The meal goes cold, untouched, and Miron eventually leaves the room without a word, shutting the door with a quiet finality that still feels like a lock.
I drift between uneasy sleep and restless wakefulness, haunted by the weight of everything that’s happened. When the door finally opens again, it’s not Miron who enters, but Pavel.
He carries a set of keys in one hand and a bundle of fresh clothes in the other—simple things, a loose blouse and trousers, clean underthings, even a soft towel. He doesn’t meet my gaze as he approaches the bed, his face set in that blank, almost gentle neutrality I’ve seen him wear before.
“Time to wash and dress, Sera,” he says quietly. “You have ten minutes.” His words are firm, but there’s no edge of threat.
He crouches by the headboard, unlocking the chain with a practiced motion. The cold metal slips from my wrist, leaving behind a red mark that I rub absently, resisting the urge to wince.
I move to the en suite bathroom, towel and clothes in hand. Pavel turns his back, remaining in the bedroom. He gives me privacy, but I know he’ll be there the whole time. One last guard between me and any escape. I close the bathroom door, locking it out of habit even though I know it won’t do any good.
The hot water stings at first, prickling over bruises and sore muscles, washing away the sweat and the scent of him. I scrub harder than necessary, wanting to erase everything—guilt, want, fear—but the ache lingers beneath my skin. I let the water run until it turns cold, only stepping out when my skin is pink and raw.
I dress quickly, hands trembling as I button the blouse, trying not to look at the bruises blooming along my thighs and wrists. I wrap the towel around my hair, take one last steadying breath, and step back into the bedroom.
Pavel stands near the window, facing away. When he hears the door open, he turns, nods, and motions for me to sit on the edge of the bed.
He doesn’t comment on the marks, the state of the room, or the untouched food. He just checks the chain, now coiled neatly on the headboard, as if reminding me that it could go back on at any moment.
“You’ll be called for soon,” he says, voice even. “Rest if you can.” Then he moves to the door, giving me one last look—a flicker of sympathy or regret, quickly masked—before he leaves me alone with the silence.
Chapter Twenty-Two - Miron
I sit beside her, letting the chain rattle between us. The marks on her wrists are red and angry, the imprint of my hands still faint on her thighs and throat.
I watch her strain against the cuff, refusing to beg, refusing to give me the satisfaction of fear.
Anger burns in my chest, but it’s not the clean, hot rage of betrayal. It’s darker, messier. It’s the idea that she might have left me, that she could want anyone but me. The thought crawls under my skin, makes me want to mark her deeper, to make sure she never forgets who she belongs to.
She flinches when I reach out, but I only brush my thumb over her jaw, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are wide, wild, but not empty. There’s defiance there—familiar, electric—but also something softer, more uncertain. I can’t let it go.
“Why do you keep running?” My voice is low, not quite a threat, not quite a plea. “Even when you want this, you fight like hell to get away. Why?”
She swallows hard, her mouth trembling. For a moment, I think she’ll lie, give me another excuse about freedom or pride. Instead, her voice slips out, small and ragged.
“I’m scared,” she whispers, eyes flicking away. “Not of you. Of myself. Of what I become when you touch me. I hate how easy it is to give in. Even now.”
Her honesty knocks something loose inside me, something I don’t want to name. The edges of my anger blur, replaced by a savage, crooked grin that spreads across my face. She doesn’t understand—she thinks this is weakness, shame, proof she’s losing herself.
To me, it’s the only proof I need that she’s mine, body and soul. Her fear binds her to me, but her desire binds her tighter.
I lean in, pressing a kiss to her temple, tasting the salt of her skin. “You should be scared,” I murmur, not unkindly. “It means you understand what I am.”
My fingers find the key, working the lock until the chain falls away. The metal drops to the bed, heavy and final.
She sits up slowly, rubbing her wrist, gaze wary. I can see the calculation in her eyes—should she bolt, should she beg, should she try to fight again.
She doesn’t move. She stays, small and coiled on the edge of the mattress, every muscle tense. The choice unsettles her more than any threat could. I feed on it, letting her realize just how much of her will is tangled up in mine.
“Desire is what binds you,” I say, my voice soft but absolute. “You can’t run from it. You can’t run from me. The chain is only metal. You’re here because you want to be. Because you know what waits for you outside these walls.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t deny it. That’s what does it—the silence, the admission that she can’t fight her own need, no matter how hard she tries.
My hand finds her hair, tugging her gently back to me, forcing her to look up. There’s fear in her eyes, yes, but there’s also hunger, raw and unguarded.
“I won’t let you go,” I say again, softer now, a promise and a threat woven together. “No one will ever touch you the way I do. No one will ever know you the way I do.”
She shudders, but she doesn’t pull away.
