Page 38 of Wicked Embers

He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “And the Greek Matriarch?” he presses, his words slicing through the tense silence.

My breath hitches, my eyes widening slightly.Is he talking about the Matriarch Records icon?Everyone knows her. She’s a legend—they call her the Greek Goddess of fame, and every recording artist in the world dreams of signing with her, including me.Oh, God… does he know Harry, my agent, sent my songs to Matriarch?

Before I can stop myself, the words tumble out. “Do you mean… I Ellinida Matriarchis?” I say her name in Greek reflexively. “The head of Matriarch Records?”

His jaw ticks, and the air between us feels heavier, charged with something I can’t quite decipher. “How do you know her?”

“I don’t,” I answer truthfully.But fuck, I’d love to. “Every recording artist or wannabe in the world knows who she is. She’s a legend in the music business. If you can sign with her, your career is made.”

His eyes narrow further. “Is that why you were running to Los Angeles?”

“How do you…” I stop short, fury bubbling to the surface at the memory of how he invaded my life like a thief rifling through my most private moments. My tone sharpens, laced with ice and defiance. “Matriarch Records is a lot further from Vegas than Los Angeles, and I’d need a plane ticket to get there, which is a bit out of my price range.”

“Where?”

“Where what?” I snap, irritation flaring.

“Where is Matriarch Records headquartered?”

“London,” I reply warily, unsure of where this interrogation is leading.

Something flashes in his eyes—calculation, maybe—but I don’t have time to dissect it before he speaks again. “What else do you know about her?”

“Not much,” I admit, shrugging. “She doesn’t do interviews and keeps her private life locked up tight. In fact according to the tabloids she’s very reclusive. I think she’s from an extremely powerful Greek family or something. Not many people have met her. I think her real name is Alexis Archontis. Which is where the name for Matriarch Records comes from. Her last name means ruler or leader in Greek.”

I have no idea why I just gave him a Greek language lesson except for the fact that he’s kind of freaking me out right now.

“And your father has never mentioned her or her family?”

“No!” I shake my head, bewildered. “Why would he?” My eyes narrow as suspicion stirs. “Has someone from Matriarch contacted him? Is that why you’re asking? Did they try to get to me through him?”

His eyes glint with something unreadable, his tone dark and cutting. “That’s what I’m asking you.”

“Well, they haven’t!” My voice rises as anger takes hold. “Do you really think if Matriarch Records had contacted me, I’d fucking still be here?”

His voice turns cold enough to freeze the room. “That’s where you’re wrong, ptichka. Your path always led here—tome.” His eyes pin me in place, sharp and unyielding. “If anyone from Matriarch Records contacts you, you will come to me immediately.No exceptions.”

“How will anyone contact me or approach me?” I challenge, fire sparking in my voice. “You’ve got me locked up in your fortress with no way to contact the outside world. Like fucking Rapunzel locked in a tower.”

“People are surprisingly resourceful when they want something badly enough,” he sneers. “And if that happens, you’ll come to me immediately.”

“Got it—crush my dreams even further by reporting any sliver of hope I might have for a career or freedom to you.” I salute mockingly with my free arm, the one not currently caught in his iron grip. “I won’t be able to write music anyway if you keep crushing my arm like this.”

His hand drops away as though my skin has burned him, his lip curling in disdain. “Don’t delude yourself, Leigh. You won’t get far, no matter what fantasies you cling to. Every door you think is open will be locked, every path you take will lead straight back to me. Your freedom? It’s a mirage I’ve allowed you to entertain.”

His voice lowers, every word cutting deeper. “Not even the Greek matriarch could save you if she wanted to. And if you did somehow escape, there’s nowhere on this earth you can hide where I won’t find you.” He leans closer, his gaze sharp and mocking. “And as for that dream of a music career? It’ll happen only if I permit it.”

His words strike like a slap, the cold finality stealing my breath. My chest tightens as the fortress walls close in,suffocating under the weight of his control. He turns and leaves the pool area.

By the time I return to the bedroom, he’s gone. The emptiness of the room swallows me whole, amplifying the ache in my chest. I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions tearing through me.

My mind reels at how quickly Radomir shifted from passionate lover to cold, calculating interrogator—squashing my dreams with a cruel, almost relished finality.

I bury my face in the pillow, the tears I’ve fought so hard to suppress spilling over in silent waves. The sobs wrack my body, muffled by the plush fabric, and I cling to it as if it can absorb my pain. Minutes bleed into hours until exhaustion takes over.

Even as sleep claims me in the late afternoon light, it brings no comfort. My dreams are restless and full of shadows—accusing whispers and the suffocating weight of his words. The chains of his control coil tighter, even in the sanctuary of my subconscious.

Chapter 15

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