Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
VIKTORIA
W hen I woke up, I was cold and very alone.
My eyes welled with tears as I remembered the events of the night before. The humiliation of him picking me up, the cold shower, the hot spanking. Riding his thigh like some wanton slut, topped off by the rejection that left me shivering in the silk sheets, chilling me far more than my wet hair.
I couldn't stay here any longer.
Everywhere I looked was dark luxury and power. It looked like him. It smelled like him. Even the air felt weighted with his presence, though he was nowhere to be seen.
Placed carefully on the nightstand next to me was a vintage amber glass bottle with a cork stopper and a little sign that read drink me .
Every single D.A.R.E after-school special taught me I should not be drinking liquids from strange bottles when I didn't know what they were or where they came from.
But this wasn't some random party. This was Artem's domain, and I already knew refusing his offerings came with consequences.
Ignoring the bottle, I sat up and was instantly hit with an intense wave of nausea and a sharp stab of pain through my temples.
Fuck it.
Either whatever was in the bottle would make this go away or it'd kill me, in which case the pain would stop.
Win-win.
I grabbed the bottle, pulled the cork out with my teeth and then tipped it back into my mouth, letting the acidic liquid drain straight down my throat.
It tasted like honey, herbs, and something that burned. Probably the hair of the rabid bitch who bit me.
Whatever it was, it worked.
My stomach settled, and the pain dulled enough that I could move around the suite.
There was no sign of Artem anywhere, but there was a large white paper shopping bag with "Nordstrom" printed in bold black letters left on the coffee table with a note.
– Mr. Ivanov,
I wasn't sure what style your companion preferred, so I bought a few. Whatever she does not want, please leave in the room and I will have it returned and the funds credited to your card.
– Mr. Kotts, the night manager.
I assumed I was the only companion he had last night. The thought of him leaving this room to go to a different room with another woman made the liquid I just swallowed sour in my gut.
It shouldn't have bothered me, but my skin crawled with something I refused to name as jealousy at the idea of him doing to someone else what he'd done to me.
Inside the bag were a few different pairs of pants and tops from St. John Collection, Lafayette 148 New York, and Akris Punto.
All in neutral shades.
There were even underwear and bras in the right sizes in impossibly soft lace and the smoothest silk I had ever felt.
My fingers trembled as I touched them. How did he know my sizes? Had he been watching me that closely?
The thought sent a shiver over my limbs—not entirely unpleasant, which terrified me more than the idea of being watched.
The note said I was supposed to take what I wanted and leave what I didn't, so Artem could be refunded.
After last night, I deserved it all, so I was taking it all.
He could afford it.
I called down to room service and ordered breakfast, including champagne and caviar.
My stomach twisted at the idea of eating or drinking either of those, but I didn’t order them for my enjoyment. Well, except for the enjoyment of adding them to his bill.
It may have been petty, but it was my way of regaining a little of the control I had lost the night before.
While I waited for my very expensive breakfast, I tried out the bathroom again, this time appreciating the water pressure with hot water. Stepping out of the shower, I felt amazing, warm and refreshed, with a renewed appreciation for heated towels.
Wearing my new wardrobe felt like more than just taking control of the situation with Artem. It felt like taking control of my life. The clothes weren’t flashy or overtly sexy or designed to stand out.
They were sleek and sophisticated perfection. They let me stand on my own feet. People would see past the clothes to the woman wearing them. They were perfect.
I didn't want the attention of a flashy wardrobe. I wanted to be seen for myself and taken seriously. By dressing like this, I felt like a woman who took control of her independence, who deserved to be respected and to be listened to.
Yet a voice in the back of my mind whispered that even this was his doing. He had selected these clothes—or at least paid for them.
Every one of these so-called choices and decisions were made within the boundaries he set. My chest tightened at the thought.
When breakfast came, I let in the room service guys and took the bill, adding a four-figure tip before handing it back with a smile.
I enjoyed my meal, picking at it mostly, but basking in the win.
I knew Artem might be pissed about the bill, he might demand I return the clothes, but something told me he wouldn't.
There was something in his eyes last night, something that told me he liked my defiance, so long as I eventually submitted.
My blood ran cold at the realization.
Regardless, I felt strong and powerful, and there was a bounce in my step as I left the hotel. I even went to the front desk and had them add another four-figure tip to the bill for housekeeping, and asked them to call a car for me and bill it to the room.
The attendant at the front desk was very accommodating, and I headed back to my dorm in an Escalade.
The entire way back to campus, I felt like I was glowing, and I just couldn't stop basking in it.
I preferred to think it had nothing to do with the toe-curling orgasm of the night before and everything to do with my little financial revenge this morning.
It wasn't until I opened the door to my dorm room that everything came crashing down around me and I realized I hadn't won a goddamn thing.
I had been played.
Everything was gone.
The bed was stripped, and the room was completely sterile except for a single envelope on the bare mattress.
My heart pounded in my ears as I approached it. My hands shook so badly I could barely pick it up. Inside was a key with a note written in harsh, slanted handwriting.
You will stay here from now on. –A
An address was scribbled on the back of the envelope and just like that, I had lost any control I thought I had gained.
My breath caught in my throat as the implications sank in. He had been one step ahead the entire time.
While I was sleeping it off then ordering room service and reveling in my petty rebellion, he hadn’t been with another woman after all. It was worse.
He was dismantling my life.
There were still a few hours before my next class, so I went to check out my new apartment. Even if it was just to have a place to store my stuff until I figured out something else. After all, how could I be an independent woman when I lived in an apartment paid for by a man who not only killed my father, but thought that gave him the right to punish me like a child?
Although, he was paying for my tuition and dorm room. So was I ever really independent?
The less than childish things we had done the night before flashed through my mind and I pushed them out of my head before they affected me anymore.
Just because he gave me pleasure last night or bought me clothes, didn't mean a damn thing. All it meant was I was a red-blooded woman who had a love of expensive clothing and hormones that needed to be controlled.
The apartment was actually very close to campus, which was annoyingly convenient. The building was stunning and of course had a doorman who looked very familiar. I was positive that either he had been one of the men following me on campus or he had a twin. He greeted me with a bright smile, by name, pronounced correctly, and asked if I needed to be shown to my new apartment.
My pulse picked up. How many of Artem's men were watching me? How long had this been planned?
The paranoia settled over me like a cloak, and I found myself scanning every face, wondering if they too were reporting back to him.
I took a deep breath and suppressed the rage that had been slowly building in my chest. It wasn't his fault his boss was a dick.
"No, I'm sure I can find it. Thank you."
He smiled and actually tipped his goddamn hat as I headed to the elevator. The lobby was beautifully decorated, lavish and luxurious, and I was sure the amenities in the apartment were second to none.
I expected the apartment to look a lot like the hotel room; luxurious, expensive, cold. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was stunning, its elements and features reflective of the building's baroque style. Between the crown molding throughout and each room’s tasteful furniture, the apartment was beautiful but not so luxurious that you were afraid to sit on anything. The perfect blend of function and fashion.
It was my dream apartment.
That was why it was so insidious. Artem knew. Somehow, he knew exactly what I would love. The thought made my skin crawl.
The clothes he had bought were perfect, the apartment and furniture he had someone pick out were like a dream.
I couldn't help but wonder who had done the shopping for him. And when?
If he’d decided all of this last night, even before he picked me up, there wouldn't have been time to secure the apartment or furnish it.
So whose apartment did he put me in?
The more I explored, the more perfect it was. A modern kitchen, bedrooms with built-in bookshelves, and closets already filled with clothes by the same designers that were in that shopping bag.
There was just one minor problem.
In every single corner there was a blinking red light.
I was being watched, and he wanted me to know.
My heart slammed against my ribs when I spotted each one.
The feeling of being hunted, of being cornered, overwhelmed me.
I wanted to curl into a ball and hide, but there was nowhere to go where his eyes wouldn't follow.
There were a million more subtle ways to install security equipment, ways that I would never have known about, and he chose to make sure I understood exactly what this was.
This wasn't an apartment.
It wasn't some type of heavy-handed apology for what happened the night before.
It wasn't even a token of affection.
Not that I thought he was capable of feeling something like that.
This was a cage.
A beautifully decorated, gilded cage from which I had no escape.
Clenching my teeth and tightening my fists, I tried to control my anger. I tried to push it down to deal with later, mostly so he didn't have surveillance photos of me crying.
The arrogant bastard would probably think they were tears of joy and gratitude.
I went into the closet after checking the corners to make sure there were no cameras there and closed the door, then let out a scream of frustration.
I wanted to shred the clothes and destroy the furniture, break every dish, every piece of crystal in that fucking kitchen.
But what was the point?
No. That wasn't a win, not for me.
If anything, a tantrum would be another point in his column. Instead, I gathered myself and took several deep breaths, pushing down my rage in the way only a woman can, before stepping out of the closet to prepare for the rest of the day.
The bathroom had a vanity that was stocked with my makeup—well, more expensive brands in the shades I usually wore.
Each detail of the apartment felt like another strand in the web he was weaving around me, trapping me further at every discovery of how deeply he had infiltrated my life.
I ignored it all and focused on getting ready for that same damn political science class, with the same asshole professor.
But it was fine. Dickish men just seemed to be my new normal.
There was nothing to worry about. I would just keep my head down, ignore the goons following me and the whispers that would likely be louder after the helicopter last night. All I had to do was be perfect, beyond reproach, and the professor would find someone new to torment.
It was fine. I would be fine. This bullshit too shall pass.
* * *
In class, the professor looked me up and down and smirked, ready to put me down to feel like a man. Class hadn't even started yet.
"Ms. Zatasevo, are we going to have the pleasure of your presence in the class much longer? Or is the rich fool with the helicopter and the need for a trophy wife going to take you from us soon?"
Deep breath in, control the rage.
Nothing good will come from lashing out at this man.
"I have no plans of leaving," I said with a sugary sweet smile, pretending his words didn't cut deep.
But they did. Because they were true—I was being collected, possessed, by a man who could decide my fate with a snap of his fingers.
The professor had no idea how right he was, and that terrified me.
The rest of the class was uneventful. There were whispers, but what else was new?
Amy also had this class, though she was assigned to a different study group. When the professor dismissed us, I tried to catch up with her, to apologize about last night, but she ran from me.
Actually ran from me.
My throat tightened as I watched her flee. My first real friend here, gone.
Artem was isolating me. I should've expected it.
Still, it hurt. I had liked Amy, even if we were really different. She made me laugh.
Another point in his column.
Fine, I wasn't going to let it ruin my degree. I wasn't here to make friends or to party.
I was here to study, to prove my worth.
When I got to the library, the table with my group was full. Their rudeness was nothing new, but I was still caught a little off guard when I started to pull up another chair and the group leader tugged it out of my hands.
"You don't need that." She snapped her gum at me. "You have been removed from the group. Permanently."
"I didn't?—"
"I don't care. You aren't working with us."
"This study group is a requirement, and I was assigned."
"Well, someone unassigned you, and the rest of us are thrilled. So figure it out on your own time, stupid Russian whore."
"Excuse me?"
"You think you're hot shit because some rich asshole is fucking you," she scoffed. "He'll get tired of you soon enough and find someone of value. Cheap sluts like you might warm his bed, but a zaddy like that will never give you a ring."
What the fuck?
"If I wasn't too drunk last night he would have left you immediately."
Fucking Artem.
Heat rose in my cheeks as I fought back tears, pushing my way past her and out of the library.
There was no use in defending myself. She had already made up her mind, and it wasn't my job to change it. But it still stung, and it was all his fault.
Each step I took felt heavier than the last.
I could feel invisible chains tightening around my ankles, my wrists, my throat.
Each time I thought I'd found a foothold, a way to assert myself, he was there, undermining it.
The world was shrinking around me, controlled by his invisible hand.
People who once ignored me now actively despised me.
My freedom was an illusion he granted, then stripped away at will.
Fucking with my living arrangements was controlling.
Fucking with my friendships was a dick move.
But dangling my education in front of my face then ripping away the opportunity to excel was unforgivable.
The realization of how completely he had ensnared me slammed into me.
I leaned against the wall outside the library, trying to steady myself and catch my breath.
How far would his control reach? Would I ever have anything that was truly mine again?
Or would everything I touched become another link in the chain he was wrapping around me?
He was not going to win. Not this time.
But even as I thought it, fear’s icy fingers crawled up my spine.
Because deep down, I wasn't sure I could fight him.
And worse still, a small part of me wasn't sure I wanted to.