Page 77 of Darkest Oblivion
“He’s tied up,” Dmitri replied, clipped, eyes locked on the road, jaw rigid.
“Tied up with... my father?” I pressed, letting the words slip, testing him. The car jolted slightly at my question, his knuckles whitening on the wheel, a flicker of anger flashing across his face before he steadied the Rolls-Royce.
“You’ve been eavesdropping,” he said, voice dangerous, eyes flicking to me with a heat that made my chest ache—equal parts accusation and dark amusement.
“Let’s just say I was in the right place at the right time,” I replied, forcing a calm edge over the fear curling in my stomach. “I know my father’s here. I need to see him, Dmitri.”
His lips curved into a cruel smirk. “You won’t see him. You won’t speak to your family... not until you carry my child, Penelope.”
The words hit me like ice and fire at once.
I turned away, staring at my ghostly reflection in the window. “You won’t tell me what my parents did wrong... the debt they owe you. Hell, what I even did wrong. You cage me from them, yet you think I’ll just... just let you have your way with me, let you use me, and then carry your child like it’s nothing? Hell no.Sorry, but I don’t care if this remains a sexless marriage for as long as you keep being... like this.” My voice trembled, fury and heartbreak clashing.
“There will be plenty of sex, Penelope,” he said, his voice calm, unflinching, the certainty in it infuriating. “And you will beg for it—a lot. So far, I’ve only been letting you adjust to this territory. After all, the rest of your life will be spent with me. Beside me. Why rush what is already yours?”
A shiver ran through me despite my stubborn posture.
“I’ll never beg you,” I whispered, almost to myself.
He slowed the car, one hand tightening on the wheel, the other brushing just the edge of the console near me. His presence pressed against me without touching.
“You already beg, Penelope,” he said, his tone almost intimate, and it made my stomach twist.
“Every time your body betrays you... every time your pulse races and you think you hate me, that is begging. You cannot hide it from me. I feel it. I own it. You’ve been mine the moment we named the stars, and even now, you cannot run from that truth.”
My chest tightened as the words sank in. I hated him, I loathed him, and yet every word, every accusation, forced my body’s betrayals into the open.
Silence swallowed the car, punctuated only by the engine’s low hum.
He guided the car into Lupo Nero’s lot; neon lights splashed crimson across cobblestones, painting the world in warning colors.
A moment later, he was at my side, opening the door with a motion that felt more command than courtesy.
“I know rebellion runs in your veins,” he said as he killed the engine, voice dangerous. “Act without thinking tonight, Penelope, and I’ll send your father’s head to you as a gift.” Hishand extended, forcing a polite, almost cruel smile that didn’t reach the storm in his eyes.
“You think threats scare me?” I asked, staring straight ahead, forcing calm over the panic clawing at my chest.
“Try it,” he said, each word deliberate, like a predator testing the edges of its prey. Of course he meant it.
I swallowed hard and took his hand, my fingers trembling, hiding the storm of anger and fear beneath a mask of measured composure..
The club’s doors swallowed us. Smoke curled in the air, perfume thick and sweet, music pounding through the floor like a heartbeat.
Every gaze fell on us, darting away—Dmitri’s reputation a living shadow.
He nodded at men along the way, terse greetings, sharp nods, clipped words—his empire and dominance radiating through a crowd that dared not breathe too loud. And then, without warning, he guided me to the center of the dance floor, his hand possessive, pressing into my waist, marking me in public.
“Have you danced at a party before?” His voice was dangerous, pulling me closer, our hands interlaced, body pressing against mine with a claim that set my nerves on fire.
“Yes,” I said, steady. “With friends.”
“Male friends?” His eyes darkened, blue flames of jealousy and obsession flickering, hand tightening at my hip.
I smirked, leaning into the lie, feeling the tension coil around us like steel. “Yes,” I said softly.
I had no male friends, but I wanted to needle him, to test the depths of his obsession.
His lips curved downward in a shadow of hurt, possessive as he murmured, “I thought I’d be your first dance.” The music shifted—a slow, sultry beat, wrapping us in its spell.
