"You've destroyed me," she says, her voice broken. "You don't know what you've done to me. What this will do to me."
"That's not my concern," Ilya says, his voice cold again. "You need to leave now, Svetlana. And you need to accept that this is over."
"I loved you." The words are barely a whisper. "I actually loved you, and you?—"
"You loved what I could give you. The lifestyle, the connections, the money. But you never loved me. And I never loved you." He pauses. "Now leave. Don't come back. Don't contact me. Don't try to see me. It's over."
Svetlana looks at me one more time, and I see something in her eyes that makes my stomach twist. It’s not hatred. It’s despair. Utter, complete despair.
“Take her,” Ilya orders, and the guards grab her without turning, pulling her away from the door as Ilya shuts it with a firm hand.
She's gone, and it's just me and Ilya again. I feel a flicker of concern, of unease, the sense that Svetlana's warning look meant something important. That something bad is going to happen because of what happened here today.
Somethingworse.
I stand up, feeling Ilya’s cum trickling down my thighs, still hot and sticky as I grab for my clothes and drag them back on, heedless of his displeasure. He stalks toward me, but he doesn’t look angry despite the fact that I moved before he allowed me to. He looks almost… soft. Like what just passed between us altered something in him.
I can’t help but feel that it’s altered something in me.
"She said you destroyed her," I say quietly. "What did she mean?"
Ilya pauses in front of me. "I don’t know. And it doesn't matter."
My lips press together. "It matters to me."
"Why?" He moves closer, and I can see the possessiveness still burning in his eyes. "Why do you care what happens to her?"
"Because—" I stop, trying to find the words. "Because she loved you. Or thought she did. And you just?—"
"I ended a relationship that should never have existed in the first place." His voice is firm, final. "She knew what our arrangement was. She knew it wasn't real. If she convinced herself otherwise, that's not my responsibility."
"But—"
"No." He cups my face, forcing me to look at him. "All that matters is that you're mine now. That you've accepted it. That you've finally stopped fighting what you know is inevitable."
Have I accepted it? Have I stopped fighting? Or have I just been broken down so completely that I don't know how to resist anymore?
I don't know the answer. I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
"I need to clean up," I say, pulling away from him. "I need—I need a minute."
He lets me go, and I walk out of the office on shaking legs, past the spot where Svetlana was standing, out into the empty penthouse and back to my… the room where I’m staying.
I make it to the guest room and close the door behind me, leaning against it as my legs finally give out. I slide down to the floor, my back against the door, and I let myself cry.
Not because of what just happened. Not because of Svetlana or the confrontation or the way Ilya claimed me so publicly, so completely. But because I liked it.
Because when he demanded that I admit I was his, when he drew out my pleasure until I was desperate enough to surrender completely, when he made me scream loud enough for his ex-fiancée to hear—I liked it.
I wanted it.
I wanthim.
I'm losing myself. Not because he's breaking me, but because I'm choosing to surrender. Choosing to become whatever it is he wants me to be.
And the worst part is that I don't know if I want to stop.
Before this, I would never have submitted to a man like Ilya, would never have found pleasure in my own captivity, would never have sobbed that I belonged to someone just to be allowed release.
