She does, facing me now with that same calm that makes me want to shake her until something real falls out. I search again. Her front this time. Trying not to notice how her nipples harden in the cool air, how her breathing changes when my hands skim certain places. The hollow of her throat, her collarbones, the space between her breasts.
Under her breasts, along her ribs where I find a thin scar. My fingers linger there, wondering what other violence she's capable of.
Every inch I search, she owns more of me. This is supposed to be about control, but not hers.
Still nothing.
My eyes drop to her thighs, to the space between them. The only place I haven't searched. She could hide something there, inside…
I reach down. She tenses. The first real crack in her composure.
But I stop. Something holds me back. It feels wrong, violating in a way that everything else hasn't been. Too intimate. Too much like something else entirely.
My hand drops. She knows she's won this round.
"Find what you're looking for?" she asks, voice soft but edged with victory.
"Get dressed."
"You destroyed my dress." She doesn't move to cover herself, just stands there like a goddess carved from marble. "The one I spent hours making."
"Then wear something else." I gesture at the wardrobe where identical shapeless dresses hang. "Unless you plan to stay naked."
"You want me to put on another sack so you can cut it off later?"
"I want you to stop being a problem."
"Then you shouldn't have kidnapped me."
She pulls a fresh dress from the wardrobe, the cotton sliding over her skin with a whisper. The shapeless fabric swallows her curves, turns her back into the prisoner she's supposed to be.
"You don't leave this room," I tell her, backing toward the door because if I stay, I'll do something stupid. Something my cock is demanding despite every rational thought. "Guards on the door at all times. Cameras watching constantly. Every second."
She sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at me with those eyes that see too much. "You searched every inch of me and found nothing. Maybe I'm telling the truth. Maybe I never left that basement."
"And the pen?"
A slight pause. "Maybe you moved it yourself and forgot. You seem… stressed."
The mockery in her tone makes my jaw clench. She's won and she knows it. I can't prove anything.Ona menya unichtozhit.She'll destroy me.
I slam the door on my way out, engaging every lock. In the hallway, I pause.
She broke into my study. I know she did, but I can't prove it. She stood naked in front of me and somehow maintained control. It wasn't me who was in charge in that room. It was her, naked and searched and still winning. I was the one who was exposed.
8 - Sofia
The dress arrives with a collar.
Red silk pools across my bed like spilled blood, the fabric so thin it's practically transparent. Beside it lies a delicate gold collar, its chain fine as spiderweb until you notice the lock. The kind that requires someone else's key.
Hours since he found evidence of my midnight wanderings. Hours of his pale eyes tracking my every breath, searching for cracks in my performance. Hours of careful deflection, playing the confused princess who couldn't possibly pick locks or disable cameras.
Now this.
I lift the collar, finding exactly what I expected: a tracking device, military grade, embedded in the gold. The message is clear: tonight I'm not attending a bratva gathering. I'm being displayed as his possession.
The silk slides over my skin like water. Cut to reveal more than it conceals, the neckline plunging past decent, the back completely open except for delicate gold chains. When I move, the dress shifts like smoke, revealing my entire leg through a slit that rises dangerously high. He must have had someone take my measurements while I slept.
