She weighs almost nothing, and I’m acutely aware of every curve pressed against me, every shuddering breath she takes.
By the time we reach the wine cellar, her breathing has steadied slightly, but she hasn’t let go of my shirt.
I kick open the door to the stairwell and climb toward the main house, my men stepping aside as I pass.
Their expressions are carefully neutral, but I can see the questions in their eyes.
Let them wonder. Right now, all that matters is getting her somewhere safe.
I take her straight to our bedroom and kick the door shut behind us.
The fire still crackles in the hearth, casting warm light across the gray sheets.
I set her on the edge of the bed, and she immediately curls into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees.
“Look at me.” I crouch in front of her, forcing my voice to soften. “Sophia. Look at me.”
Her blue eyes meet mine, and I see the raw vulnerability there. It hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Tell me what happened,” I say.
“I…” She swallows hard. “The walls. I panicked. I…my father locked me in a closet. For hours. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. I thought I was going to die in the dark.”
The confession hangs between us, and I feel something crack in my chest.
I know what it’s like to be trapped by your own father’s cruelty.
To carry that fear into adulthood.
“You’re safe now,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“Am I?” Her laugh is bitter. “You kidnapped me. Forced me to marry you. Threatened everyone I love. How is that safe?”
She’s right, of course. I’m the monster in her story. But right now, with her looking at me like that, I want to be something else. Something better.
“You tried to escape.” I stand and move to the dresser, pulling out a length of silk rope I keep for…other purposes. “That requires punishment.”
Her eyes widen as I turn back to her. “No. Please, Mikhail. I can’t be tied up. I can’t…”
“Relax.” I sit beside her on the bed, the rope dangling from my fingers. “I’m not going to chain you in the dark. But you need to understand that actions have consequences.”
I reach for her wrist, and she flinches but doesn’t pull away.
Slowly, carefully, I wrap the silk around her wrist.
It’s soft, luxurious, nothing like the zip ties from that first night. I’m careful around the old bruises and scabs.
“This is so you remember,” I murmur, tying her wrist to the bedpost. “So you remember that you belong to me now.”
“I hate you,” she whispers, but there’s no conviction in it.
“I know.” I tie her other wrist, leaving enough slack that she can move comfortably. “But your body tells a different story.”
I trail my fingers down her arm, and she shivers. Not from fear this time. From desire.
“Don’t,” she says, but her voice is breathy, wanting.
“Don’t what?” I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “Don’t touch you? Don’t make you feel good? Don’t remind you that you’re mine?”
