back and forth.
On stage, Erin, one of the juniors, hypes up the current item, a vintage Gucci bag someone’s mother donated.
“Come on, people,” she calls, grinning. “This beauty retailed for two thousand. Don’t tell me the men of Delta Sigma cannot break a sweat for a good cause.”
“Five hundred!” someone shouts.
“Seven hundred!” another answers.
“Sold for eight hundred to the man in the back with the questionable tie.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
The proceeds will go to a cancer charity, one that funds patient support and hospice care. It is close to my heart because my grandmother died of cancer when I was a child. She was the only one who ever made me feel loved and safe.
I move through the crowd, fixing a centerpiece, adjusting a light, answering questions. My mind runs through numbers. The goal amount, the remaining items, the shortfall we will face if we do not hit the target.
“Callista,” Jenna says, hurrying over. “We have a problem.”
My stomach tightens. “What kind of problem?”
“The Burberry trench,” she says, lowering her voice. “Someone spilled wine on it. It is ruined. We cannot auction it.”
My heart sinks. “That was supposed to bring in at least a thousand.”
“I know.” Jenna glances at Hailey, who fidgets beside her. “So we came up with an idea.”
I do not like her tone. “What kind of idea?”
Hailey smiles too brightly. “We will auction a date with you.”
I blink. “What?”
“It is perfect,” Jenna insists. “Everyone loves you, and you already said you are doing this for charity. You could easily make up the missing amount.”
“I already have a boyfriend,” I say quickly. “I cannot.”
Hailey waves a hand. “Oh, come on. It is just for fun. The winner gets coffee or dinner. You can always donate the date back to the charity if you want.”
“You do not understand. My boyfriend will not like this.”
“Then tell him it is for a good cause,” Jenna says with a sly smile. “Or maybe he will bid for you himself. That would be romantic.”
The girls giggle. I keep my face calm, but my stomach twists. Dmitry is many things, but romantic is not one of them.
Still, I look around at the crowd, the lights, the stage.
The charity deserves the money. This cause is close to my heart.
Dmitry can deal with his possessiveness.
I’m not letting a deserving cause wither because I was too afraid of displeasing my fake boyfriend.
He’ll just have to deal with it. He may have fucked me, he may have made me come multiple times, but he doesn’t own me.
“Fine,” I say finally, feeling defiance creeping up my throat. He hasn’t talked to me since we had sex. That was two days ago. This is justice. “I will do it.”
A cheer goes up. Erin grabs the mic immediately. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special final item tonight. A date with our very own Callista Vale. Wait for it, and make sure to keep your wallets open.”
The room erupts in whistles and applause.
I smile because that is what they expect of me, but inside I feel a spark of panic. I pull out my phone and type quickly.
Callista: Do not freak out.
Dmitry: Too late. What did you do?
Callista: I am being auctioned for charity.
Dmitry: WTF?
Callista: Relax. It is just a date auction. You should bid on me.
A pause.
Dmitry: You want me to pay for something that already belongs to me?
I bite my lip.
Callista: I don’t belong to you. We have a deal, nothing more. Besides, it is for charity. Be generous.
Dmitry: I am generous. I just do not like sharing.
Callista: Then win me. That way, you won’t have to share.
There is a long silence. I smile, knowing I’ve used his possessiveness to my advantage. I know Dmitry has deep pockets. I am not above twisting his arm to support a worthy cause. It’ll be penance for all the criminal work he and his family does.
On stage, Erin’s voice booms through the speakers. “Alright, people. Starting bid at two hundred.”
Bids begin to fly. “Three hundred.” “Four hundred.” “Five-fifty.”
My phone buzzes again. My heart races. Dmitry had better get here quickly or some other guy is going to win me. And he’s going to be mad.
Dmitry: I am already here.
I frown.
Callista: Liar.
Dmitry: Turn around.
I turn. He is standing right behind me. Towering over me like a dark king who came to claim his queen. That familiar stinging ache envelops my core. My pussy squeezes at the sight of him, so dominant, with irritation crackling around him like thunderclouds.
Dark sweatshirt. Eyes cold and focused. His expression looks carved from stone.
Every muscle in my body goes tight.
The crowd parts as he steps forward.
“Two thousand,” Dmitry says.
The room falls silent.
Erin blinks from the stage. “Two thousand, going once.”
No one dares to outbid him.
I can feel his eyes on me, burning through the lights and laughter.
He moves closer, speaking quietly so only I can hear. “You should have known better than to sell yourself. I’m pissed. You’ll have to make it up to me on that date.”
My breath catches.
“Sold to Dmitry Antonov!” Erin’s excited squeal pierces through the fog of disbelief. “For two thousand dollars.”
And just like that, the auction ends.
The room is still buzzing. People linger near the buffet tables, laughing, balancing plates of canapés and glasses of sparkling water. The music has softened to a mellow instrumental track that hums through the speakers.
A lot of people stayed after the auction to enjoy the food. Some of them are getting their items from the girls after paying for them. Dmitry wired the money to the charity and showed me the receipt. That means we’re good for our date. I can’t escape him.
“I owe you a dinner now,” I say. “Imagine that. We’re fake dating for real.”
Dmitry has not let go of my wrist. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing my pulse in slow, deliberate strokes that make it hard to breathe.
“Our date is going to be fun,” he says, his mouth curving into a slow, sinister smile.
I laugh softly, though my chest tightens at his tone. “You make it sound like a threat.”
“It is. I’m going to get my money’s worth.” He dips his head, pressing his mouth to my ear. “I’ll have your legs shaking, your pussy trembling and leaking by the time we’re done.”
A zap of electricity shoots through my nether regions.
His dark, sensual promises will keep me up all night.
I knew a date with Dmitry could never be PG-13.
My body craves him way too much. All he’d have to do was brush my leg under the table and I’d be wet as a running faucet, begging for him to take me home and bury his cock inside me.
The corner of his mouth twitches as if he is holding back a real smile. The overhead lights catch in his dark hair, in the sharp lines of his face. He looks too perfect for this world, like marble brought to life.
“Thank you for bidding,” I say quietly. “It means a lot. The charity is close to my heart.”
He looks down at me, expression unreadable. “Why this charity?”
“My grandmother died of cancer,” I say. “She raised me for a while, after my mother left. I wanted to honor her, I guess. But before the auction, one of our items got ruined—a Burberry trench coat. It was supposed to bring in a lot of money. I didn’t want to disappoint the girls or go below the goal amount, so I volunteered myself instead. ”
Something in his face shifts. The sharpness in his eyes softens. He looks at me differently now, like he understands.
“You should have said that earlier. I wouldn’t have been mad at you.”
I inhale. “You’re passionate about fighting cancer, too?”
“No, but I know what loss feels like,” he says.
My heart catches at the quiet in his voice. “You do?”
He nods once. “My parents died when I was very young. Car crash. I don’t remember much, only that after it happened, everything changed. I was born in Moscow. But my family moved to the United States after their death. We started a new life here.”
I do not know what to say. The sadness in his voice feels like something ancient, something that has been buried for years but never healed.
Without thinking, I move closer and wrap my arms around him. I pull him into my embrace, soft but not insistent.
He stiffens at first, but then his body relaxes. I feel the slow, steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek. I should not be touching him like this, not here, not in front of people, but I cannot stop myself. The sadness in his eyes is too much. All I want is to take it away.
“Do you miss them?” I whisper.
His voice is quiet when he answers. “I never knew them well enough to miss them. But sometimes it feels like there is a hole in my life. Something missing, something I cannot name.”
I rub his back gently. “Parental love?”
He exhales. “I don’t know. My older brother Leo stepped up to the plate after our parents were gone.
He became my father before he even turned thirty.
But I never had a mother figure. I never knew softness, compassion, empathy, or love.
Nobody hugged me like this before. Leo is not the emotional type. ”
That breaks my heart. I hug him tighter. “Then I’ll do it for you. I’ll give you a hug anytime you need one.”
He pulls back, his eyes softer but still shadowed. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Then his tone shifts, teasing. “But I came here to network, not be smothered by you.”
I frown. “Wow. That’s romantic.”
He gives a low laugh. “I’m joking.”
“Barely.”
He smiles again, and the world tilts a little. “Introduce me to the smartest frat guys here.”
I raise a brow. “Why?”
“Because I want to meet smart people.”
“That’s vague,” I say. “What kind of smart people?”
“The kind who understand numbers, investments, systems,” he says. “It’s for business. After I graduate, I’ll join the family business. We’re recruiting new talent.”
I narrow my eyes. “Family business, huh? People have been saying your family is… connected.”
He glances at me. “Connected to what?”
I hesitate. “The Russian mafia.”
The change in him is instant. His body goes still, his expression flat. His hand tightens slightly around my wrist. At that moment, I know it’s true. My instinct tells me. Dmitry isn’t easily caught off-guard. But the way his muscles are tensing is proof of the fact that I hit bullseye.
“Is that what they say?”
“Yes.”
He looks at me for a long moment. The air feels heavier, like the oxygen has been replaced with something dangerous.
“What do you think?” he asks finally.
I swallow hard, confronting the truth I’ve avoided for so long.
The signs were there all along. He owns a drone, he stalks me like that’s normal, he has way too much money for a college kid, he is sinister and lives in a mansion.
Plus, that muscled, tatted body should have been a dead giveaway.
The strength and agility with which he hunted me down when I ran is proof that he was raised to be a predator.
Raised to be a killer, even if he prefers more intellectual crime. “I think it’s true.”
He holds my gaze. Then he nods, slow, deliberate, but gives no clear answer. “You should be scared of me, Callista. I can ruin you if I want to.”
My pulse jumps, but fear is not what floods me. It is something hotter, something I do not want to name.
Maybe I should be scared. Maybe I should run from this. But the truth is, even knowing what his family is, I cannot look away.
He is danger wrapped in quiet calculation, sin disguised as intellect. And I’m already in too deep. I won’t be able to swim back to the surface even if I tried now.