Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Callista
The morning light pours through my open curtains, brushing across my skin as I pull my shirt over my head. I should close them, but I don’t. I never do anymore.
It’s ridiculous, I know. But part of me hopes he’s out there somewhere, watching.
Knowing Dmitry is keeping an eye on me—seeing me move through my morning, catching the little pieces of my life no one else notices—gives me a strange kind of comfort. The thought that he might be out there, eyes fixed on me, makes the world feel less lonely.
I tell myself I hate it, but I don’t. Not really.
My mind keeps circling back to our date. The soft hum of the city as we drove, the way his fingers brushed my neck when he fastened my seatbelt, the way he kissed me at the traffic light like he couldn’t hold back anymore.
I trusted him that night. Completely.
When he touched me, it wasn’t like before—with anyone else, it was always about performance, about pretending I was wanted. With him, it felt like surrender. Like I didn’t have to do anything but breathe.
He made all my secret fantasies come alive. He took control, but in a way that made me feel safe, seen, and accepted for the first time.
Now I want it again. That feeling of floating somewhere between trust and danger.
I grab my bag and decide to get coffee before class. I didn’t sleep much. My thoughts kept replaying every glance, every word, every touch. I need a hit of caffeine or I’ll fall asleep during the lecture.
So I head to my favorite café.
The café near campus smells like roasted beans and warm croissants. Students fill the tables, their laptops open, their voices buzzing in a low murmur. I step up to the counter and smile at the barista, a guy with slick hair and a bored expression.
“Medium caramel latte, please,” I say, pulling out my card. I tap it on the card machine, but the big red cross and message that comes up makes my heart stop.
Declined.
Fear and panic jam through my veins like a rock song.
I knew this was going to happen one of these days.
I used the money I got from lying to Dmitry about the shoes to pay rent.
I knew I was running low on cash, but I thought I could manage.
I thought Dad would deposit money into my account like he used to.
I’m an idiot.
The barista swipes it again, but there’s an irritated expression on his face. “Declined.”
I frown. “That can’t be right.”
“Try again.”
I do. Same result.
A girl behind me huffs. “Can you hurry up? Some of us have class.”
My cheeks burn. “Just one second,” I mumble, trying to keep my voice calm. My hands shake a little as I try the card again.
The machine beeps. Declined.
The barista sighs. “Do you want to try another card?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, it’s fine. I don’t need coffee.”
Before I can step away, a familiar voice cuts through the chatter.
“I’ll pay.”
That deep voice. Calm, certain.
I turn. Dmitry stands behind me, tall and steady, wearing black jeans, a sweatshirt, and glasses that make him look like the most dangerous man in the world.
He’s over six feet of pure muscle and masculinity.
His voice radiates assurance and certainty and my desperate, scared mind clings to that sound like a reed in a storm.
I’ve never been more glad to see anyone.
I was having a meltdown. I hate being humiliated socially and this was going to go down as one of the worst days in my life, but my knight in dark armor just showed up to save the day.
I can’t believe it. Is he psychic? How does he know exactly when I need him? Then I realize he is my stalker. He knows where I am at all times. But he doesn’t use that knowledge to hurt me. He uses it to come to my rescue.
I can’t decide whether he’s a bully or my savior.
Just seeing him freezes the panic in my chest.
He steps closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, warm and heavy. He leans in, his breath brushing my ear. “It’s fine. I got this.”
It’s such a simple sentence, but it cuts through my anxiety like light through fog.
For a moment, I just want to melt into him.
I want to disappear into the crook of his arm and stay buried there all day.
I want to be enveloped in his strength and heat, to let him carry the burdens that have become too much for me.
He moves steadily, rubbing my hips, rubbing my back, keeping me steady while the storm inside me rages. Keeping me anchored while I try to find my calm again. His presence is all I need to remind me that there’s someone in my corner. That I don’t have to figure everything out alone.
He pays, takes both drinks from the counter, and hands me mine. “Here.”
“Thank you,” I say softly. “I’ll pay you back.”
He gives me a small smile. “I don’t need the money.”
“Then why?”
“Because you look like you haven’t slept,” he says. “And because I can.”
He nods toward an empty table near the window. “Sit with me.”
I follow him, the edges of my embarrassment blurring as I watch him set down our drinks. He sits across from me, leaning forward, his gaze steady.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I hesitate. I could lie. Tell him it’s a glitch. But something in his tone, steady, unyielding, yet somehow gentle, that makes me want to tell the truth.
He reaches across the table, taking my hand.
His thumb moves in slow circles over my wrist, grounding me.
I relish in the quiet comfort of his caretaking.
Those hands were inside my pussy last night, giving me another kind of pleasure.
And I thought that’s all we were. That’s all we’d ever be—two people who were sexually attracted, whose kinks matched.
But I was wrong. The heaviness crowding my chest isn’t lust. It isn’t even gratitude.
It’s the realization that he means more to me than I thought.
I like Dmitry Antonov. I even like the way he stalks me.
I like things about him that would make other girls run away.
His red flags? They don’t matter to me, because underneath everything, he’s a man who cares, who understands, who supports. And that’s more than enough.
“Callista,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me.”
My throat tightens. “My dad cut me off.”
His eyes darken. “Why?”
“To pay for Selina’s art camp in Paris.” My voice cracks when I say her name. “She’s not even serious about art. She just wanted to go because her friends are going.”
He stays silent, letting me talk. It’s the most wonderful thing he does; he gives me space. He’s the man who makes me feel calm, makes me feel taken care of in my worst moments.
“I have financial aid, so he doesn’t even pay my tuition.
But now he says I need to learn responsibility, that I’ve been ‘coasting on appearances.’ I can’t get a part-time job right now, not when I’m running the sorority.
If I quit, I’ll lose everything I worked for.
I love organizing events, Dmitry. It’s the one thing I’m good at. ”
“Stop worrying,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”
My eyes widen. “You can’t just—”
He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. He’s silent, secretive, and mysterious as always. I sip on my coffee, letting the caffeine jerk me awake and pull me back into reality.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Fixing it.”
A moment later, my phone buzzes. I pull it out and stare at the notification.
Deposit: $10,000.
My mouth falls open. No fucking way. Did he just give me ten grand because I couldn’t buy coffee?
Who does that? That’s beyond generous. That’s…
real boyfriend territory. Not that I can say that out loud, not when my heart is bursting with emotions.
I’m afraid I’m falling in love wit Dmitry Antonov. And he will never want me back.
I wipe my eyes, trying to prevent tears from forming. “Dmitry. That’s… too much. I can’t take that from you.”
“I’m not giving it to you for free,” he says easily. “You’ll keep pretending to be my girlfriend. You’ll introduce me to the people I need to meet. It’s a fair exchange.”
I know he’s lying. He doesn’t need to pay me for that. I’d do it anyway. He has that photo to blackmail me with. And a lot of footage of me masturbating. I’d do it for that alone.
He’s giving me financial support because he wants to. Because he doesn’t want me to be worried about my bills. That means he cares, even if he won’t admit it to himself or me.
The realization makes my chest ache.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Dmitry squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”
The thumping of my heart is getting louder, so loud I can feel it in my brain, throbbing like the world’s most obvious alarm.
I haven’t felt this way before. With every gesture, every touch, ever word, Dmitry is making me fall harder for him.
I can’t afford to develop feelings for someone like him.
I’m just a pawn in his game to recruit people into the bratva.
When I’m no longer useful, will he still want me?
I glance at the clock on the wall. My throat stings as I push down my burgeoning feelings for my bully. “I should go. I have class in fifteen minutes.”
“Then I’ll walk you.”
I smile, shaking my head. “No, it’s fine. But maybe we can meet tonight? After my classes. Grab a drink, maybe make a plan to expand your social circle?”
He grins, leaning back. “I’d like that.”
We both know he isn’t talking about the circle.
He’s talking about me.
The late afternoon sun glints off the glass walls of the finance building, scattering light across the courtyard. I check my phone again.
Dmitry: Class is running late. Meet me out front.
That was twenty minutes ago.
I’ve been waiting ever since, tapping my foot, pretending not to care while my chest tightens every time the doors open.