I smile humorlessly. "Let him think that. Underestimating others is his weakness, I’ve heard.”
"And overconfidence has always been yours."
The words hang in the air between us. Kazimir is one of the few people who can speak to me like this. He's not wrong—I have a tendency to believe I can control any situation, bend any circumstance to my will. It's served me well in building my empire.
"I know what I'm doing," I say flatly, though I'm not entirely sure that's true.
"You can't control everything, Ilya. No matter how much you want to."
But I can try. I've spent my entire life taking control, shaping reality to match my vision. Mara will be no different.
"Just do what I asked," I say. "Increase surveillance, fortify security. I'll handle Sergei."
There’s a pause, and then Kazimir speaks again. "I'll have the security updates in place by morning." He hangs up before I can respond.
I lean back in my chair, unable to stop myself from thinking about going to her again. The urge is almost overwhelming, a physical need that makes my hands shake.
But as much as I want her, as much as I need her, I want her to come to me willingly, the way she kissed me tonight of her own volition. I want her to choose this, choose me, even knowing what I am. Even knowing what I've done.
I rehearse different approaches in my mind. I could be apologetic, tell her I got carried away, promise it won't happen again. But that would be a lie, and I'm done lying to her. I could be commanding, remind her this is how things are now, that she belongs to me whether she accepts it or not. But that would only drive her further away.
The truth is terrifying in its simplicity: I will never let her go.
Even if she hates me for it.
The thought should disturb me more than it does. I'm essentially holding her prisoner, using Sergei's threat as justification for keeping her here against her will. It's manipulation, coercion, everything she accused me of and worse.
But I can't bring myself to regret it.
She's safe here and she’s mine. Every moment she spends under my roof is another moment for her to see past the monster to the man underneath. Another chance for her to understand that what I feel for her isn't sick or twisted—it's the most real thing I've ever experienced.
She's here. That's what matters.
She's here, and I'm never letting her go.
19
MARA
Iwake in an unfamiliar bed.
For a moment—one blessed, disorienting moment—I think I'm somewhere else. A hotel, maybe. Or a friend's guest room. Annie’s, maybe. Somewhere safe and normal.
Then I remember.
The break-in. The blood. The crunch of bone against brass. Ilya in my gallery, me in his penthouse, clothes he bought for me on my skin and then not. His hands on me, his mouth, his cock inside me. Me kissing him. Him fucking me.
The reality settles over me with a crushing weight, pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe. I'm not in a hotel. I'm not at a friend's place. I'm in a guest room in the penthouse of the man who's been stalking me for months, the man who fucked me last night like he had every right to, the man who told me I belong to him.
I'm a prisoner.
Everything from last night feels surreal, like it happened to someone else. The violence in my apartment, the way Ilya appeared like some twisted savior, the kiss that I can still feel on my lips, the imprint of his cock inside me.
I kissed him.
That's the part I can't reconcile, the part that makes my stomach twist with shame. I kissed him back. I moaned for his mouth. I came when he fucked me. I felt his mouth on mine and I wanted it, wanted him, wanted to surrender to whatever this thing is between us.
What does that make me?
