Page 34 of Darkest Oblivion
My eyes immediately drew to the wardrobe. Its sleek design gleamed under soft LED lights.
Dmitri couldn’t see me from the bed—a small mercy.
I opened it, jaw dropping.
Rows of brand-new clothes, all my size, lined the shelves: silk blouses, tailored trousers, designer labels like Gucci and Prada glinting in the light.
A drawer revealed underwear—lace bras, matching panties, all perfectly fitted. Even my bra size. My cheeks burned, a mix of awe and unease.
Each piece seemed cut for me, hugging curves I hadn’t expected anyone to notice.
How did he know? Had he been planning this for years, stalking me, memorizing every detail in his twisted mind? The thought made my skin crawl.
I had no choice. I pulled on a black bra, matching panties, a black t-shirt, and trousers—nothing revealing, nothing meantto tempt him. No way was I wearing the silky nightgowns that screamed seduction.
I approached the bed, heart hammering at the thought of lying beside him.
His scent clung to the sheets. It repelled me, yet my body betrayed me with a flicker of heat.
His eyes were closed, breathing steady, though I knew he wasn’t asleep.
I turned toward the door, determined to sleep in the living room, my footsteps light but deliberate.
To my surprise, Dmitri didn’t stop me.
He heard my retreat, felt my defiance... yet let me go. Did he think I had no choice? That locked doors and lakes could break me? I’d rather sleep on the couch than share his bed.
I was almost at the stairs leading downstairs when a voice rang out.
“Ma’am!” it called from below, familiar. “The food is ready.”
I froze, disbelief washing over me.
No way.
Legs trembling from exhaustion, I descended the stairs and reached the dining hall.
The table was a vision: fusilli bathed in vibrant arrabbiata sauce, lobster risotto glistening with saffron, grilled octopus drizzled with lemon-herb dressing, and tiramisu dusted with cocoa, its layers perfect. Aromas of garlic, seafood, and espresso hit me like a wave, my stomach growling despite my fury.
This would have taken me five hours—and yet this butler had done it in under one.
His smug efficiency infuriated me, but the food looked divine.
Hunger clawed at me, sharper than my hatred, and I sat, staring at the spread, wondering if every bite would taste like captivity.
Chapter 9
PENELOPE
I leaned forward, fork clenched, and said to the behemoth butler, “I’m sure you have a name.”
“Giovanni,” he replied, smooth, his crooked nose catching the light.
I smirked, masking exhaustion with defiance. “How do I pronounce that properly, without messing it up? Gee-oh-VAHN? Or is it Jee-oh-van-nee?”
“That’s not quite noble,” he shot back, tone dripping with sarcasm.
“And how noble is it to sneak into my car and drag me to a dock where I could’ve been killed?” I snapped, heart hammering at the memory of that day
