16. Dimitri
16
DIMITRI
I glance at my phone again, more and more frustrated as time passes on Friday.
The line of text is on the short side.
Me: You forgot your envelope.
Willow: I know. Keep it. It was my pleasure. Say hi to Wolfie for me!
That was from Tuesday. Nothing since on her end or mine.
Two years ago, my phone would have been full of texts even if I didn't reply. Now, she's completely silent. She found another way to get eyes on her.
The shoot isn't scheduled for over two hours, but my cinema room is already set up, hooked onto her page, ready. Fuck, I'm such a pervert where she's concerned.
I used to tell myself I wouldn't watch her videos, look at her pictures, read every word in her filthy little updates. For a few weeks, it would work. Then I'd always end up caving on a bad day.
I've given up pretending now. I'm her highest follower, and I'm there whenever she's live.
She refused my two thousand bucks for pet sitting, so I know it's not about the money for her. She just likes being watched.
There are better ways to satisfy that specific kink, but she chose this path, and so far, she's been doing it safely enough, sticking to solo performances, hiding her actual face under makeup, fake hair, masks sometimes. I was stressed out when she announced partners at first, but I just tightened her security.
It's her move. Everything she does right now is completely up to her. That has always been essential to me: leaving her her complete freedom. Otherwise, what even is the point of staying away?
I knew the first time Willow kissed me that there was a very good chance that we'd work out, she and I. That, if—when—we took the plunge, we'd be an us. I'm not the kind of man who thinks in terms of forever or happily ever after. But I suspected there was a high chance we'd be more than a casual screw.
She's not the prettiest woman I know, she's not the most talented, not even the smartest, although I know her IQ is insanely high according to the thick file I keep in my drawer. But she's the first, last, and only to just see me. Nothing else.
It's down to the gum she gave me all those years ago.
The thing is, whether they know the extent of my power, what my name truly represents or not, people fear me or put me on a pedestal, treating me like some sort of god—like the girl who gave me the clothes I asked for last week. They don't see me as some guy who might actually like a candy from time to time.
Willow saw me as a guy when she handed me a sweet, and when she decided to kiss me just because she wanted to.
I am one hundred percent sure that if I lost it all, tomorrow—the money, the power—every single one of the women who's wanted me before would find another billionaire to keep their interest. Everyone except Willow.
But the thing about being with me for longer than one night is that it's dangerous. Those who try to get to me usually end up in a shallow grave, so instead of directly aiming at me, my enemies have gone for people close to me. My cousins can take care of themselves—I saw to their training to ensure that. I took Cam hunting and trained his ass, too. Aiden sparred with me while I was growing up, so I know he can handle himself. Irina? Don't make me laugh. I pity the idiot taking a shot at her.
Willow's all softness. I could shove her on a plane and make her take the same exact training I put Magnus, Marius, and Markus through, and she'd still come back weak. Scratch that, it would kill her. And I don't want her to change to fit my world.
Which means that I knew, that day in my Hawaiian lounge, that the moment I'd respond to what she was offering, I'd have to take her and put her in a gilded cage.
Not a true cage—though I'm not entirely opposed to a locked room in my penthouse. She could still see her friends. She could still have a job. Go out. But not this job. She'd have to be employed by someone affiliated with me, someone happy to keep her four to six bodyguards around. Not friends. Just people who pass a thorough background check, and again, are comfortable with her guards. She'd only go to pre-approved clubs, restaurants. She wouldn't be Ruby Red Heart.
I would control her life. Only allow situations where her environment is safe.
That's no kind of life for someone who hasn't even done anything yet.
I gave her space, and time, and yes, also the freedom to go fuck whoever she pleased, maybe find someone else to love.
It would be much safer for her if she did.
If this is what she wants to do with her freedom, I am going to stand on the sidelines, cheer, and watch .
The problem I have right now isn't the fact that she's going to get her face fucked by two guys who aren't me; it's the fact that she's going to get her face fucked by two guys I don't know and haven't vetted. I'm not judging her, or getting jealous—that's not my vibe. I love watching almost as much as I love touching. My problem is them.
I make myself breathe in and out, deep. It'll be fine. Last time worked out. There's no reason to stress myself out. I'll just watch. I doubled her security, there are two men following her, and a team in place at the hotel she picked according to her text thread.
And no, I don't feel bad about having her communications monitored—not even a little. I may not judge her little hobby, but I still think she's going about it in a way that could have already ended up seriously dangerous. She’s just been lucky thus far.
Lucky, and protected.
Everything will be fine.
And if it isn't? I'm ready for that eventuality, too.