Chapter 3
PENELOPE
Isat upright, arms crossed tight over my chest, my whole body wound like a spring. “He’s not running any fucking test on me. You didn’t give a damn when I told you I was pregnant.”
My voice climbed, sharp with fury. “You said I didn’t deserve to carry your child. Your words, Dmitri. So why pretend now that you care?”
His head tilted, eyes narrowing with that infuriating calm—like I was some delusional creature he had to manage instead of the woman he’d abandoned. “You’ll let the doctor examine you, Penelope. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
I barked a bitter laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Or what? You’ll put a gun to my head like Antonio? Break me until I bend?” I ripped the duvet off and swung my legs to the floor.
The world tilted sideways, dizziness clawing at me, but I forced myself to stand, spine locked straight.
I glared at him, my chin lifted in challenge. “Go on, Dmitri. Show me what forcing looks like.”
He didn’t move at first. Just watched me, his gaze narrowing as if measuring the exact point where defiance turned into stupidity. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pushed off the wall.
Each step he took toward me was soundless, but the air grew heavier, until I could barely draw breath. By the time he stopped in front of me, I had to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes.
“You think you’re in a position to make demands?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of softness that made my skin prickle. “You defy me, Penelope, and I will show you what forcing looks like. Don’t test me.”
His hand lifted—not to strike, not to shove—but to catch my jaw, holding me still. His thumb pressed lightly against my chin, not cruel, but firm enough to remind me he owned the moment.
“You’ll sit down,” he said, each word clipped. “You’ll let the doctor examine you. And you’ll thank me for even caring enough to ask.”
My pulse thundered, my body torn between the urge to recoil and the shameful heat of being caught in his gravity again.
I stood my ground, my lungs burning as if an asthma attack were brewing just beneath the surface, tightening my chest with every ragged breath.
“Sir... there is...” The doctor’s eyes were fixed on something behind me, his voice hesitant as he tried to catch Dmitri’s attention.
Dmitri’s gaze shifted, and his expression darkened.
He barked at the doctor, “Get the fuck out. Now!”
The doctor scrambled out, door clicking shut behind him.
Confused, I turned, scanning the bed for whatever had caught their eye.
“You’re bleeding,” Dmitri said, his tone unnervingly calm.
I frowned.
Bleeding? Again? The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through me.
I quickly twisted my body so he couldn’t see my back anymore, but the shame burned hot in my cheeks. Both men had seen it. Seen me like that—vulnerable, exposed.
Mortified, I rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
My hands shook as I unbuttoned my jeans, peeling them down along with my underwear.
There it was—fresh blood staining the fabric, seeping through. I turned on the shower, letting the water heat up as I stripped off the rest, stepping under the scalding spray.
The steam filled the room, but it couldn’t wash away the embarrassment clawing at me. How had I not felt it? How had they seen before I did?
As I scrubbed my skin again, the water turning pink at my feet, I noticed the blood wasn’t like my usual menstrual flow.
It was thicker, clotted, almost gelatinous—dark and ominous. My stomach twisted in knots, fear gripping me tighter than before. This wasn’t normal. This could mean... No. I couldn’t even think it. The baby had to be okay. But the doubt gnawed at me, amplifying every ache in my body.
I stayed under the water longer than necessary, letting it pound against my back until my skin prickled. Finally, I shut it off, wrapped myself in a fresh towel, and stepped out, my hair dripping onto the floor.
I rushed to my corner of the wardrobe, dropping the towel just long enough to pull on a clean pair of panties and a simple top—loose and comfortable, nothing that would constrict or remind me of the mess.
The embarrassment lingered like a shadow, making my movements quick and jerky.
Dmitri was still in the room, now seated at his desk, his posture rigid as he scrolled through something on his phone.
I walked over, forcing my voice to steady. “I need to see a doctor.” I knew something was wrong—deeply wrong—and I had to know if I still carried my baby, or if I was putting whatever was left at risk by waiting.
He rose from the desk, unfolding to his full height until he was looming over me, the shadow of him swallowing the space between us. “Your period?” His voice was sharp—clinical, not tender.
I looked away, avoiding those piercing eyes. “How many days was I kidnapped for?”
“I got you out in forty-eight hours,” he said flatly. “For a price you can’t imagine.”
“Like I care what it cost you?” I retorted, fury bubbling up again.
“I didn’t pay with money,” he replied, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.
I snapped my gaze back to him. “Again—I don’t care. You disgust me, Dmitri.” The words came out like venom. “When are you planning your next vanishing act? Another four months? A year? Two? Or will you just send another text telling me what I don’t deserve?”
His eyes darkened, the calm mask cracking just enough for me to see the storm beneath.
In two strides he was in front of me, the desk digging into the back of my thighs as he closed in. One hand braced the wood beside me, the other gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice a low growl against my skin. “You think you hate me? You’ve barely begun to understand what hate costs. I pulled you out of Antonio’s hands, Penelope. Do you know what I risked? What I bled for?”
His thumb pressed harder against my jaw, not cruel enough to bruise, but enough to remind me he could.
“You won’t speak to me of disappearing,” he hissed, leaning so close his breath ghosted across my cheek. “Because whether I’m in this room or across the ocean, I’m in you. You don’t get rid of me, Penelope. Ever.”
He held my gaze a beat longer—dark, unreadable—before straightening, the heat of him retreating as he turned toward the door. “Now get up,” he said, voice like steel. “We’re going to the doctor. We’ll see if you’re carrying my child.”
He paused on the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder, his tone low and almost dangerous. “And for your sake, I hope you are.”
I stood frozen, my knees weak, his words echoing like chains tightening around me. Then, slowly, I forced myself forward, each step dragging me closer to him, closer to a truth I wasn’t sure I could bear.
My hands trembled at my sides, betraying me.
I wanted to scream, to claw my way out of this nightmare, but instead I kept walking. Because beneath the fury, beneath the fear, a cruel flicker of hope gnawed at me. That maybe the child was still there. That maybe this wasn’t the end.
And I hated myself for it. For clinging to the smallest thread of salvation from the very man who had shattered me.
As the door closed behind us, the hall stretched ahead—dark, endless. My heart was a storm, and with every step I wondered: was I walking toward deliverance... or my undoing?
Once we stepped into the sleek black SUV, Dmitri slid into the driver’s seat with that predatory grace of his, while I claimed the passenger side, buckling in with trembling hands.
The engine purred to life, a low rumble that did nothing to drown out the storm raging inside me.
I stared at him.
My chest tightened, words bubbling up like poison I couldn’t hold back.
“You married me because you wanted an heir, didn’t you?” My voice cut through the hum of the engine. “Yet you told me I wasn’t worthy of carrying your child. You said fucking me was nothing more than marking me as yours.”
My nails bit into my palms, drawing crescents in my skin. “You need an heir within a year or you’ll lose your empire, right? So tell me, Dmitri—if I can’t give you one, do you already have another woman waiting to breed your heir?”
His gaze flicked toward me, just once, but the weight of it pinned me to the seat. His grip on the wheel tightened, the leather creaking beneath his hands, knuckles straining bone-white.
“Yes,” he said, voice smooth as a blade. “I need an heir before I turn thirty-one. That’s the law of my world. No heir, no empire.” His lips curved—not in a smile, but something colder. “But I didn’t marry you for that.”
The SUV seemed smaller as he went on, his tone calm, precise, merciless. “I married you because you made me a promise when you were fifteen. And because I will never forgive what your parents stole from me. You belong to me, Penelope—for blood, for debt, for punishment.”
His eyes slid to mine again, and the faintest flicker of something feral moved in their depths.
“I never said you weren’t worthy of carrying my child.
I never said touching you was just about claiming what’s mine.
Stop rewriting the truth to fit your pain.
” His voice dropped lower, darker, vibrating through the space between us.
“If I wanted to brand you, you’d carry my mark where no one could ever erase it. ”
The air thickened, poisoned by his hate-laced obsession, by the dangerous certainty that he’d rather destroy me than let me go.
I smirked bitterly, turning to gaze out the window at the blurring landscape of Lake Como’s winding roads, the serene water mocking my turmoil.
I wished I could hurl something at his smug face again, anything to shatter that composure.
“Such audacity,” I whispered, then louder, “such audacity to sit there and lie to my face—when you clearly texted me. Or have you already forgotten your own words?”
The SUV vibrated with silence, his profile carved in stone, while my own voice splintered.
My voice cracked like glass as I went on.