CHAPTER 4
NIKOLAI P.O.V.
The heavy door clicked shut, sealing the Red Suite like a vault. The sound was final. A deadbolt sliding home on a coffin.
Scarlett stood in the center of the room. Naked. Exposed.
She was trying to hold it together, I’ll give her that. Shoulders back, chin tilted up, hazel eyes burning with enough hate to start a forest fire. But she was trembling. A fine, high-frequency vibration running through her limbs that betrayed every lie her face tried to sell me.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t rush. I just watched her. I let the silence stretch until it was thin enough to snap. I circled her slowly, my boots sinking into the plush carpet, moving with the patience of a man who owns the clock.
"Perfect," I whispered, more to the room than to her.
She flinched. Just a twitch of her fingers, trying to cover herself before she forced her hands back to her sides.
"Stand still, collateral."
I walked to the velvet armchair and stripped off my jacket. Folded it. Placed it down. Every movement precise. I unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled the white sleeves up my forearms, watching her track me like a trapped animal watching a wolf pace the cage.
"You are the debt, Vance," I said, my voice low. "Fifty million dollars of flesh and bone. That’s the price tag on your head."
I smoothed the fabric on my forearm.
"Any damage... any mark... it comes off the price. Your price. And I collect what is owed."
She swallowed hard. I saw the ripple move down her throat. Good. Reality was setting in. She wasn't a person anymore. She was a line item. An asset. And assets get audited.
I closed the distance. I didn’t stop until I was towering over her, stealing her air. The heat coming off her body was palpable, a mix of adrenaline and terror. She smelled like expensive gardenia and fear. A heady fucking mix.
"Look at me, Scarlett."
She glared, locking her jaw.
"Don't move. Don't speak. Understand? Your silence is your only grace here."
She dug her nails into her palms. I could see the crescent moons turning white. She wanted to scream. She wanted to claw my eyes out. But she stood there, frozen, because she knew the game had changed.
I reached out. My hand was huge next to her skull. As my fingertips grazed her temple, she jerked away.
"Still," I growled.
I threaded my fingers through her hair. Thick.
Auburn. Expensive. I checked the scalp, feeling for bumps, scars, trackers.
Anything her rat of a father might have hidden on her.
She was clean. The strands felt like silk against my calloused skin.
I tugged a little, just enough to snap her head back, exposing her throat.
"No marks. Good. I don't miss details, Vance."
I shifted my grip to her jaw. I squeezed the hinge, forcing her mouth open. She resisted for a second, teeth grinding, before the pressure became too much. Her lips parted.
"Open wider, girl."
I tilted her head, peering inside like I was checking a prize mare. Healthy teeth. Pink tongue. Breath that smelled sweet despite the bile she was probably choking back. My thumb pressed against the pulse point on her neck. It was hammering against my skin like a trapped bird. Thump-thump-thump.
"Breath clean. Good."
I let go of her face and let my hands drop to her shoulders. Smooth. Pale. I traced the clavicle, then ran my palms down her arms. Her skin erupted in gooseflesh instantly. A wave of bumps rising in the wake of my touch.
I stopped at her left elbow. There was a thin white line there. Old. Faint.
"What's this?" I demanded.
She stayed silent, eyes fixed on my chest.
I squeezed her arm. Hard. "Explain it. Now."
"Bicycle," she ground out. "When I was ten."
"Every imperfection tells a story. I want yours." I rubbed my thumb over the scar tissue. "It devalues the merchandise."
She looked like she was going to spit on me. I waited for it. Dared her to do it. But she held it back. Smart girl.
"Turn around, Vance. Now."
She hesitated. Her eyes darted to the door. Calculating the odds. The distance.
"Don't make me ask again," I said, my voice dropping to that register that makes grown men shit themselves. "Your back, Vance. Face away from me."
She let out a shaky breath, defeated, and turned. The movement was stiff, robotic.
Now I had her back. The expanse of pale skin, the delicate ridge of her spine. I pressed my palm flat against the small of her back. She arched instantly, a sharp intake of breath hissing through her teeth. My hand was hot, burning against her cool skin.
"Flawless," I murmured.
I traced her spine down to the tailbone. One vertebra at a time. Her body was betraying her, shivering under my hand while her mind probably screamed murder.
"See how your body responds, Vance?"
I grabbed her hips. My fingers dug in, finding the bone. Solid. Wide enough for bearing heirs, narrow enough to look good in a silk dress. I spun her around to face me again. Rough. Fast.
"Lean frame. Responsive. Your body has a language all its own."
She was rigid, fists clenched at her sides so hard her knuckles looked like polished marble.
I crouched down. I didn't take my eyes off her legs. Long. Toned. I ran my hands down her thighs, over the knees, checking the calves. Muscle definition was good. She wasn’t weak. She’d fight.
"Lift, Vance."
She wobbled as she lifted her right foot. I checked the sole. Soft. Uncalloused. A life of luxury. I checked the other.
"No compromises. No hidden defects."
I stood up slowly, letting my body unfold until I was inches from her face again. The air between us was electric. Volatile.
"You hate me. I see it," I said.
Her chest was heaving. Her nipples were hard points against the air.
"That hate… it excites me, Vance. Don't ever hide it."
She looked at my mouth. Just for a split second. A slip.
"Bastard," she whispered.
I smirked. "Unmarked. And ready for the next phase of the audit, Scarlett. The real audit."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You said—"
"Your words are meaningless here, Scarlett. The verbal audit is over. The physical begins. You are mine. Down to the last cell."
I didn’t wait for permission. I didn’t need it. I reached out and cupped her breasts.
Her breath hitched, a strangled sound in her throat. My hands were rough, scarred from years of violence, holding delicate, pale flesh. I weighed them.
"Firm. Full," I noted, my tone clinical, detached.
I watched her face as I brushed my thumbs over her nipples. They were already hard, but they tightened further under the friction. She squeezed her eyes shut, head falling back a fraction.
"See how they respond, Scarlett? Your body has no lies."
A flush of red started at her chest and crept up her neck. Shame. Anger. Arousal. It was all bleeding together.
"Don't fight it, Scarlett. It's a waste of energy."
I slid my hands down her ribcage, over the flat plane of her stomach. Her abs contracted under my palms. She was fit. Tight.
"Soft, yet taut. Untouched."
I let my hands drop. "Wider, Vance. Now."
She didn't move. She just stood there, breathing like she’d run a mile.
I didn’t ask twice. I kicked the inside of her ankle with my boot, forcing her legs apart. She stumbled, gasping, her stance breaking open.
"I prefer obedience to argument," I muttered.
I dropped to my knees again. Right in front of her. Her scent hit me—musk, fear, and the unmistakable sweetness of a woman turned on against her will. It was heavy in the air. Intoxicating.
"You smell delicious, Scarlett. Like fear and desire."
She was trembling violently now. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.
I reached out. Two fingers. I didn’t hesitate. I slid them between her legs, parting the folds. She bucked, a reflex, trying to pull away, but I held her hip with my other hand, anchoring her.
I pushed inside. Just a check. Invasive. Possessive.
"Untouched. Perfect," I growled, feeling the tightness. "No one has been here before me. Good."
She let out a raw, broken sound. A sob mixed with a moan. Her head fell back, her neck exposed to the ceiling lights.
"Your body speaks volumes, Scarlett. Denial is futile."
Inside, she was wet. Slick. My cock twitched in my trousers, a violent surge of blood that I shoved down. Not yet.
I looked up. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, but her hips... her hips were tilting toward me. Micro-movements. Biology overriding logic.
"Mine," I whispered. "All of you."
I withdrew my fingers slowly. I brought them to my face, inhaling the scent of her juices on my skin. I rubbed my thumb against my fingers, feeling the slickness.
"Proof. Undeniable."
I stood up, towering over her again. The flush on her skin was blotchy now. She looked wrecked. Beautiful.
I slapped her inner thigh. Hard.
The sound cracked like a whip.
She gasped, eyes flying open, wide and shocked. The skin turned pink instantly where my hand had struck.
"Focus, Vance. You're not done yet."
I leaned in, bringing my lips right to her ear. I could feel the heat radiating off her.
"You're a liar, Scarlett," I murmured, letting the venom drip into her ear canal. "You say you hate me, but your cunt is already begging for more. And soon, you will too."
I pulled back to look at her one last time. She was shaking, ruined, and absolutely perfect.
"Don't ever lie to me, Scarlett. Your body doesn't lie. You will learn to crave my touch, my pain."
I turned my back on her and walked toward the bathroom to wash her off my hands. She didn't move. She didn't speak. She just stood there in the center of the room, stripped bare, listening to the water run.