Page 79 of Darkest Oblivion
Chapter 21
PENELOPE
My chest tightened as I realized half the women nearby were staring, their eyes sharp with curiosity, gleaming with judgment.
What the hell?”
This corner was far from where I’d hurled the wine bottle, yet whispers twisted through the air like smoke: “The infamous wife of Dmitri Volkov... a monster.” Let them talk. I didn’t care.
My chest still burned with adrenaline, my hands tingling from the act. I had made my point—no one, not even a dancer, would humiliate me in his presence.
“They should just stop staring,” I muttered under my breath, lowering my head, teeth clenched. Glancing was one thing—but gawking? Like I was a performance to be critiqued? Unacceptable.
A sleek brunette in a silver dress leaned slightly closer, chuckling softly. I turned, irritated. “Why do these girls keep staring at me?” My voice was low, brimming with a brittle edge. “Can they just look the hell away?”
She laughed again, eyes bright with mischief. “They’re shocked because of the shirt you’re wearing.”
My gaze dropped.
Dmitri’s oversized silk shirt hung loose on my frame, the hem brushing my thighs like a claim I hadn’t chosen.
My fingers froze over the tiny stars above the breast pocket, tracing them almost reverently. Stars... ours.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“Dmitri Volkov swore years ago,” the woman murmured, leaning closer as if sharing a forbidden secret, “that no woman would ever wear his clothes with those designs... not unless she was the only one he’d ever obsess over, protect, and burn the world for.”
He’d made this shirt mine, and every glance in this crowded club reminded me that I was his. Only his.
Heat and shame coiled tight in my chest. Pride? Yes. Fear? Yes. Desire? God, yes—but I hated myself for it.
I forced myself to straighten my spine, forcing a tight smile at the woman. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” I said, my voice cool, masking the storm inside me.
I wove through the crowd, desperate to escape the scrutiny, the stares, the weight of being his.
The bathroom offered sanctuary, cold tiles grounding me as I slipped into a stall.
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to drown out the fluttering of my stomach, the betrayal of my own body responding to him.
Dmitri had made me wear this shirt, knowing every eye would see it as a claim. And yet, why did it thrill me? Why did I feel marked, alive, under the weight of his obsession? He was a monster—a captor, a predator—but a monster who had carved stars into my world, who’d worshipped my body in spite of its flaws.
A voice sliced through the hum of the bathroom. Urgent. Not Dmitri.
I stepped out, heart hammering, and found Antonio leaning against the sink, dark hoodie hanging loose over his lean frame. His eyes, calculating, flicked to mine with a smugness I hated.
“Good job,” he said. “You’ve done exactly what I asked... and exactly what he won’t see coming.”
“What do you want?” I snapped. “Why risk your neck coming here? Dmitri would—” I swallowed my fear. “—snap it without hesitation.”
“Your father’s in town,” he said.
“Oh!” I breathed, feigning surprise.
“He sent me to help you escape while he distracts Dmitri,” Antonio pressed, eyes flicking to the door. “I know a secret exit. We can disappear—now.”
My chest caved, doubt and hope warring inside me.
Escaping Dmitri Volkov couldn’t be that easy—not with his cameras, his guards, his iron grip on everything around me.
