Page 50 of Darkest Oblivion
Dmitri stood there, his tailored suit pristine, his jaw set, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, its rich aroma cutting through the room’s lavender scent.
“Take it,” he said, his voice low, his icy blue eyes unreadable but intense.
I hesitated, my hands trembling, then took the cup, its warmth grounding me.
“You... changed my clothes?” I asked, my voice shaking, fear and accusation lacing my words.
He stepped closer, his gaze narrowing. “I had a female maid bathe you and change your clothes. The doctor said you needed a warm bath.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, but a flicker of offense crossed his face, his lips tightening.
I swallowed, my heart pounding, needing certainty. “You didn’t... have sex with me?”
The words felt raw, exposing my vulnerability, my fear of his power over me.
His eyes flashed, genuinely affronted. “Have sex with you in your sleep? The fuck, Penelope?”
He stepped closer, looming, his sandalwood-and-steel scent overwhelming. “That’s a terrible thing to think of me.”
My cheeks burned, relief tangled with shame, but his cruelty lingered—his body-shaming, the inhaler taunt, his demand for a child, reducing me to nothing more than a womb.
He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not bruising, and forced me to sit on the bed, the coffee nearly spilling, its dark liquid sloshing.
“You lack strength,” he said. “Drink.”
I gulped the coffee, its bitter warmth steadying me, and set the cup on the bedside table, its clink loud in the tense silence.
“You almost killed me,” I said, my voice steady despite the memory of his cruelty.
He walked to the velvet chair, sitting with that eerie composure. “And you ruined my image publicly,” he said, his voice cold, his eyes boring into me.
“You made me a fool before my rivals.”
My heart raced.
“Antonio’s family...” I whispered, sharp. “They put a bounty on my head. The men at the airstrip—they were going to sell me to them. I heard it.”
For a moment, Dmitri was silent, his broad back stiff as stone. The laptop screen’s glow painted his profile in blue. Then—
CRACK.
The laptop slammed shut, the sound like a gunshot in the room.
He turned, eyes blazing, and in three strides he was in front of me. His hand shot out, gripping my jaw, forcing me to look up into that fury.
“Don’t ever,” he snarled, his breath hot against my lips, “speak that bastard’s name in my presence again.”
His fingers tightened, not enough to bruise but enough to remind me of his power. “You belong to me. Do you hear me, Penelope? Me. Not him. Not his family. Not anyone else. I’ll rip out every throat that so much as whispers your name in the wrong breath.”
The silk of my gown rustled as I trembled beneath his grip, his rage burning hotter than my fear.
He released me abruptly, as if disgusted by his own loss of control, and strode back to his desk. The laptop snapped open once more, its glow washing over his sharp features.
“You’re being hunted by many families now,” he said flatly, his fingers already tapping the keys. “Not just that bastard’s.”
I shifted on the bed, the gown whispering against my skin, my legs still aching. “I’d like to take a stroll,” I said carefully, testing the edges of his control. “I promise I won’t run this time.”
His eyes never left the screen. “Giovanni is at your service,” he said, dismissive, like granting a queen her guard.
