Page 35 of Darkest Oblivion
Giovanni’s smirk didn’t waver. “Enjoy your food, ma’am. If you need anything, dial 100 on any house phone, and I’ll be at your service.” He paused, gaze mocking. “Including a tour around the lake.”
He gave a slight, theatrical bow, and walked away, leaving me fuming.
“What a show-off,” I muttered under my breath.
Polite now because I’m his boss’s wife? What a joke.
I stabbed at the fusilli, its sauce vibrant and tangy, and took a bite.
Damn him—it was delicious. Perfectly spiced, the lobster risotto melting on my tongue, the tiramisu rich with espressoand cream. Each bite a masterpiece, infuriating me further. How dare Giovanni, this smug brute, be so damn good?
I ate until my stomach finally quieted.
Exhausted, I pushed away from the table, my body heavy but my mind defiant.
No way was I sleeping in Dmitri’s room—his hickey andSeraphina’sname a fresh wound.
The living room’s velvet couch looked inviting enough, its cushions soft beneath the chandelier’s glow. I sank into it, limbs aching.
Maybe tomorrow I’d beg Dmitri to let me call my family—if he’d even listen. For now, sleep was my only escape. I curled up, letting the couch cradle me, letting my thoughts blur.
A sudden tightness gripped my chest, my lungs seizing, the air thick as tar.
My eyes snapped open, panic surging as I realized I couldn’t breathe—a rare, terrifying attack.
I stumbled upright, swaying, reaching for my back pocket, fingers closing around my inhaler.
Relief flickered—how had it gotten there? I usually tucked it in my jeans, but in this house, I hadn’t thought.
Before I could use it, a hand snatched it away—swift, cruel. My vision blurred. Dmitri stood before me, icy blue eyes gleaming like a devil’s, his scarred jaw set in a sneer.
“What... I’m...” I gasped, desperate, hands clawing at the air. “Please, give me—”
He smirked, cruel, holding the inhaler just out of reach. “No. I want to watch you gasp.”
I lunged, fingers grazing it, but he stepped back, towering over me. I collapsed to my knees, marble biting into my skin, chest burning.
“Please...” I wheezed, voice fading. “Please... I don’t want to die.” My eyes locked on his, pleading.
“No, Penelope,” he said, voice venomous. “I want you dead.”
I reached again, vision darkening, the shadow of death closing in, our gazes locked in a silent war—until my eyes snapped open.
Gasping, I sat upright on the couch, chest heaving, lungs flooding with air.
It had been a nightmare so vivid my skin still tingled with fear. Dmitri stood beside me, his real presence no less menacing, tattoos peeking from his sleeves.
My heart raced, and I scrambled back, pressing against the couch’s armrest.
“You wanted me dead,” I whispered, voice trembling, hands shaking. “You snatched my inhaler and...”
“Stop talking nonsense, Penelope,” he cut in, sharp, eyes narrowing as he moved to the table, placing my inhaler with a deliberate clink. “You forgot to take it with you. I stocked plenty in your wardrobe.” He paused, gaze cold but steady. “I’ve arranged for an asthma specialist to check you tomorrow morning.”
I stared at the inhaler, fear clutching my chest. The nightmare felt so real—his cruel smirk burned into my mind, making me doubt his words.
“Now, come to the bedroom,” he declared, voice firm, brooking no argument.
I stayed rooted.
