Then came the isolation. The control. The way he made me feel grateful for scraps of affection.
I made excuses for weeks.
He was stressed.
He didn’t mean it.
He loved me in the only way he knew how.
Bullshit. All of it. Lies I told myself because admitting the truth meant admitting I’d been stupid enough to fall for someone capable of such cruelty.
When he put his hands on me the first time, I still didn’t leave.
That’s the part that makes me sick. The part I can’t tell anyone. How long I stayed. How hard I tried to convince myself it wasn’t that bad.
When I finally found the courage to end things a month ago, I thought the nightmare was over.
But Viktor doesn’t handle rejection well, and the stalking started immediately—showing up at my apartment, my work, anywhere he thought he could corner me. The texts came next, each one designed to crawl under my skin and remind me that he still had power over me.
Like this one.
You belong to me.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and grab a rag from the sanitizer bucket. I need to do something with my hands. Need to move. Need to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
I hate that reading his words can still transport me back to that dark place where I believed I deserved his treatment. My bottom lip trembles despite my best efforts to stay strong, and tears prick the corners of my eyes.
No. Absolutely not. I refuse to give that bastard one more tear.
“You okay?”
Matteo’s voice cuts through my spiral. My hands are shaking, so I focus on the repetitive motion, scrubbing at a spot on the bar that’s already clean.
“What’d that text say?” His eyes don’t leave my face. “You turned white as a sheet.”
“None of your business.”
“You’d be surprised.”
I look up sharply, something in his tone setting off alarm bells. “For someone who doesn’t like to talk, you sure are nosy.”
“So tell me.”
I should tell him to back off. Should remind him that customers don’t get to interrogate me about my personal life.
But I’m so tired. So goddamn tired of carrying this alone, of constantly looking over my shoulder.
“Let’s just say some guys don’t like taking no for an answer.”
Matteo’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his eyes. A flicker of something hard.
“Are you talking about Viktor Ilyin?”
The rag slips from my numb fingers. Ice floods my veins, spreading from my chest outward until my entire body feels frozen. My lungs forget how to work.
“What did you just say?”
“I asked if you’re talking about Viktor Ilyin.”
