Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
VIKTORIA
T his wasn't protection—it was a prison.
And he was my jailer.
Why had I ever even entertained any other possibility?
I stared up at the gorgeous house; it looked like a mansion straight out of a fairy tale. The type of home that I had dreamed about living in since I was a child.
When I discovered what type of man my father really was, late at night I would close my eyes and picture an alternate reality where a man came and rescued me. He'd tell me how there was a mistake. It was discovered that I was switched at birth and instead of being part of a family of criminals, I was meant to live in a house like this.
A place full of warmth, laughter, and sunlight. Where people would listen to me, and not just belittle me.
The perfection of the house changed nothing. All it did was taint the dreams of a sad, lonely child. This house was a beautiful prison.
The man behind me cleared his throat. He was sent to pick me up from the small cabin and bring me here at Artem's bidding. He had grabbed my bag and asked if I had any other personal effects in the house since I would be moving into my "new place of residence."
For a moment, there was a rush of light anticipation. I thought he might have felt bad about what he did, or about our fight, or even had just seen reason.
I thought maybe Artem was moving me back to the city, back closer to school, where I would have some semblance of control over my life. I would be able to get back to my studies and deal with whatever new restrictions he put on me until I finished my degree.
It didn't matter what his motive was.
Dinner every night, mind-blowing sex on demand, who the fuck cared as long as I got to live alone and had the time I needed to dedicate to my studies.
It may not have been my best moment, but I knew several girls who had to be sugar babies for their education. At least I only needed one sugar daddy, and the sex was fantastic. Unlike most of them I wouldn't have to ride an overweight, balding middle manager while closing my eyes and thinking of Henry Cavill so I could fake an orgasm.
Fuck owning a Gucci bag.
I wanted my freedom, and this degree would lead me not only to independence, but to an ability to support myself in the lifestyle Artem was accustoming me to.
When we got into the car, I slid on my seat belt, expecting to spend the next hour or two staring out of the window until we got into town, but to my complete disappointment we stopped not even ten minutes later in front of this massive house.
I wasn't even sure if we left the private road that led to the cabin to begin with.
"Are we picking up someone else?" I asked, praying that was the case.
The driver shook his head as he got out of the car and opened my door. He collected my bags and escorted me up the long cobblestone path to the front door.
"This is?—"
"Your new home, miss," the man said.
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. Each step toward the door felt like walking to my own execution, my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
"Where is he?" The moment I stepped into the house, I made a beeline straight to a man staring at his phone, who looked vaguely like Artem.
"And you are—?" He gave me a long look, and I knew he knew exactly who I was.
"The woman that is going to murder Artem." The words came out in a hiss through my teeth, my fingers curling into my palms.
"My brother is waiting for you in the office," he said, pointing to a door on the other side of the massive living room opening onto a hallway. "We're going to leave and give you two some...privacy. I think we would all prefer plausible deniability."
He shot me a cocky grin and for a moment, I fought against an urge to stab him instead.
No, Viktoria. Focus on the asshole that's pulling the strings, not the one enjoying the show.
There was something in the way he spoke that set my teeth on edge. I didn't know if he was mocking me or Artem, but I was livid, and it was probably for the best that any witnesses left immediately.
I gave him a brief nod. It wasn't his fault his brother was an arrogant, domineering control freak. Then I marched back to the office, my footsteps like gunshots against the hall's marble floor, each one punctuating my rage.
"Your errand boy said he was taking me to my new home. What did you do?" I demanded as my body shook with fury.
Artem was standing in front of a massive window, his back to me.
I hated that even when I was so angry at him, I still couldn't help but admire his broad shoulders, the way his back tapered to his trim waist. That man's body was built to be wrapped in finely tailored suits.
Positioned as he was against the walls of this dark-red room, he looked like a portrait of masculine power and dominance. The scent of sandalwood and tobacco filled the space which made my inner thighs clench no matter how much I despised him in the moment.
My body's response only fueled my rage.
"I did what had to be done," Artem intoned.
"What had to be done? Why am I still all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?" I spat, my hands shaking, fingernails digging deeper into my palms.
"Because you're safe here." He didn't even turn around to face me.
I didn't know if it was indifference, cowardice, or some kind of sick power move, but it just pissed me off more.
"Safe from what? You? Are you here to tell me you have had enough and you are finally going to leave me alone?" Each word louder than the last, a rising crescendo of fury.
"Safe from threats that you do not need to know about to be harmed by."
"What does that even mean?" I screamed in frustration, the sound tearing from my throat like that of a wounded animal. "Let me go back to the apartment. I have classes to take. Assuming you didn't have your thugs kill my professor."
He finally turned to face me, a cold smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The casual arrogance in that simple expression made my blood boil and my skin flush hot with anger. His eyes—cold, calculating, yet burning with something possessive—raked over me like physical hands.
"Your professor won't be bothering you anymore," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Or any other female student. Ever."
The blood drained from my face. "You had him killed?"
"I protect what's mine." He said it so matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather rather than a man's execution. "When I looked into him, I found a pattern. Six complaints in the last two years from female students. All buried. All forgotten."
His eyes darkened. "No one gets to make you feel inferior. No one gets to threaten what belongs to me."
I felt dizzy, my mind swimming with the implications. I'd wanted him put in his place, maybe fired, but not...this.
"But—what about school?" I asked. "I can't just?—"
"I have already withdrawn you for the semester." He cut me off. "Once this danger has passed, we can look into getting you re-enrolled. Somewhere better."
He had me dropped from my classes?
I couldn't believe it.
I stood there in stunned silence.
Waiting for my brain to decode the information that just washed over me.
Artem didn't even ask me, didn't tell me beforehand, just decided and then it was done.
He gave me the educational opportunity without a second thought and then just took it from me without even telling me first.
My lungs burned as it got harder and harder to breathe and it felt like the red walls were closing in on me. The room was getting smaller, and it started to spin as my stomach rolled. Bile rose in my throat, bitter and acidic.
He couldn't have.
He wouldn't.
Of course he would.
All he saw me as was a pawn.
Nothing more than an insignificant little doll he could position as he saw fit.
He was just like my father, like every other man who thought that they could do whatever they wanted and my role was to just say "yes, sir."
No. I wasn't going back to that. I wasn't going back to having no choices, no opinions, and just being the husk meant to cook, clean, and breed that my father intended when he saw fit to sell me off to one of his associates who needed a wife.
I didn't care if he killed me.
It would not happen.
I was no one's pet, no one's doll.
With a deep breath, I opened my eyes and looked at Artem, letting him see the pain, the frustration, the determination in my eyes. "You had no right." My voice came out ragged, flayed raw with emotion.
"I had every right," he said as simply as if he'd decided the toppings on a pizza without consulting me. His casual dismissal of my life, my choices, hit me like a physical blow.
"No, you didn't. That was my education. My classes, my degree. It was my only chance at success. You had no right to—" My chest heaved with each word, sweat dampening my hairline despite the chill that ran through me.
"My money," he said with a simple shrug, as if that was all that mattered. "My influence.”
It felt like a slap to the face, and I guessed to a man like Artem, his money and position were all that mattered.
Power and the bottom line trumped everything else.
"And don't pretend to mourn that bastard,” Artem continued, his eyes hardening. “He was trying to break you down until you'd do anything to pass his class. I just made sure he can't do that to anyone else."
The taste of copper flooded my mouth as I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, to keep the tears back.
I turned on my heel, taking a few steps over the polished hardwood floor until something in the bookcase caught my eye. A glint of sunlight on a multifaceted crystal decanter filled with clear liquid.
I didn't even think about it. I just reached out like I was going to pick up one of the books and look at the title. Instead, I wrapped my hand around that decanter, lifting it up and throwing it across the room straight at his head. The weight of it felt gloriously solid in my hand before it left my fingertips.
It was lighter than I had thought, though, so it hit the wall just above his head and shattered. The crash echoed thunderously through the room, glass shards sparkling in the sunlight like deadly diamonds.
"Do you feel better now?" he asked, never letting his calm expression slip.
But I saw it— the slight tightening around his eyes, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. His breathing had quickened, his broad chest rising and falling with each controlled breath.
"No," I said. "But next time I won't miss."
I grabbed one of the matching glasses and threw it at him.
My aim was true, but he ducked out of the way, the crystal exploding against the bookshelf behind him. Three glasses left. The sound of shattering glass was music to my ears.
"This is your last warning," he said, anger leaching into his words.
"Or what? What more could you possibly take from me? You've already taken everything I care about. You get to decide where I live, you get to decide if I go to school or not, what I can study, whose lives you end.
"And did you stop there? No. You even isolated me from having any friends. And you fuck me whenever you feel like it; consent doesn't seem to fucking matter. So what else can you possibly take from me?"
Each accusation was punctuated by the rapid rise and fall of my chest, my breasts straining against my shirt with each heaving breath.
I grabbed another glass from the shelf and went to throw it at him, but he ate the distance between us in a second, grabbing my wrist and pinning it against the wall until I dropped the glass.
It tumbled out of my grasp to land on the thick area rug under my feet.
His body pressed against mine, hard and unyielding, the heat of him searing through my clothes. I could feel every solid inch of him, the unmistakable ridge of his arousal grinding against my hip.
The calm facade Artem wore finally slipped, revealing the anger in his eyes.
The need for control and the violent man behind the suit.
Now I saw the real Artem.
His gaze an intoxicating mix of rage and lust. His breath hot against my face, scented with expensive coffee and mint.
"You think you can fight me, princess?" he growled, tightening his grip on my wrist. "I dare you to try."
The edge of a shelf dug painfully into my back, but I refused to wince.
His face was inches from mine, his breath mingling with my own.
I could see the pulse beating in his throat, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.
I tried to wrench my arm free, but his grip was like iron.
The struggle only brought our bodies closer, my breasts crushed against his chest, our hips aligned in a cruel mimicry of passion.
My body burned everywhere we touched, a confusing inferno of hatred and arousal that threatened to consume me whole.