And Konstantin knows that. He’s holding my father's fragility over my head like a blade.
He has me completely trapped. Ensnared. Helpless.
"I hate you," I whisper.
"Get in the shower, Helena."
He walks into the bathroom.
I don’t move for a moment but simply tremble with rage, my head aching like it's about to split open. It isn’t only his words but his arrogance. He doesn’t mince words or leave an opening to fight back. He commands, and that’s the end.
Without a choice, I drag myself out of bed on wobbly legs and walk to the bathroom.
It’s a vast space, with black marble floors, a glass-walled shower big enough for four people, and a soaking tub.
Konstantin stands by the sink, adjusting his cuffs in the mirror.
I stop in the doorway. "Get out."
He meets my eyes in the reflection. "Excuse me?"
"I’m about to shower," I say, clutching the T-shirt. "I need privacy."
"This is my bathroom," he says, unbothered. "And you forfeited your right to privacy when you tried to drug my Cabernet."
He turns on the tap and washes his hands, taking his time.
"Strip," he orders. "The water is warm."
"I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you."
"I saw everything last night," he says dismissively. "There’s nothing left to reveal."
He dries his hands on a black towel, then turns to face me, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms. He isn’t leaving.
He’s doing this on purpose. He’s breaking down my boundaries, inch by inch. Proving that he owns me.
I grit my teeth. I’ll not give him the satisfaction of crying. I walk past him into the shower.
Defiant as ever, I keep the T-shirt on and step into the shower.
He raises an eyebrow.
"Modest," he comments.
"Go to hell," I mutter.
He may hold every other card, but he won’t get this victory over me or my body.
I stand under the spray. The hot water hits the cotton shirt, instantly soaking it. The fabric clings to my skin, probably revealing more than it hides, but I don't care. I need to wash the night away. To wishhimaway.
Closing my eyes, I let the water run over my face. I feel sick. Used. Exposed.
The bathroom door opens.
"There are clothes in the closet," he calls out over the rush of the water. "Business attire. Look like a professional, not a hostage."
"I am a hostage!" I shout back, the water filling my mouth.
