Chapter 22 Vivian
VIVIAN
Eldora delivered a dress and instructed me to wear it to dinner.
The white silk clung to my skin, its soft texture doing little to calm my frayed nerves.
It was undeniably beautiful, the fabric skimming my curves and glimmering in the low light.
I hated it. It wasn’t me. This was straight out of one of Raffaele’s fantasies, a garment designed to transform me into some porcelain doll, delicate and ornamental.
I tugged at the hem, wishing for jeans and a hoodie, something I could disappear in.
The memory of Raffaele’s last “surprise” sat like a lead weight in my chest. His excitement had hummed through the bond when he’d mentioned it earlier, and it only made things worse. He had been excited the day he’d executed those guards right in front of me. What kind of man felt joy over that?
My hands trembled as I adjusted the dress, the thin straps slipping down my shoulders as if mocking my discomfort.
I looked in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back.
This wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me. No glasses and all dolled up.
I could tell from the feel of the fabric that this dress cost more than I’d ever made on any job.
I’d never spend a fortune on a dress like this.
A soft knock at the door broke my spiral of self-loathing. “Come in,” I called, my voice more brittle than I intended.
Eldora stepped inside. She was perfectly composed, every hair in place, her dark dress understated yet elegant. But it was her eyes that caught me—steady, kind, unyielding. She always seemed to carry a quiet strength that made me feel like I wasn’t completely alone.
“I thought you might need some company,” she said, her warm tone wrapping around me like a protective cloak. Her gaze flicked over me, and she smiled softly. “You look lovely.”
I scoffed. “I look like I belong in one of those creepy music boxes that plays on its own in the middle of the night.”
She chuckled. “Maybe. But you’d be the kind of music box people would fight to keep.”
Her words caught me off guard, cutting through the self-doubt I hadn’t even realized was bubbling to the surface. I met her gaze hesitantly, searching for any sign of pity. There was none. Only understanding.
“Do you know what this surprise is?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
Eldora’s smile faded slightly, her expression unreadable. “No. But he’s been… different today. Lighter. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s meant to hurt you.”
I wanted to believe her. Gods, I wanted to. But Raffaele Gallanti wasn’t exactly known for his kindness or altruism. Still, the sincerity in Eldora’s voice eased some of the tightness in my chest.
She stepped closer and brushed a stray strand of hair from my face.
“I’m sure you’ve been through worse than this, Vivian.
I can see years of pain and disappointment in your eyes.
I think people who have suffered can more easily recognize it in others.
And you’ve survived every time. You’ll survive this, too. ”
Her words soothed the raw edges of my fear. I nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “Thanks, Eldora.”
Her smile returned, soft and reassuring, the kind of smile that made you believe things might actually be okay. “Shall we?” she asked, extending her arm.
I looped mine through hers, grateful for the support as we left the room. The corridors were quiet, the grand halls stretching out ahead of us in a labyrinth of polished marble and dimly lit chandeliers. The silence should have been oppressive, but Eldora’s steady presence kept my nerves at bay.
When we reached the dining hall, I froze just outside the towering double doors. Eldora released my arm, giving me a gentle nudge forward. “You’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t sure if she believed that or just wanted me to believe, but her confidence steadied me. Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders, and stepped inside.
The room was just as grand as it always was, with its impossibly high ceilings and shimmering crystal chandeliers. The dining table stretched out before me, its dark wood gleaming under the soft glow of candlelight. Everything looked pristine, untouched. Normal.
But normal in Raffaele’s world wasn’t the same as normal anywhere else.
I scanned the room, searching for any sign of him or whatever twisted surprise he had planned. My heart raced as I looked for cages, weapons, anything that hinted at violence. But there was nothing. Just the clink of silverware as the staff set the table.
“Vivian.” His voice cut through the stillness, low and smooth, as he entered the room.
He walked over to the table and leaned against his chair, his dark suit perfectly tailored, his tie slightly loosened as if he were playing at being approachable.
But his eyes were as sharp as ever, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“You’re late,” he said.
I clenched my hands at my sides, willing myself to stay composed. “I didn’t realize we were on a schedule.”
He smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriating way that made me want to throw something. “Of course we are. You don’t think I planned this evening for nothing, do you?”
My stomach tightened, the bond between us thrumming with his amusement. He was enjoying this… the anticipation, the control. I gritted my teeth and took a step forward, determined not to let him see how much he was getting to me.
“Well?” I asked, crossing my arms. “What’s the surprise?”
He straightened and gestured toward the table. “Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll get to it?”
I hesitated, glancing from him to the table.
There was nothing overtly threatening about the setup, but my nerves were far from settled.
Still, I forced myself to move, taking the seat he pulled out for me.
His hand brushed my shoulder as I sat, the touch light but deliberate, and I fought the urge to flinch.
The staff began bringing out dishes, the smell of rich, decadent food filling the air. But I barely noticed. My attention was fixed on him, on the way he watched me with that unreadable expression, as if he were waiting for something.
He crossed the space between us with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate, his dark eyes locked on mine. When he knelt beside me, the sheer intimacy of the gesture sent a confusing wave of emotions crashing through me. He held a small, elegant box and presented it like an offering.
I stared at it, swallowing hard. What was inside? Something cruel? Something symbolic? My hands shook as I accepted it, the fine texture of the box cool against my palms. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted the lid, half-expecting to find a severed finger or some other macabre reminder of his dominance.
Instead, I found… purple silicone?
I froze, blinking down at what was clearly some kind of sex toy. It was sleek and curved. Heat rushed to my face, and I snapped the lid shut, shoving it back into his chest with a sharp gasp.
He looked infuriatingly smug, the corner of his mouth curling in that way that made me want to slap him—and maybe kiss him, which only made it worse.
“Since you’re such a bad fucking girl,” he drawled, his voice low and intimate, meant only for me, “trying to take control of me with your body, I thought I’d show you exactly who’s in charge of your pussy.”
I stiffened. The bond thrummed, amplifying his amusement and the dark desire that coiled beneath his calm demeanor. It seeped into me, making my skin flush and my heart race. I hated how his emotions affected me, how my body betrayed me under his scrutiny.
“Raffaele,” I hissed. “There are people here.”
His gaze flicked lazily around the room, where guards stood like statues along the walls, and kitchen staff moved in and out with practiced efficiency. None of them even glanced our way.
“Pay no mind to them. I’ve illusioned you as a vampire prisoner of war, so no one will know who you really are. Plus, they know better than to interfere.”
The weight of his presence and the command in his voice made it impossible to argue.
My body tensed as I glanced down at the box still in his hand, my lips parting to protest. But then a wave of lust so strong it made me dizzy washed over me.
His. It radiated through the bond, curling hot and insistent.
I bit my lip, trying to ignore the ache pooling low in my belly.
“You’ve never used a toy before, have you?” he asked teasingly.
There was no use in lying when the bond would refute whatever I said. “No.”
His smirk widened, and he opened the box again, removing the toy with deliberate slowness. “It’s simple,” he said, holding it up so I couldn’t avoid looking at it. “The longer side fills you, and the smaller piece presses against your clit. You’ll figure it out.”
I swallowed hard, my breathing uneven as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Now, pull off your panties.”
My heart pounded as I glanced around the room again, but his voice kept me rooted in place. The bond thrummed with his desire, his anticipation, and it was impossible to separate his emotions from my own. Why did I want this? Why didn’t I say no?
“Do it,” he urged, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Now.”
Hands trembling, I slid my panties down to my ankles. His gaze darkened as he watched me, his breathing steady but heavy with anticipation.
“Open your legs.”
I hesitated, my face burning, but the pull of his command and the thrumming bond made resistance futile. Slowly, I parted my thighs, the cool air biting against the heat building inside of me.
He moved slowly, almost reverently, as if savoring the moment.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice softer now, a whisper against my skin. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But something tells me my naughty wife won’t.”