Page 127 of Twisted Addiction
I wanted him to come, to storm through the darkness and pull me back—but I also wanted him to stay far away. Because if my father’s men found me first, there would be no mercy.
The city beyond was quiet at this hour, streets slick with rain, neon reflections shimmering on wet asphalt.
I hailed a cab, the driver’s face a shadow beneath the streetlamp, and gave him the address of a small, unassuming apartment I’d scouted earlier—a modest place, but far enough from the reach of my father’s empire.
Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of mildew and old wood.
I locked the door behind me and let my bag fall onto the floor.
I sank onto the threadbare couch, exhausted, but sleep eluded me.
I traced the lines of the apartment: a kitchenette with chipped tiles, a small bedroom barely large enough for a twin bed, a bathroom with a flickering light. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, for now.
I sank onto the bed, every muscle taut, my body trembling with exhaustion and the echo of fear. My hand pressed against my belly, tracing the soft, almost imperceptible rise beneath my fingers, a fragile rhythm tethering me to the world.
“You’re safe now,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a breath. “I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”
The burner phone blinked faintly in my palm, its dying light flickering like a heartbeat on the verge of stopping. I hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen before pressing call. Giovanni’s number.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
And again.
By the fourth try, the silence on the other end felt louder than a scream.
I bit down on my lip until I tasted the metallic tang of blood.
My breath shuddered as I scrolled to Alexei’s contact — the last ghost of Dmitri’s world I hadn’t severed. My thumb hovered, then pressed record.
“Alexei,” I said, the name catching in my throat. “It’s Penelope. I’m in New Jersey. I need the divorce papers expedited. Please... help me end this.”
The message sent.
The silence that followed was deafening — heavy enough to crush what little courage I had left.
From my bag, I pulled the small foil packet the Russian doctors had given me. My fingers trembled as I peeled it open, the pills glinting under the dull yellow light.
For a long moment, I just stared — wondering if they’d really help, or just numb me enough not to care.
I swallowed the evening dose dry. The bitterness clung to my throat, spreading like ink.
Lying back, I stared at the cracked ceiling.
My mother’s voice replayed in my head The words tangled in my skull, a haunting chorus I couldn’t silence.
The medication crept in slowly, fogging the sharp edges of thought, but the ache beneath my ribs refused to fade.
Memories of my last night with Dmitri crashed over me like a tidal wave.
The way I had given myself to him without hesitation, moving against him with desperate need. My hands clung to his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping me grounded. His eyes never left mine, dark and burning, watching every shiver, every breath, as if I was the only thing that existed in his world.
How he had held me so close I could feel the steady beat of his heart against mine. How he had begged me to stay in hisembrace, as if the world could vanish around us, and refused to let go even after I awoke, stubborn and trembling.
How, for the first time since our marriage, he had slept beside me like a child, his body relaxed and weighty, seeking the same safety and closeness I had always feared to give.
He had killed my uncles for what they’d done to me—truth buried in the fractured corners of my mind—yet he’d still sent me away... for Seraphina.
