Page 80 of Darkest Oblivion
“Prove my father sent you,” I demanded, crossing my arms.
Antonio checked his watch, impatience flickering in his dark eyes. “We have five minutes before Dmitri comes looking. He’s distracted—let’s move.”
I stepped closer, eyes blazing. “You think I’d follow a man who lied to me for three years? Pretended to love me while despising my body, using me to get to my father’s wealth? You really think I’ll just walk out of here, trusting you?”
Antonio’s jaw tightened, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “This could get me killed, Penelope. But if it proves my word...” He pulled out a phone, dialed a video call, and within seconds, my father’s face filled the screen.
“Dad...” I whispered, my voice trembling, tears pricking at the edges of my eyes.
“Sweetheart, leave now—with Antonio. Don’t wait. I’ll explain later.” The call cut off abruptly, Antonio’s fingers moving fast.
Footsteps echoed outside—heavy.
“Penelope,” Dmitri’s voice called, sending a jolt of fear through me.
“Now or never,” Antonio hissed, gripping my hand. “Let’s go, now.”
“Penelope,” Dmitri called again, closer, sharper.
I yanked my hand free, heart hammering, and ran toward his voice.
Every instinct screamed at me to escape, yet a magnetic pull drew me to him, the monster who had claimed not just my body, but my very soul.
I rounded the corner and nearly collided with him. Towering, immovable, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine like predators on prey.
“Why are you walking so fast?” His tone was sharp, suspicion threaded through each word.
“It’s nothing,” I said, forcing a smile, though my pulse raced.
He stepped past me, moving toward the bathroom, and I prayed silently:please, don’t catch Antonio. If Dmitri realized—even by accident—that I’d spoken to Antonio, I’d pay in ways I couldn’t imagine.
Dmitri returned a moment later, phone pressed to his ear, expression unreadable. “I need the footage now,” he said, voice cold, eyes flicking to me.
I caught glimpses of cameras tucked into every corner, their lenses glinting like a thousand watchful eyes.
“Time to leave,” he said finally.
He took my hand, his grip claiming me without cruelty—and led me through the club.
Heads turned; whispers trailed behind us.
When we reached the car, he released my hand. The warmth vanished instantly, leaving a hollow ache in its place.
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the cold sweep through me.
He leaned against the hood, broad frame taut, his tailored suit straining over the stitches from his recent wounds.
His icy blue eyes, usually so cold, flickered with obsession and fury.
His phone buzzed, casting harsh light over his face as he watched a video.
Knuckles whitening, he gripped the device like it was a weapon. Then he raised his gaze, pinning me with that blade-sharp stare.
“What did he say?” His voice was dangerous.
My chest dropped.
He knew about Antonio. “He found me,” I admitted, voice trembling but steady. “It wasn’t planned.”
