Page 58 of Darkest Oblivion
His touch lingered, dangerous in its gentleness, and traitorous butterflies swarmed in my stomach. For a heartbeat, I saw not the monster towering over me, but the boy of fifteen—the one who once offered me gelato with a smile that felt like forever.
I shoved the warmth of his words aside, anger burning hotter. “Who the fuck is Seraphina?” I demanded, spitting the name like poison
His jaw flexed, and for once his voice lost its ice but not its power—it came low, steady, burning. “Being plus-sized isn’t a flaw, Penelope. You were plus-sized at fifteen, and I wanted you then. Every curve, every mark—I wanted them all. What makes you think your stretch marks, your body, mean anything less to me? If anyone—anyone—makes you doubt yourself again, tell me. I’ll put them in the ground.”
“And if it’s you?” I snapped, my heart hammering, fury and dread colliding as he kept dodging every question about Seraphina.
His gaze locked on mine, sharp as a blade. “Then I’ll bleed before I let it happen again.” His tone was savage. “Twice I cut you where you were weakest, and it won’t happen a third time. I can hate you. I can make you suffer. But I won’t cheat, and I won’t break you with lies about your body. Those two lines, I don’t cross. Everything else—every punishment, every war between us—is endless.”
His vow seared through me, as terrifying as it was intoxicating—the devil swearing loyalty, obsession wearing the mask of devotion.
I swallowed, stunned, his intensity shaking me. “You said I’ve been in your head since you were nineteen,” I whispered, probing. “Does that mean you haven’t... slept with anyone since then?”
His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to midnight. “No woman’s touched me since then—no woman’s turned me on except you, Penelope. You don’t understand the hold you have. I hate that I hate you. I hate that I forced you into this marriage, dragged you into my hell just to break you. I hate that revenge blinds me.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot, his voice a growl. “But believe this—I crave every curve, every roll, every mark on your skin.”
I stared, speechless, his words a storm of obsession, self-loathing, and a truth I couldn’t bear to hear.
He hated himself more than he hated me, and it drove me mad—my heart torn between his worship and his cruelty.
“So who is Seraphina?” I pressed, the name tearing out of me, a wound that wouldn’t heal.
His shoulders went rigid as he pulled back, lowering himself into the leather chair behind his desk, his silence a fortress.
“And are you saying you are a virgin, Dmitri?” I pressed, my voice sharp, demanding, my chest tightening with the audacity of the question.
“Get out of my office,” he growled. “I’ve had enough of your insolence.”
“I won’t just leave,” I snapped, trembling but resolute. “If I walk away, I’ll make sure you bleed for it. I can’t stand this—being forced here, tormented, and now your lies, your cheating you’ll never admit to, while I’m shackled with your ring.”
He stiffened, fingers clenching into fists, every muscle taut. “Three seconds, Penelope. Then you vanish—or I’ll remove your legs from under you myself.”
The air grew electric. Before I could react, a dagger flew from his hand. My scream caught in my throat as it embedded in the wall inches from my face, quivering.
“You test me?” His voice dropped to a deadly growl.
He drew another dagger, the blade catching the dim light. “One more move like that, and I won’t miss. You won’t leave my office breathing.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tight with fear and fury.
The device in my pocket burned against my leg, a bitter temptation. I stormed out, my pulse hammering.
Night swallowed the estate as I sank into the cinema room.
The screen flickered with a movie I couldn’t focus on, my mind spinning. My thoughts kept snapping back to the device in my pocket—plant it, betray him, and maybe finally save myself.
But his obsessions, his possessive vows, clashed violently with the cruelty I’d felt firsthand, leaving me trapped in indecision, my heart and mind warring over what choice to make.
The movie flickered and bored me, the dialogue muted beneath the roar of my thoughts.
I rose, pacing the marble halls.
My steps slowed outside Dmitri’s study when I caught his voice, low and venomous, slicing through the air.
“I bought my wife the same perfume you wear,” he said, every syllable sharp, deliberate. “At least now, when she walks in, I can pretend it’s you—and not a stampede.”
The words struck like knives to my chest, twisting with a cruelty I hadn’t expected.
