17. Sophia
SEVENTEEN
SOPHIA
I t’s been a couple of days since Maxim denied me, and my emotions have been a whirlwind. At first, I was furious. I wanted to demand he take me home, even though a part of me knew why he stopped us. The bulge in his shorts told me everything. But that didn’t stop the hurt. That seed of doubt took root in the darkest corners of my mind. Was I not enough for him? Did he no longer find me attractive?
How could he want me, a broken, scarred version of who I used to be? Every time I tried to silence that voice, it only grew louder. It was a twisted thought, but it stayed. The anger turned to sadness, then resignation—painful acceptance.
If we’d gone further, if he’d touched me in the wrong way, what would have happened? Would I have spiraled back into the broken shell of myself I was weeks ago? His explanation finally came, and he said he was trying to protect me. He didn’t want to trigger something that would undo the small amount of healing I’ve done.
He admitted he’d been sneaking into my house to check on me every night while I slept. Seeing me like that crushed him. He said the only time he felt alive again was when I smiled the other day. He was willing to starve himself of my touch just to protect whatever shred of happiness I managed to carve out of the darkness.
It’s sweet, sure, but it’s also where my resentment begins. He treats me like I’m fragile, like one wrong move will shatter me. I see myself that way in the mirror, but I can’t stand him seeing me as a cracked porcelain doll. The way he tiptoes around me, constantly worried about breaking me—it’s suffocating. I’m trying to move past everything to heal, but his actions only remind me of my past, of everything that has been done to me.
I’m not some delicate princess who needs to be pieced together. I can do that myself. What I need from him is support—not this constant hovering, not this protectiveness that only reinforces my brokenness. I punch the bag harder this time, frustration bubbling to the surface. I can feel the energy in me, all this pent-up aggression, and the bag is the only thing that’s going to take it.
He couldn’t protect me before. Why does he think he can now?
The thought cuts deep.
That’s fucked up, Sophia.
I exhale slowly, trying to let go of the anger. I step away from the bag and sit on the floor, leaning against the wall. Maxim has been teaching me to fight, helping me rebuild my strength, and it has been working. We’re taking it slow, but I can tell he’s holding back. He’s trying not to overwhelm me.
I take a long drink from my water bottle, trying to wash away the tension in my head. There are too many questions I can’t answer. Why did the puppet master kidnap me? What does he gain by putting me at the center of this twisted game? Maxim and Luca don’t have all the answers either. They’ve told me their sides, but they’re both missing pieces.
The puppet master set this all up, from hiding me from Maxim to manipulating Luca into finding me instead. But why? Was it just to stir up hatred between Maxim and Luca, to use Maxim’s fury as a weapon to get rid of Luca? Or is there something more to this? And where do I fit into all of it?
The questions are a constant buzz in my head, growing louder with every passing minute. I can feel my headache intensifying. How does Maxim deal with this kind of chaos for a living? How does his brain not explode from all the unanswered questions?
Suddenly, I hear boots pounding on the floor. It’s Maxim. His worried tone reaches me before he even gets close.
“Sophia?”
His footsteps get louder, and then his hands are on my shoulders, shaking me slightly. I don’t respond. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll think I’m asleep and leave me alone.
I refuse to answer. I can’t deal with his hovering right now. I can’t deal with his concern, his constant checking in. I’m not a fragile thing. I’m not a broken girl who needs to be guarded.
His voice comes again, softer this time, full of concern. “Are you okay?”
I stay silent. The last thing I want is to have this conversation again. I want him to stop looking at me like I’m some delicate object, something to be protected at all costs. I need him to treat me like I’m still the woman he fell in love with. I’m not a broken thing that might shatter if touched too hard.
Maxim’s hand rests lightly on my shoulder, and I can feel the weight of his concern in every touch. It should be comforting, but all it does is remind me I’m not the woman I used to be. I’ll never be the same again.
He gently removes my hand from my face and replaces it with his own, his touch trembling slightly. “What’s wrong?” His voice cracks with concern, and the frantic tone sends a spark of anger through me.
I snap. Grabbing his hands, I push them away from me, standing abruptly and glaring at him. He rises slowly, cautiously, his eyes wide with concern, both eyebrows raised in disbelief. His hands are outstretched, as though he’s ready to rush to me if needed.
I groan, fighting the urge to lash out. I need space—space to breathe, to calm down. I try to walk away, to get some distance, but I stop myself, knowing I’m on the edge of saying something I’ll regret.
“Where are you going, Sophia?” he asks, his voice low but firm. I ignore him and keep walking toward the door.
“Sophia,” he calls again, louder this time. “What the fuck is going on?” His voice is tinged with frustration now, but I keep moving, my heart racing, thudding in my ears.
Before I can reach the doorknob, his hand catches mine, yanking me around to face him. I brace myself for anger. For frustration. For anything other than what I see in his eyes—pure, unrelenting worry. I wanted something else. Anger, even hatred, would have been easier to handle than that soft, desperate concern.
“Sophia, please. Tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads, his voice breaking, and I can’t hold it in any longer.
I laugh—it’s bitter, hollow. “What’s wrong? Do you really want to know what’s wrong, Maxim?” The words come out sharp, laced with anger, every syllable stabbing into the tension between us.
“Yes,” he says, his tone weary, almost resigned.
“You,” I spit, the venom slipping out without restraint. “You are what’s wrong with me.” I see the pain flash across his face as I take a step back. He releases my hand as though I’ve struck him. He stumbles back, wounded by my words.
“Your constant hovering,” I continue, my voice trembling now, but I can’t stop. It’s like word vomit, everything I’ve kept buried rushing to the surface. “You’re suffocating me.” I exhale sharply, my heart sinking as I watch the hurt spread across his face. I didn’t want to cause him pain, but it’s too late to take it back.
His lips press together, his nostrils flaring as his anger finally takes shape. “Are you fucking serious right now, Sophia?” His voice rises, raw with emotion, and the heat of his anger sparks something deep inside me. This is what I’ve been waiting for—this fire, this fight, this emotion.
“I’ve been making damn sure to give you the space you asked for, and you’re telling me I’m suffocating you?” His voice cracks, rising another octave as he squares his shoulders, getting ready for a fight. The heat of his anger washes over me like a wave, and despite everything, it stirs something deep within me.
“How is hovering over me, asking me if I’m okay every five seconds, giving me space?” I retort, exasperated, the words tumbling out faster than I can control. “You walk around like I’m a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. It’s…it’s…” The anger surges again, almost choking me.
I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself, to let the fire die down. “It’s infuriating,” I mutter more calmly, the words coming out softer but still sharp. Screaming won’t fix anything.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his expression shifts. The fury on his face is replaced by a raw, almost aching vulnerability as he steps closer to me, the space between us shrinking. His breath is warm against my skin. The heat of his body wraps around me like a storm, and I feel both trapped and comforted by it.
“How dare you stand here and chastise me, telling me I’m suffocating you when for months, all I did was give you the space you needed?” His words come out in a rush, raw and full of frustration. “Blaming me for everything, pushing me away, looking at me like I’m the enemy. I had no other choice but to silently accept that’s how you saw me.”
His voice cracks, and his eyes burn with emotion, the storm inside them threatening to break free.
“How could I argue with you?” His words are thick with pain. “You’ve been through so much, and I couldn’t force myself on you when you didn’t want me around. I didn’t want to cause you more suffering.”
He takes a step back, pacing now, running his hands through his hair. “It was agonizing to watch you fade, to become a ghost of the person you were, and not be able to do anything about it because you forbade it. You told me you wanted to end your suffering, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.” His voice cracks, his fists clenching at his sides. “I felt like anything I did or said would only push you farther away, and I couldn’t afford for you to hate me even more.”
Tears well in his eyes, and seeing that cracks something inside me. The pain in his expression, the raw honesty—it’s too much.
He stops pacing, his body still, and for a moment, we both just stand there, locked in a heavy silence.
“The torment I felt watching you wither away… It was unbearable, Sophia,” he admits, voice thick with emotion, and that’s when it happens. Tears spring from my eyes, running down my cheeks in a torrent I can’t stop.
I choke on a breath, my heart aching in my chest, wanting to reach for him but knowing I can’t yet. I want to scream, to make him understand, but nothing comes out.
“Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling, Maxim?” My voice is barely above a whisper, thick with emotion, the question hanging in the air. The pain between us is too heavy to bear.
He lets out a humorless laugh, wiping away the tears from his face with a swipe of his thumb. “I couldn’t add more to what you’re already carrying,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with regret. “If I could, I would take all the weight from your chest and carry it myself. I’d take on your pain and more, Sophia. I’d do anything for you.”
His words should comfort me, but instead, they ignite the anger simmering beneath the surface. It flares up again, reminding me of the very reason I was upset in the first place. His words feel suffocating, like he’s trying to erase my independence, my agency.
“You’re my other half,” he says softly, “my better half.”
I shake my head sharply, my voice tight with frustration. “I don’t need you to carry my load, Maxim. I don’t need you to shelter me, to walk around trying to glue my broken pieces together or fight my battles for me. It’s not your responsibility. It’s mine. I may not seem like it right now, but I’m strong enough to handle this. You’re not the hero in my story. You’ve never been, remember? You told me long ago that you’re the villain.”
A flicker of something softer, something that reminds me of the man I fell in love with, appears in his eyes. The corner of his mouth tugs into a bittersweet smile.
“I will never stop worrying about you or protecting you, Sophia,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s second nature to me.”
His presence, commanding and fierce, surrounds me as he closes the distance, a wicked smile curling on his lips. “You cannot ask a villain like me not to burn the world for his heroine,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, husky tone that sends a wave of heat surging through me. His sudden shift in mood is disorienting, leaving me breathless.
“Your request has been denied.”
His words echo in the space between us, thick with both challenge and desire. He steps closer, his hands moving to gently wrap around my throat, and my breath catches, my chest rising and falling quickly with every heartbeat. The tension in the air is palpable, as if everything else has melted away—there’s nothing left but us.
“Tell me, love,” he murmurs, his voice dangerously smooth, “what can I do to make you feel less…infuriated?” His words are teasing yet filled with a raw intensity that leaves me trembling. His thumb slides slowly down my cheek, brushing across my lips then slipping between them, parting them slightly.
Oh God.
“Did a lion bite your tongue?” he teases with a seductive growl. I nudge his thumb with my tongue before sucking gently on it, eliciting a low, gravelly growl from him. His eyes darken with desire.
“What do you want, Sophia?” The question is both an invitation and a challenge. His words hold a promise—he’s giving me the choice to stop or continue, to set the pace.
At that moment, my mind drifts back to the night before he denied me. The nightmares had been relentless, tearing through my thoughts and leaving me shattered. He had been asleep, and I didn’t want to disturb him, so I went to the terrace, seeking solace in the cold night air. I had thought that maybe…maybe I could erase the memories of that man, replace them with Maxim’s touch, with his love.
But Maxim had seen right through me. He had known my intentions even before I did. He had denied me, not because he didn’t want me, but because he needed to be sure I wasn’t acting out of anger, out of desperation.
Do you want this, Sophia? Do you think you can handle this with him?
Yes.
The word rings out in my mind, unwavering. Maxim has proven time and time again that he would never hurt me. He has been nothing but patient, guiding me, always giving me the space I need. He will go at my pace, no matter how slow or hesitant. It will be okay.
“You,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I meet his gaze. “I want you.”
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath, the rapid beating of my heart loud in my ears. “All of you. Only you.”
He exhales deeply, his breath shaky, before his eyes darken with something feral. Something intense. His desire burns brightly now, and I can feel the heat of it.
“You’re more than I deserve, krasavitsa,” he says softly, the words laced with something like reverence. “But I’m too much of a selfish villain to let you go.”
Before I can even process the depth of his words, he loses all control. In one swift motion, he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his hips as his mouth crashes down on mine. His kiss is desperate, possessive—like he’s marking me, claiming me.
“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and rough against my lips. “I’m going to take my fucking time with you. I’ll mark every inch of your body with my touch so no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be able to wash me off. You’ll remember me—every part of me.”
I can barely register the world around me as he lowers me, my feet finding the floor. Before I can even speak, his mouth is on mine again, devouring me as though he’s starving. The movement is frantic, as if this is the last time we’ll ever have each other as he pulls away my bralette, exposing my skin to him.
His hands move expertly, removing my leggings one leg at a time, leaving a trail of fevered kisses that set my body on fire. He does the same with my underwear, his hands steady but filled with an urgency that matches the pounding in my chest.
When he finally steps back, a wicked grin curls on his lips, his eyes devouring every inch of me. My skin flushes, and I shift uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious, aware of the scars marking my body.
But his gaze… It doesn’t waver. It’s not judgment. It’s hunger. Desire. Possession.
And somehow, I know that it’s all that matters.
No.
A scream echoes in my mind, loud and insistent.
I take a slow, steadying breath, forcing the unwanted feelings back into the depths of my mind, slamming the mental door on the darkness, keeping its ugly face at bay. I won’t let it consume me right now, not with him here.
I glance at Maxim, whose expression has shifted from raw hunger and desire to a look of concern. He has noticed the slight change in me, the flicker of something different. Anyone else wouldn’t have caught it, but Maxim—he notices everything.
His lips part, likely to ask if I’m alright, but I raise a hand, a silent plea to not ask. I give him a look, one filled with unspoken words, urging him to drop it. I’m alright. I am. The darkness doesn’t bother me right now. I’m not afraid of his touch.
Looking back, I realize I’ve never flinched away from him, not once. He has held me through my nightmares; our bodies have tangled together every night since we came to this beautiful place. Even the night he denied me, I wasn’t scared. I was frustrated, yes, but not scared. He stopped me because he saw through my pain, knowing I was acting out of something much darker. The panic attack I had was born from a feeling of being threatened—not from his touch.
Maybe someone else’s touch might trigger something in me, but not his. I know that now. And I don’t need to test that theory, because I only want him.
I close the distance between us, my fingers trembling as they find the buttons on his shirt, undoing them slowly, exploring the hard planes of his chest and the dips of his muscles. He catches my neck gently, pulling me against him, his lips crashing onto mine with a desperate urgency. Our hands roam greedily, taking what we can, touching every inch of skin we can reach.
But then, abruptly, he pulls back. I look up at him in confusion.
What is he doing?