Chapter 9 – Violet
“I saw you before you even knew my name.”
“I care.”
I haven’t moved from the corner since Kaz left.
His words still echo through my mind like they’re stitched into the silence.
I replay every word, every glance, every restrained touch. I shouldn’t believe him. He’s the reason I’m here, locked away in a mansion like a prized antique he’s too afraid to break. But when he looked at me tonight—when he said those things—he didn’t sound like a captor.
He sounded like a man losing control.
And maybe that’s what scares me the most.
Because a part of me—God help me—wants to believe him.
A part of me aches at the thought of him caring…aches in places I’ve tried to ignore.
But that same part wonders what it even means to be cared for by a man like Kazimir.
Is it protection? Possession? Obsession?
And what if it’s all of them?
I’m still on the floor, knees drawn to my chest, when the door clicks open. I expect one of the silent guards or another tray of untouched food. But when I look up, it’s Arina.
Colorful, chaotic, unbothered Arina.
Only…not today.
They step in quietly, locking the door behind them. Their usual sleeveless top is bright pink with orange flames down the front, but the energy doesn’t match. Their shoulders are tense. Their mouth drawn tight.
“Hey,” I say, standing slowly.
Arina doesn’t answer right away. They just study me for a second—like they’re trying to figure out how to say something without making it worse.
“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. “You look…not like you.”
That pulls a soft, hollow laugh from them. “Yeah. That’s because things aren’t okay.”
They cross the room and sit on the edge of the chaise by the window, exhaling hard.
“I didn’t come here to cheer you up,” they say. “I came because you need to know the truth.”
My spine straightens. “Okay….”
Arina runs a hand over their cropped blond hair, black nail polish chipped. “You weren’t supposed to matter this much, Violet.”
The words hit like a slap. “What?”
“To Kaz,” they clarify. “You weren’t supposed to be more than a problem. A loose end. But now….”
They trail off.
“What?” I push.
“Now he’s unraveling.”
Silence stretches between us.
“You think I don’t see it?” Arina continues. “The way he watches those cameras. The way he talks to himself when you cry. The way he almost beat a man to death today, just because you were in danger? Kaz doesn’t lose control. He doesn’t panic. But you…you make him forget who he is.”
I stare at the floor, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress.
“And that’s a bad thing?” I whisper.
“Yes,” Arina says. “Because Kaz can’t afford to forget who he is. He has too many enemies watching him. Waiting for the moment he slips. And you”—they motion toward me— “you’ve become the slip.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“I know you didn’t,” Arina says gently. “And I know you didn’t do anything wrong. But this world—his world—doesn’t care about right or wrong. It only cares about weakness. And you’ve become his.”
I don’t know how to respond.
I don’t even know how to feel.
Because for the first time, I wonder if caring for Kaz is as dangerous for me as it is for him. I sit beside Arina on the chaise, the room suddenly feeling too quiet. Too still.
Their words keep circling my brain like sharks—you’ve become the slip.
But there’s something else that’s been bothering me more.
That one sentence Kaz said. The one I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since it left his lips.
“Kaz said something to me.” I turn to Arina. “I need to know what it means.”
They frown. “What did he say?”
“He said he saw me before I knew his name,” I press. “That wasn’t just some poetic Mafia thing, right? He meant it literally.”
Arina doesn’t respond immediately. They bite the inside of their cheek, tattoos rippling as their jaw tenses.
“Arina,” I say more firmly. “What did he mean?”
They still don’t answer.
Instead, they rise from the chaise and walk toward the bookshelf, running their fingers across the spines like they’re searching for something.
“Arina.”
Before Arina can respond, the door opens with a low creak. Kaz steps into the room like a storm dressed in tailored calm. His eyes land on me first—searching, unreadable—then flick briefly to Arina.
Arina stiffens. “I should go.”
Without waiting for permission, they slip past Kaz and out the door, shutting it softly behind them.
The silence stretches between us like a thread pulled too tight. Kaz’s voice is low, controlled. “I’m here to bring you downstairs.”
I blink. “Downstairs?”
He nods. “The estate has a private lounge. We’re having dinner there tonight.”
I cross my arms. “We?”
“Yes, Violet. We. I want to eat with you.”
There’s no invitation in his tone. It’s a decision. A command wrapped in charm and steel. I want to argue and refuse, but at the last minute, I change my mind. I nod quietly. “Fine.”
He doesn’t say anything more—just steps back and lets me pass him, but I pause at the edge of the bedroom.
“I need a minute. To change,” I murmur, motioning toward the closet.
Kaz nods once, and I disappear behind the door.
Inside, I take a breath and stare at the rack of clothes I never asked for.
Satin, silk, lace—dresses that hug and tease and whisper of wealth.
I brush my fingers across a red dress, the fabric cool and soft, the kind that slides over your skin like water. I pick this one.
I change quickly, slipping into the dress and smoothing it down my thighs. I don’t look at my reflection, but I see it in Kaz’s eyes when I leave the closet. The heat.
It flashes through his gaze like a flare—hot, primal, unhidden—and for a second, it silences the world.
He doesn’t speak. Just straightens, slow and deliberate.
The air between us grows tighter with every second, and my pulse kicks up when he finally steps aside and says, “This way.”
I follow him down the winding staircase. It’s the first time I’ve walked beside him like this, not as a prisoner or a threat—but something else. I’m too cowardly to even put a name to it.
We walk through the hushed corridor until we reach what must be the estate’s private lounge. It’s beautiful. Of course it is. Warm lighting, soft jazz humming from hidden speakers, a table set for two, like we’re about to have a date.
Kaz pulls out a chair for me. I hesitate for half a second, then sit. He takes the seat across from me and pours a glass of red wine without asking.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
I don’t respond. I lay the napkin across my lap and stare at the plate in front of me, hands clenched in my lap so tightly my nails bite into my skin.
He tries again. “You like Merlot, right?”
I finally look up at him. “You’ve been spying on me. Of course, you know what I like.”
He sighs, low and tired, like I’m the one making things difficult. “I’m trying to make this easier.”
“For who?” I ask, voice flat. “You or me?”
He doesn’t answer.
The silence stretches. I don’t break it. I won’t.
“I thought dinner might help,” he says finally. “Maybe we could talk.”
I let out a laugh—sharp, humorless. “Talk? About what? The weather? My imprisonment?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.
“You said you were a literature major,” he says instead. “What’s your favorite book?”
I give him a look that could cut steel. “You don’t get to ask me things like that, Kazimir.”
“I’m trying, Violet.”
“Well, don’t,” I snap. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
Another pause. It drags, thick and slow. I can feel him watching me, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I push the food around on my plate. My appetite left me the night I was thrown into the back of a car and blindfolded.
He leans forward, voice softer. “You hate me. I can live with that. But starving yourself won’t make this better.”
“I’m not starving,” I mutter. “I’m just not hungry.”
His voice sharpens. “Why are you being like this, Violet?”
I finally snap. “Like what, Kaz? Like someone you kidnapped? Like someone who wants her life back?”
He slams his glass down. “You act like I haven’t given you comfort. Safety. Like I haven’t been—”
“Been what?” I cut him off. “My captor? My twisted benefactor? You think dressing me in silk and feeding me dinner erases the fact that I’m your prisoner?”
He shoots to his feet, his voice rising like thunder. “I never meant for this to happen—”
“Oh, spare me,” I snap. “You chose this. You chose to take me. You chose to watch me like some sick voyeur.”
He’s growling now, jaw tight. “You think I’m obsessed?”
“Aren’t you?” I fire back.
“Yes,” he snarls. “Yes, I’m obsessed. But not the way you think. You have no idea how deep this runs, Violet. I didn’t plan this. I didn’t expect you to burn through my fucking mind like a fever—”
I don’t let him finish. I grab the wine glass and throw it in his face. The liquid splashes across his skin, staining his shirt deep red.
“You’re a psycho,” I spit.
He doesn’t flinch.
Instead, he lunges forward and grabs my wrist, yanking me flush against his chest. My breath stutters. His hand is tight, but not painful—firm like a wall I can’t push through. My heart thunders.
His voice drops to a dangerous murmur, all fury and fire. “Then tell me why you’re trembling.”
My lips part. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.
“Every time I touch you,” he continues, gaze burning into mine, “you start shaking. Why, solnyshko? What are you so afraid of?”
His Russian nickname coils around my neck like a leash.
I swallow hard, pulse hammering. My fingers twitch against the silk of his shirt.
The heat of him. The scent. His nearness.
It makes me dizzy. I stay frozen in his grip, our bodies so close I can feel the rise and fall of his chest. The pulse in my throat flutters wildly, and my lips move before my mind can catch up.
“I’ve never done this before,” I whisper.
Kaz stiffens.
His hand doesn’t release me. But he stops breathing. Eyes locked to mine. Something flickers behind the blue—like confusion, maybe even disbelief. His hold softens just slightly, but the weight of his stare only grows heavier.
“What do you mean?” he asks, voice rough, barely above a whisper.
I inhale shakily, trying not to look away. “I’ve never…been touched. Not like that.”
The silence that follows feels like it could shatter glass.
Kaz stares at me like I’ve said something impossible. His brows twitch. His jaw goes slack. “You’re a virgin?”
I nod, throat dry. “Yes.”
I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate that I’m even saying it. But it’s the truth—and it’s the reason why my body recoils and reacts all at once every time he comes close. I don’t know how to process this—the intensity in his eyes, the way his presence fills every room and every inch of me.
“That’s why you…?” He trails off, blinking slowly. “Why my touch scares you?”
I nod again. “You’re deep and dark and intense, Kaz. You look at me like you could swallow me whole. And I don’t even know how to breathe around that. I’ve never been with anyone like that. So yes—your proximity scares me. Because I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what to do with you.”
To my surprise, Kaz lets go of me.
He doesn’t say a word. Just turns on his heel and walks out of the dining hall, leaving me standing there, breathless and shaking in silence.
I hesitate for only a moment before following him.
Down the hallway, the air is colder—sharper. I stop at the threshold and watch as he stalks toward the far end, fists clenched at his sides. Then, with a low growl, he slams one fist into the wall beside him. The sound makes me flinch. A framed painting rattles against the force.
He leans there, chest heaving, jaw tight, looking like he’s fighting himself.
I should leave. I should turn back and pretend I didn’t follow him.
But I don’t.
I stay.
And then Maxim appears.
He comes from the opposite direction, walking into the scene like he already knows what just happened. He doesn't see me. Instead, his gaze settles on his boss—his friend—with a knowing expression.
“What the hell happened?” Maxim asks, voice low but not without concern.
Kaz doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look up. Just grunts, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking from where I stand.
But Maxim seems to understand anyway.
“Don’t,” he says, stepping closer to him. “If you touch her now, she’ll never come back from it.”
Kaz still says nothing.
“She’s not like the others,” Maxim adds. “You know that. You’ve always known that.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. Maxim drops his voice even lower. “Don’t ruin her, Kaz. You’ll have to let go eventually. As soon as she’s safe, send her back to her life. Please.”
That—that—makes Kaz finally lift his head. He looks at Maxim with something like fire in his eyes, but it’s the kind of fire that’s burning him alive from the inside.
And I don’t know what stuns me more.
The fact that he walked away from me…or the fact that someone like him could be holding himself back.
Because of me.
I stay rooted where I am, half-hidden in the hallway shadows, listening.
Waiting.
Maxim’s words hang in the air—you’ll have to let go eventually—and for a heartbeat, all I can hear is the dull pounding of blood in my ears.
Then Kaz finally speaks, his voice rough and low.
“She was ruined,” he says, “the second she looked at me with those eyes.”
My breath catches.
Ruined?
I don’t even know what that means—what he means. Is he blaming me? Blaming himself? Or both?
I don’t understand any of it.
But what I understand even less…is the sting I feel in my chest when Maxim says Kaz will have to let me go. And Kaz doesn’t argue.
He doesn’t fight it.
He will let me go.
And that should be a good thing. I should feel relieved—ecstatic, even. The idea of walking out of this twisted mansion, of getting my life back, should be everything I want.
But….
But then why does something in me ache at the thought?
Why does some small, traitorous part of me not want to leave?
I don’t have an answer. Only the tight pull in my chest as I take a slow step back, slipping away from the doorway and back down the hall before they realize I ever heard a word of it.