Chapter 20 #2
I sat frozen while he peeled the stockings down, slow and uninvited. His eyes crawled over me like I was something he’d already claimed. The hunger in them made me want to fold in on myself and disappear.
I wanted Maksym. I needed him. But I couldn’t text. Not with Felix this close. Not with his hands still on my skin.
Please don’t come closer. Please don’t touch me. Please just watch and leave it at that.
I pulled the dress from the box, still in my underwear. It was beautiful, expensive, and exactly what I feared—open in the back. My fingers stalled at my bra strap. I turned my back to him, jaw tight, pretending I didn’t notice how hard he was watching me.
My hands trembled as I unhooked the bra, slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor without looking at him.
I stepped into the emerald silk quickly, trying to move with purpose, to keep control.
The fabric clung to my skin, cold and smooth.
My hands fumbled slightly as I adjusted the front, every motion slow and uncertain.
I could see him in the mirror, leaning back, lips parted like he was enjoying a private show.
He stepped closer and reached behind me to fasten the dress, his fingers brushing my back, lingering where they shouldn’t. My throat tightened and I fought the urge to gag.
“Beautiful,” he exhaled, the word lingering for a moment before he added, quieter, “Almost mine.”
Then his hand fisted into my hair without warning, tugging hard enough to make me gasp as he pulled my head back.
For a second, he held me there—controlled, exposed—before easing his grip just enough to gather my hair and lift it away from my neck.
“Put it up,” he murmured, voice low and commanding.
“You have such a beautiful neck. I want everyone to see it.”
We drove in silence.
The car slid through the city like it owned the streets, windows dark, engine purring. I stared out at the blur of lights and told myself to endure it. Just get through the evening. Smile if I had to. Don’t provoke him. Go home. Lock the door. Wait for Maksym. That was the plan. That was all I had.
The hotel towered above the street in polished glass and white marble, all understated luxury and old-money discretion, the kind of place where power checked in quietly and never signed its real name.
Felix’s driver stepped out—a tall, broad man with a cold, unreadable face.
Not just a driver. A guard. He handed the keys to the valet without a word, eyes scanning the sidewalk, the lobby, me.
Then Felix was beside me, reaching for my arm.
He didn’t ask. He guided it into the crook of his elbow like I was a doll, fingers tightening just enough to let me know I couldn’t pull away.
“Stay close,” he murmured, pleasant enough for anyone watching.
Inside, the bar was already full. Not loud but crowded with young, polished people who knew exactly how much they were worth.
Men in tailored suits, nearly all of them accompanied by a woman on their arm.
Watches that gleamed under the dim lights, shoes untouched by city grime.
The kind of people who never waited in line for anything. The kind I’d grown up around.
I didn’t recognize a single face. Not that it mattered.
I could smell criminals from a mile away, thanks to my dear father.
This was definitely one of Felix’s filthy little gatherings—men with too much money and no conscience, doing god knows what to get richer.
A few bodyguards lingered at the edges, pretending to be furniture. Drinks were poured without asking.
Something about this place crawled under my skin.
I couldn’t quite name it, but a chill slid through me every time my eyes met one of the girls’.
There was something wrong here. They were beautiful—almost unnaturally so.
Not flashy, not desperate for attention.
Just polished. Long hair styled perfectly, makeup flawless, dresses expensive but deliberately restrained—nothing bold enough to outshine the men at their sides.
Each of them looked placed there with intention, like the final detail added to complete a display.
Their smiles never reached their eyes. A few stared past conversations as if they were somewhere else entirely. One girl laughed half a second too late at something her companion said. Another flinched—so small it was almost invisible—when the man at her side tightened his hand around her waist.
I watched that one for a moment too long.
She couldn’t have been older than me. Maybe younger. Or maybe it was just the way she held herself, too still, too careful. A couple of them looked almost underage in the low light—wide eyes, smooth faces—but I told myself it was just makeup, just youth. Just my imagination running in circles.
Still, the unease settled in my stomach like bad liquor.
Felix guided me through the room, introducing me as if I were an accessory.
He kept repeating it. “This is my fiancée. Kira.” Like saying it out loud made it real.
I gave the bare minimum—a nod, the flicker of a smile.
I knew I wasn’t selling it. Every muscle in my body was too tight.
My jaw was clenched so hard I thought I’d crack a tooth.
I was trying. God, I was trying. But I’d never been good at pretending I wasn’t dying inside.
One of the men—dark hair, smug grin, a woman draped on his arm—tilted his head as he looked at me.
“Well,” he said lightly, glass raised, “she looks thrilled.”
There was a beat of silence.
I said nothing.
Felix’s arm tightened around mine.
He leaned down, his mouth close to my ear, his smile still perfectly in place. “Fix your face,” he said quietly. “Don’t humiliate me in front of my friends.”
My stomach twisted. I forced my lips into something that might pass for pleasant. Lifted my chin and let him parade me from one conversation to the next, my arm aching where his fingers dug in whenever I slowed.
Men drifted through the room with quiet authority, leaning close to murmur things that made the girls nod automatically.
Every so often, one of them would guide a girl away—not roughly, not dramatically.
Just a hand at the back, a tilt of the head toward the elevators framed in glass at the far end of the lobby.
Felix noticed where my gaze lingered.
He leaned close, breath brushing my ear. “You could be one of them,” he said lightly.
I stiffened. “What do you mean?”
He only smiled—a slow, knowing curve of his mouth—and straightened without answering. A chill settled deep in my chest.
I kept telling myself the same thing.
It will be over soon.
I will go home.
And when night falls, Maksym will come.
I held onto that thought like a lifeline, even as Felix’s hand slid possessively to the small of my back, even as his voice continued to introduce me like something already claimed.
I just had to survive the evening.
He finally started saying his goodbyes, and I exhaled slowly, relief blooming in my chest. I was already angling toward the exit, desperate for the night to be over.
His gaze slid past me, toward the lobby, toward the elevators rising in quiet columns of glass. “Where are you going?” he asked.
I frowned, my hand tightening in his sleeve. “Home,” I said, because that was what made sense. Because that was what I’d been holding onto.
He looked at me then, and there was something almost amused in his eyes. “Oh,” he said lightly. “You thought we were leaving?”
My heart stuttered.
He smiled. “I got us a room.”
The words dropped straight through me, heavy and final.
“A room?” I echoed, stupidly. “Why would—Felix, why?”
He clicked his tongue, already steering me away from the bar, away from the exit. “Don’t play innocent,” he said, voice low, indulgent. “We both know you’re not.”
I felt cold all at once.
“Those pretty little sounds you’ve been making at night?” he murmured. “I want them in my ear. While I’m inside you.”
My stomach turned.
“This is just practical,” he went on. “I need to know what I’m marrying. You don’t buy cargo without inspecting it first.”
The words lodged in my chest and stayed there.
He tugged me toward the elevators. I stumbled, my heel catching, panic breaking through the careful stillness I’d been holding all evening.
I needed Maksym.
My hand slid into my bag on instinct, fingers closing around my phone. I kept my face neutral as the screen lit in my palm, typing without really looking.
Felix
Fairmont
I tried to add more. A floor. Anything.
“What are you doing?” Felix asked sharply.
I lifted my eyes, keeping my voice steady with effort. “I was just letting Father know I’ll be out late, that’s all.”
His hand shot out, snatching the phone from mine before I could react. His eyes dropped to the screen, reading both messages.
“Who is Katya?” he asked, voice suddenly quieter—and colder.
My stomach twisted. “Just a friend. It was just a precaution… I’m scared of you.”
That last part wasn’t a lie. Maybe if I said it, he’d find some sliver of decency. Maybe he wouldn’t touch me.
But his expression darkened instead. The elevator doors opened and his hand closed around my wrist. “Let’s go,” he hissed. “You just made things a lot worse.”
He yanked me forward.
My heels caught the threshold; I stumbled, barely keeping upright as he strode out into the hallway. The carpet blurred under my feet. His pace was merciless, long legs eating distance while I half-ran, half-tripped to keep up, the stilettos wobbling dangerously.
When we reached the suite, his guard—the same one from the car, was already waiting outside the door, silent and alert.
I could hear my own breathing too clearly—thin, uneven, and ragged with panic—as Felix unlocked the door and pushed it open. The soft hush of the room made everything louder: my heartbeat, the drag of air in my lungs, the faint click of the latch behind us.
As he turned to shut the door, I ran.
My heels skidded against the polished marble floor, throwing off my balance, but I made it to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me. The lock clicked just as his weight crashed into it.
“You fucking bitch!” he roared.
The door rattled in its frame as he pounded against it. “Open this door. Now.”
He kicked it, once, then again—each impact louder, angrier. I jumped back, breath catching in my throat as I backed against the vanity.
“Open it. Open the fucking door or I swear to God I’ll peel it off with my teeth.”
I collapsed onto the toilet seat, my chest heaving, the porcelain cool beneath my shaking thighs. My phone—he had it. I couldn’t call anyone. No one even knew where I was. No one except Maksym—and God only knew if he’d seen the messages in time.
My purse was still slung over one shoulder—a detail I was suddenly grateful for.
Before leaving the house, I’d pretended to search for lipstick, fumbling through drawers and muttering excuses while I slid Maksym’s knife deep into the side pocket.
That flimsy moment of deception might be the only thing standing between me and whatever Felix had planned now.
With trembling hands, I reached inside and pulled the blade free.
It felt too light to do anything. Too small against a man like him. But I gripped it anyway.
I kicked off my heels, the sharp clatter of them hitting the tile swallowed by the chaos at the door. I stood trembling, clutching the knife in both hands, facing the door like a trapped animal. The air felt too thick to breathe. He was going to come through. Any second now.
He was screaming now, words dissolving into snarls. “You think this little piece of shit wood is going to save you? I’m going to rip it apart and then I’m going to rip you apart. Piece. By. Fucking. Piece.”
The final crack was deafening.
The door burst inward with a violent crash, splinters flying—and I lunged.
The blade grazed his forearm before he caught my wrists midair.
He stared at the cut on his arm, then back at me. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
We staggered out of the bathroom, locked in a struggle. I tried to hold on, but he wrenched the knife free, and it clattered to the floor just beside the bed.
“You stupid little whore,” he spat, and then he headbutted me.
My head snapped back as I collapsed onto the bed, clutching my skull as nausea surged. Pain exploded behind my eyes. Everything hurt.
I could barely breathe.
He climbed over me, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. I curled in on myself instinctively, hands still pressed to my head, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.
“Stop struggling,” he said, low and steady. “You’re only going to make this ugly.”
His words slid over me like oil, filthy and suffocating, as I lay there shaking, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might split my ribs open.
His hand moved to my hip.
I felt the pressure before I understood it—his fingers digging in, claiming, lifting the fabric of my dress. I tried to twist away, my voice breaking as I told him to stop, begged him to stop, but his body came down heavier, pinning me to the mattress.
Fabric tore.
The sound was sharp and final, like something snapping inside me.
Cold air hit my skin. I tried to cover myself with my hands, curling inward, but he was already there, his body pressing me back down, stealing what little space I had left.
I thrashed, breathless, as his mouth brushed my skin, and then—slowly—his tongue followed the path of my tears, like he was tasting my fear. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could will this nightmare away, but nothing changed. No one was coming. No one was going to save me.
I had to save myself.
His tongue was still dragging over my tears when I surged upward, clamping my teeth down on the side of his neck like an animal fighting for its life.
He howled and jerked back, one hand flying to the spot, blood welling beneath his fingers. He looked stunned for a moment—just long enough for me to act. The back of his hand came down across my face in a stinging slap, but I barely felt it.
I kicked hard, catching him in the stomach and scrambling free as he stumbled. I tumbled off the bed in a clumsy rush, my shoulder hitting the floor as I half-slid, half-fell before scrambling toward the knife.
He was still disoriented, not understanding what I was doing until it was too late.
The blade drove into his shoulder with a sick, grating resistance, right where muscle met bone.
He roared in pain, staggering back—and that’s when the door burst open behind me.
A shadow filled the frame.
The guard.
Fuck.