CHAPTER 17
NIKOLAI P.O.V.
The dawn looked like a bruised plum. Purple, gray, ugly.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, staring out at the manicured grounds of the estate, the condensation on the window cooling my fingertips.
I was half-naked, just the trousers, letting the morning chill bite into the fresh scratches on my back.
Behind me, the bed was a wreck of dark silk and pale limbs. Scarlett was asleep. Finally.
She looked dead to the world. Hair tangled across her face, one arm thrown over the edge of the mattress, the bruises on her wrist stark against the white sheets. She didn't look peaceful. She looked used. Good. That was the point.
My phone vibrated on the marble side table. A short, sharp buzz that sounded like a warning shot.
I walked over, snatching it up. Encrypted line. Hassan.
Marco is asking questions. Used the word 'softness' in the briefing. He’s scheduling an audit. Says the asset is a liability.
My grip tightened until the metal casing creaked.
Softness.
The word tasted like bile. Marco was a number-crunching rat who wouldn't know how to handle a woman like Scarlett if she came with an instruction manual. But he had the board’s ear.
An audit meant they were coming to assess the value of the collateral.
If the numbers didn't add up—if the debt wasn't being serviced—they’d liquidate her.
Put a bullet in her head and write it off as a tax loss.
I looked back at the bed. At the rise and fall of her chest.
I don’t bleed for people. I don’t save people. But the thought of Marco’s greased-up hands touching her, or some low-level enforcer putting a piece of lead in her brain, made my vision blur with red static.
She wasn't collateral anymore. She was an addiction. And you don't let people steal your fix.
I typed back: Let him come. I’ll show him the books.
I tossed the phone down. It clattered loudly.
Scarlett shifted. The sheets rustled, sliding down her hip to reveal a dark, fresh mark I’d left there hours ago.
She didn't cover it. She opened her eyes, hazel and sharp, clearing instantly of sleep. No fear. Not anymore. Just that wariness of a stray dog waiting to see if it’s getting kicked or fed.
"Morning, Scarlett," I said, my voice rough with morning gravel. "Did you sleep well after our negotiations?"
She pushed herself up on her elbows, the movement languid. "I sleep when you let me, Nikolai."
"Your silence is proof of your obedience."
"My silence is exhaustion," she shot back. "There's a difference."
"Not to me."
I walked past the bed to the oak paneling on the far wall. I pressed my thumb against the biometric scanner hidden in the molding. The panel hissed, sliding back to reveal the steel face of the wall safe.
I could feel her eyes on my back. burning. wondering.
I spun the dial. Left. Right. Left. The tumblers clicked into place—heavy, mechanical sounds in the quiet room. I pulled the handle and reached into the darkness, my fingers closing around the velvet box I’d had commissioned three weeks ago. It was heavy. Dense.
"You wonder what I retrieved, don't you, cunt?" I asked, not turning around yet.
"I wonder only when you will stop treating me like furniture," she said. Her voice was steady, but I heard the tremor. She knew the safe was for guns and cash. She didn't know about the third category.
"Silence," I snapped, shutting the safe with a slam. "You'll speak when I tell you to breathe."
I turned. The velvet box sat in my palm like a judgment.
"Get up."
She hesitated. A microsecond of defiance, just enough to remind me she still had a spine, before she threw the duvet back. She swung her legs out and stood up. Naked. Unashamed. The morning light hit the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the red marks on her thighs.
She was a masterpiece of ruin.
"Center of the room," I commanded. "Face the mirror."
She walked over, her bare feet silent on the plush rug. She stood before the full-length gilded mirror, her arms at her sides. She didn't cover herself. She just watched my reflection as I stalked up behind her.
I stopped a foot away. I could smell her—sex, sleep, and the expensive shampoo I forced her to use.
"Turn around. Slowly."
She pivoted. Her chin was high.
"You were made for silk and diamonds, Scarlett," I said, my eyes dragging over her. "You were never meant for freedom."
"Is this another lesson?" she asked.
"No. This is a receipt."
I popped the velvet box open.
She gasped. A sharp, audible intake of air that sucked the room dry.
Inside wasn't a ring. It wasn't a necklace.
It was a choker. Thick, solid platinum, paved with hundreds of high-clarity diamonds that caught the bruised light of dawn and fractured it into a blinding spray of rainbows.
It didn't have a clasp. It had a hinge and a locking mechanism that required a specialized key.
It was beautiful. And it was absolutely a shackle.
"It's..." She trailed off, staring at the blinding white fire in the box. "It's stunning. And hideous."
"It cost more than your dowry ever would have," I said, taking it out. It was heavy in my hand, cold as ice. "It's a worthy cage."
"Why?" she whispered.
I stepped closer, invading her space until my chest brushed her bare breasts.
"Your father defaulted this morning," I told her. Blunt. No sugarcoating. "Aris Vance is gone. The syndicate has marked the debt as bad. As of 6:00 AM, you are no longer collateral subject to recovery. You are a write-off."
Her face went pale, the blood draining out so fast she looked like marble. She swayed, just once, then locked her knees.
"He... he left me?"
"He traded you for smoke. He is dead to us. Which means, by the laws of my world, you should be dead too."
I held the collar up. The diamonds glittered, cold and indifferent.
"The collateral debt is closed, Scarlett. The new terms are Nikolai Smirnov's terms."
She looked from the collar to my eyes. The realization hit her. This wasn't jewelry. This was a stay of execution.
"Look at the diamonds," I ordered. "They mark the exact value of your freedom."
"I have none," she said, her voice hollow.
"Correct. You have protection. Or you have a bullet.
" I moved behind her, my hands heavy on her bare shoulders.
I felt the fine tremors running through her trapezius muscles.
"This is your shield, Scarlett. And your leash. Wear this, and Marco will know you are my wife, my property, my queen. No one else’s.
If you wear this, touching you is an act of war against me. "
She looked at her own reflection. A naked woman standing in a predator's bedroom, offered a choice that wasn't a choice.
"Do you understand the price of my protection?" I whispered into her ear. "It is everything."
She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, the hazel was darker. Harder.
"Give me the neck, Scarlett. Show me that you are ready."
She didn't fight. She didn't argue. She tilted her head back, lifting her heavy auburn hair with both hands, exposing the long, pale column of her throat. An offering. A sacrifice.
"If you scream, it will be the last mistake you make," I murmured, bringing the cold metal to her skin.
She hissed as the platinum touched her warmth. I wrapped it around her throat. It fit perfectly. Snug, high, restrictive. I aligned the hinge and pressed the mechanism together.
CLICK.
The sound was loud. Final. Mechanical.
It was the sound of a jail cell slamming shut. It was the sound of a wedding vow.
I pocketed the small, intricate key into my trousers.
"That sound is the debt being closed," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "You belong to the House of Smirnov now. Try to run, I will find you, and I will hang you by this thing."
She reached up, her fingers trembling as they touched the diamonds. She traced the hard metal band. She stared at herself in the mirror. The collar changed her. She didn't look like a victim anymore. She looked like something expensive and dangerous.
"Home, Scarlett," I said. "You are finally home."
She turned around in my arms. Her hands grabbed my wrists, holding on tight. She looked up at me, and for the first time, she didn't look at me with hatred. She looked at me with recognition.
"The girl at the gala was weak," she whispered. "This... this makes me real."
"You accept it?"
"I choose this," she said fiercely. "I choose your protection, Nikolai." Her thumbs dug into my pulse points. "I won't beg you to take it off."
"Good." I grabbed the front of the collar, my fingers slipping between the metal and her windpipe, and pulled her up onto her toes. "Because you're never getting the key."
She gasped, her body arching into mine. I crushed my mouth to hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was a raid. I plundered her mouth, tasting the salt of her sweat and the stale taste of sleep. She tasted like mine.
"Say bastard into my mouth," I demanded against her lips.
"Bastard," she breathed, biting my lower lip.
I spun her around, forcing her back toward the mirror. "Look at the mark, Scarlett. Watch me take what I own."
I shoved her forward until her palms slapped against the glass. The reflection showed a beast in trousers and a naked woman wearing a fortune on her throat.
"You are the most beautiful caged thing I've ever seen," I growled.
I grabbed the back of the collar, using it to control her head, forcing her to look up, to keep her eyes on the glass.
"Beg the diamonds to save you."
"Nikolai..."
"Open for me, Scarlett. The collar demands it."
She spread her legs, her breath fogging the glass. She was wet. Ready. Her body knew who the master was even if her mind was still catching up. I didn't waste time with foreplay. The collar was the foreplay.
I unzipped my trousers, freeing myself. Hard. Aching.
"I want you to see what I do to you," I said, pressing my hips against her buttocks. "Hold onto the glass. Don't look away from your queen's reflection."
I grabbed her hips, bruising the skin, and drove into her.
One thrust. Deep. To the hilt.
"MINE!" I snarled.
She screamed. A raw, shattered sound that bounced off the glass. Her head snapped back, the collar digging into her neck, but she didn't pull away. She pushed back.
"Say my name! Say owner!"
"Owner!" she cried out, her nails scratching down the mirror. "Fuck! Nikolai, harder!"
"Yes. I want that sound. My pet's beautiful sound."
I set a rhythm that was purely punitive.
Every thrust slammed her against the cold surface.
I watched the diamonds in the mirror. They flashed and sparked with every impact, a chaotic light show around her throat.
The metal bit into her skin, leaving red marks around the edges, but she seemed to feed on it.
"I own this reaction," I gritted out, sweat dripping down my temple. "I own this noise. I own this body."
I pulled on the collar, arching her back, making the facets cut.
"Does it feel better than the freedom you lost? Tell me!"
"Yes!" She was sobbing now, but it was the sobbing of release, not sorrow. "Yes! Take it, Nikolai! Take it all!"
"You want me to ruin you? Is that your command, Queen?"
"Ruin me!"
She wrapped one leg back around my waist, locking me in. Trapping me inside her heat. She was tight, clamping down on me like a vice.
I leaned forward, biting the sensitive cord of muscle where her neck met her shoulder, right below the platinum band.
"Mine," I vibrated the word against her skin.
She shuddered violently. "I am... yours. Only yours."
"Good. Never forget the weight of that word, Scarlett."
The friction was too much. The sight of her—collared, bent over, taking everything I had—pushed me over the edge. She hit her peak first, her body convulsing, her internal muscles milking me, her scream muffled as I clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Bite down, little bitch. Feel the collar. Come for the diamonds! Come for the ownership!"
She broke apart in my arms, tremors racking her frame.
I followed her down a second later, pouring myself into her with a guttural roar that tore my throat. It was violent and absolute.
I collapsed forward, resting my forehead against the cool glass next to her face, my weight pinning her to the mirror. Our heavy breathing filled the silence. The fog on the mirror obscured our faces, leaving only the glitter of the diamonds clear.
"This is how you get paid, Scarlett," I whispered, my voice thick. "In pain and property."
She didn't move. She just leaned back against me, her heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird that had finally stopped trying to find the window.
"We belong in the dark together," I said.
I pulled back slowly, zipping up. She slid down the mirror slightly, her legs shaking, but she stayed upright. She reached up, her fingers finding the cold platinum band again. Then, she reached back, finding my hand. Her fingers curled around my ring finger.
"Rest, Scarlett," I commanded, stepping away. "I have work to do, and you have a crown to wear."
She turned, sliding down to sit on the floor, back against the mirror, knees to her chest. She looked like a wreckage. She looked perfect.
"Don't leave the key, Nikolai," she murmured, her eyes closing. "Never leave the key."
I patted my pocket where the cold metal sat against my hip.
"Never."