Chapter Thirteen - Vivienne
The estate is a palace, but it feels like a coffin.
Everywhere I turn there’s velvet, gilt, chandeliers… luxury laid on thick like lacquer. The curtains are too heavy, the carpets too soft, the mirrors too polished. At first it seemed absurd, being locked away in a room fit for royalty, but now the opulence mocks me.
Every glass of wine delivered on a silver tray, every delicate meal pushed through the door, is a reminder: I’m a prisoner wrapped in silk.
I stop eating after the second day. The food is untouched when they bring more, and untouched again when they take it away. I drink water, because I have to, but hunger gnaws at me, sharpening my edges. The guards don’t comment, though I see their eyes flicker when they collect the plates.
When one tries to joke, I snap. The words spill sharp and fast, my voice slicing through the room like a blade.
I tell him if he looks at me again, I’ll gouge his eyes out with the fork still on the tray.
The silence that follows is satisfying, even as the door slams harder than usual when he leaves.
Time stretches long and taut. I spend hours at the window, fingernails raw from scraping at the latch, trying every angle to pry it loose. Nothing gives.
The door is the same: I rattle the handle until my palms bruise, wedge sheets through the gap, even throw my shoulder into it. Futile. It doesn’t move. The walls are thick. The estate is built to hold people in as much as it is to keep people out.
By the time Alexei comes again, I’m already coiled tight.
The door opens, and his presence fills the room before his voice does. Tall, deliberate, he moves as though the air itself parts for him. He doesn’t look at the untouched food. He doesn’t look at the bruises on my hands. His eyes find mine and hold there, calm, too calm.
“How long do you think you can keep this up?” he asks, voice quiet.
“As long as it takes,” I snap.
His mouth curves faintly, humorless. “You think hunger makes you stronger?”
“It makes me free. I won’t swallow what you give me.”
The words land sharper than I mean them to, but I don’t regret it. My chest is heaving already, my pulse too fast.
“You sound like a child,” he says evenly. “Fighting simply because you don’t like the rules.”
The laugh that bursts from me is raw, jagged.
“You think this is about rules? You think this is discipline?” My hands curl into fists.
“You are no different than the men who destroyed my life. You hide behind wealth and power, but underneath it, you’re the same rot.
You take and you kill, and you think it makes you a king. ”
For the first time, his calm wavers. Only slightly, but I see the tightening of his jaw, the faint narrowing of his eyes.
“Careful,” he says.
I step closer, the chain at my ankle clinking faintly. “Careful of what? You don’t scare me, Alexei. Not anymore. You may think you’ve won, but I’ll never stop trying to destroy what you’ve built. Never.”
His voice hardens, cutting like a blade. “You speak as though your father’s blood absolves you. As though his death justifies everything.”
I lunge at the words. “It does. He was murdered because of you, because of your family. I will never stop until you pay for it.”
His silence this time is heavy. The tension between us thickens, dangerous. My chest is tight, breath shallow, fury boiling so hot I can’t keep it contained.
My eyes flick around the room. The first thing I see is a decorative bottle on the dresser, cut crystal, gleaming under the low light. Before I can think, before I can stop, I grab it.
The glass is cold and heavy in my hand. I smash it against his forearm with all the strength in me. The crack of impact rings out, sharp, followed by the sound of glass breaking.
He grunts, blood streaking where shards cut into his skin.
I expect him to recoil, to curse, maybe to hit me back. He doesn’t.
He grabs me.
It’s fast, violent. His hand clamps around my wrist, yanking me forward, his body closing the space between us before I can swing again.
I twist, kick, fight, but he’s stronger, his grip like iron.
The shattered glass falls from my hand as he slams me back against the wall, the impact rattling through my bones.
“Enough,” he growls, his breath hot against my face.
I struggle, my wrists pinned high against the wall, his body crowding mine. The chain at my ankle pulls taut, useless. My chest heaves, my voice sharp. “Let me go!”
He doesn’t. His eyes burn into mine, dark, furious, but controlled. His jaw is set, blood dripping from the cuts on his arm, staining his shirt.
We’re both breathing hard, faces close, lips inches apart. The fury between us hums, tangled with something else neither of us wants to name. My pulse hammers, my body tense, but I don’t pull away.
He leans in closer, as if daring me to flinch.
I don’t.
The air between us is molten, suffocating, the line between rage and something far more dangerous blurring with every second.
For the first time since stepping into this estate, I don’t feel like a prisoner.
I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, one step from falling, and I can’t tell if I want to jump.
***
The next night, the tension coils so tightly I can feel it before the door even opens. I’ve barely moved from the bed, the hours stretched into one long, bruised silence. When Alexei finally steps in, I know instantly what’s coming: not punishment, not threats, but something else entirely.
His eyes lock on mine, dark and unyielding. He doesn’t speak. He crosses the room in three strides, grabs me by the wrist, and drags me up from the bed. My back slams against the wall, the chain at my ankle rattling as he cages me in.
Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is rough, demanding, all fury and possession.
His lips crash against mine like a challenge, like he’s daring me to resist. Heat surges through me, anger and arousal tangled into something volatile.
I bite back a sound I don’t want to give him, my body betraying me as my mouth opens under his.
I kiss him back.
Hatred sharpens the hunger, makes it jagged, reckless. His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back, his body pressing hard against mine. The taste of him floods my mouth—smoke, whiskey, iron from the cut I gave him.
For a moment, I let it consume me.
Then I shove him. Hard.
He stumbles back a step, eyes blazing, chest rising fast. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my voice raw. “Don’t think for a second this means anything.”
What I expect is more force, more fury. What comes instead is restraint. He doesn’t lunge again, doesn’t drag me back into his arms. He stops. He respects it.
The realization jolts through me, unsettling in its own way.
His lips curve into something cold, cutting. “You’ll come back to me on your own. Hate tastes sweeter when it turns to hunger.”
The words land like a knife. Before I can retort, he turns and walks out, the door slamming behind him, the lock sliding home.
I sink against the wall, breath ragged, mouth still burning.
The lock clicks into place, the echo still ringing when I let out the breath I’ve been holding. My lips tingle where his mouth crushed against mine, my wrists ache where his grip pinned me, and my chest is tight with fury that refuses to ease.
I hate him.
The thought should steady me, should anchor me in the fire that keeps me alive, but instead it splinters. Hate isn’t simple anymore. It burns, yes, but tangled in the flames is something darker, an ache I don’t want, a hunger I refuse to name.
I pace the room until my bare feet ache against the thick carpet.
The velvet curtains hang heavy, the gold-framed mirrors reflecting back the sharp lines of my face, the restless flicker in my eyes.
Everything here is meant to dazzle, to distract, to make me feel small under the weight of it. Instead, it suffocates me.
I rip the sheets off the bed, shove the decorative pillows to the floor. The chain rattles at my ankle with every movement, a reminder of where I am, of who controls this game. My pulse refuses to calm.
By the time I head into the bathroom, I’m raw, my skin prickling like it doesn’t fit.
The water hisses to life, steam spilling over the marble.
I strip quickly, stepping under the spray so hot it sears my skin.
The sting grounds me, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.
I scrub hard, nails raking down my arms, over my chest, as though I can wash away the memory of his mouth, his voice, his heat.
It doesn’t work.
When I close my eyes, I see him. The fury in his stare, the moment of hesitation before he walked away. The words he left behind, sharp as glass: “You’ll come back to me on your own.”
I curse aloud, the sound swallowed by the steam.
When I step out, toweling my damp hair, my anger has settled into something colder. Something steady. He won’t break me. Not like this.
Hours pass before the door opens again. I expect Alexei, but it’s Dimitri this time. He steps inside with his usual casual menace, broad-shouldered, eyes sharp under the dim light.
“Get dressed,” he says simply. “You’re coming outside.”
The words jolt me. For the first time since I was brought here, the promise of fresh air pulls me upright. I dress quickly, pulling on the plain clothes laid out for me, my hair still damp from the shower.
He waits, patient and with his back turned. When I’m ready, he cuffs my wrists in front of me. The steel bites, colder than the cuff at my ankle, but I don’t protest. The chance to walk outside is worth it.
He bends to uncuff my ankle, and I flinch when his hand grazes my skin.
The estate grounds are sprawling, manicured within an inch of perfection.
Gravel crunches underfoot as we walk the paths between hedges sculpted into precise angles, fountains spraying into the night air.
Beyond the iron gates, the forest stretches dark and endless, a freedom I can see but not touch.
I inhale deeply. The night air is crisp, sharp with pine, and for a moment it almost feels like escape.
Dimitri glances at me as we walk, cigarette glowing between his fingers. His expression is harder to read than Alexei’s, but less cold.
“You’ve made quite the impression,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth.
I arch a brow. “Is that what you call it?”
He chuckles low, a sound without warmth.
“I’ve known my brother a long time. I’ve seen him furious, I’ve seen him merciless.
I’ve seen him destroy men without blinking.
With you?” He shakes his head, amused. “You make him hesitate. You push, he pulls. You pull, he pushes. It’s like watching two predators circle each other, teeth bared, and neither willing to back down. ”
I don’t answer. My throat is tight, my wrists aching under the cuffs.
“He wants you,” Dimitri continues bluntly. “That much is obvious. And you want him, whether you admit it or not. I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way you talk about him. Hate, desire, it’s the same coin.”
I stop walking, turning to glare at him. “You think you know me?”
His smile is thin, sharp. “I don’t have to. It’s written all over both of you. You hate each other, but you can’t stay away. That kind of thing doesn’t end clean. It ends messy. Bloody.”
The words strike deeper than I want them to. My pulse jumps, but I force my voice steady. “If you’re trying to warn me, don’t bother. I don’t play his games.”
Dimitri exhales smoke, studying me with an almost curious tilt of his head. “Then don’t play mine either.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
He steps closer, his voice lowering, the humor draining out. “Whatever it is you’re doing with Alexei—this back and forth, this dance of hate and want—don’t bring it to me. Don’t try to fuck with me the way you fuck with him. You won’t like how that ends.”
The warning coils sharp in my stomach. I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch, but inside my chest tightens.
He flicks his cigarette into the gravel, grinding it under his heel. Then he gestures for me to keep walking, his face smooth again, as if nothing passed between us.
I fall into step, the night air cooler now, the weight of his words pressing heavier than the cuffs on my wrists.
The truth is, he’s right.
I am playing with fire, and it’s already burning deeper than I can control.