Page 41 of Twisted Addiction
I couldn’t stay here. Not in this bed. Not in this room that still smelled faintly of him.
Throwing off the covers, I slipped out of bed.
The marble floor was ice beneath my feet, the kind of cold that burned.
The mansion slept around me, vast and silent, its beauty suffocating. Each step I took down the corridor echoed too loudly, a reminder that I was a prisoner in silk sheets and diamond chains.
I wandered without direction—past the grand foyer where the chandelier glimmered like a cage of light, past the library where unread books gathered dust like gravestones. The air grew thinner as I climbed the stairs to the terrace, until the night opened around me, vast and cruelly indifferent.
Stars hung above like distant gods, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself breathe. The cold wind bit my skin, but it was real—untainted, unlike the air in that house.
I gripped the iron railing, my fingers trembling.
Dmitri’s hatred wasn’t loud anymore—it was quiet, methodical, patient. A blade wrapped in silk. I’d seen it in his eyes when he said he would “terminate my pregnancy.”
He could make it happen without ever lifting a hand.
He wouldn’t even need to raise his voice.
The image from my nightmare flashed again—restraints, the mechanical hum, the helplessness. And I realized it wasn’t just fear. It was a warning.
My hand drifted to my stomach, protectively, instinctively.
There was barely anything there yet, but the thought of losing it—losing them—felt like losing the only pure thing left in me. The only piece of myself untouched by his control.
I couldn’t let him take that. Not this.
Beneath the stars, I made myself a promise: if it came down to him or this child, I would choose the child. Always.
A gust of wind tore through the terrace, whipping my hair into my face, and with it came another thought—dangerous, impossible to ignore.
Alexei.
Dmitri’s brother. The one man who might hate him enough to help me.
I still had his card—hidden in the lining of my purse, untouched, waiting. Alexei could help me disappear, even make the divorce happen quietly. But nothing came free from a man like him.
I know this isn’t just about dethroning Dmitri—there’s something deeper at play.
As I stood there under that indifferent sky, my hand on my stomach, I realized it didn’t matter. Whatever his price was—it couldn’t be worse than what staying would cost me.
Chapter 11
PENELOPE
The new week dawned not with peace, but with motion.
By sunrise, I was stepping into La Sirena—the restaurant Dmitri had promised me—its glass doors parting to reveal a flurry of activity that was as polished as it was chaotic.
He had kept his word. But this wasn’t the quiet, creative space I had imagined. La Sirena wasn’t a quaint escape—it was an empire in motion. An upscale restaurant and bar tucked into the heart of Lake Como’s elite district, where every polished surface reflected money, and every corner hummed with the whispers of the underworld that financed it.
The place reeked of luxury—the kind built on secrets.
Behind the front bar, an array of crystal decanters caught the early light like jewels. Velvet booths lined the walls, the scent of aged wine and lemon polish mingling in the air.
Dmitri hadn’t given me a restaurant. He’d given me a throne in one of his territories.
The staff, however, were new. All of them. The night before opening, every employee had been replaced—chefs, bartenders, servers—everyone except my secretary, Elena.
