Page 8 of Twisted Addiction
My chest constricted, fury burning through the fear.
“Pregnant?” I barked a bitter laugh. “I was alone for four fucking months, Dmitri. Four months forcing myself through the nausea, the cramps, the endless nights with no one but my own shadow. I was pregnant. But just before Antonio’s men dragged me away, I lost so much blood I thought I’d die with it. And now?” My voice cracked, but I held his stare. “Now I don’t even know if my child is still inside me—or if you’ve already robbed me of that too.”
I turned my glare on the doctor, my voice sharp enough to cut. “And you—don’t you dare touch me.”
Dmitri didn’t even blink.
He leaned back against the wall, arms folding across his chest like this was some performance he was content to watch. “Let the doctor confirm if the child is still there or not,” he said, calm, casual, cruel.
Chapter 3
PENELOPE
Isat upright, arms crossed tight over my chest, my whole body wound like a spring. “He’s not running any fucking test on me. You didn’t give a damn when I told you I was pregnant.”
My voice climbed, sharp with fury. “You said I didn’t deserve to carry your child. Your words, Dmitri. So why pretend now that you care?”
His head tilted, eyes narrowing with that infuriating calm—like I was some delusional creature he had to manage instead of the woman he’d abandoned. “You’ll let the doctor examine you, Penelope. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
I barked a bitter laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Or what? You’ll put a gun to my head like Antonio? Break me until I bend?” I ripped the duvet off and swung my legs to the floor.
The world tilted sideways, dizziness clawing at me, but I forced myself to stand, spine locked straight.
I glared at him, my chin lifted in challenge. “Go on, Dmitri. Show me what forcing looks like.”
He didn’t move at first. Just watched me, his gaze narrowing as if measuring the exact point where defiance turned into stupidity. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pushed off the wall.
Each step he took toward me was soundless, but the air grew heavier, until I could barely draw breath. By the time he stopped in front of me, I had to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes.
“You think you’re in a position to make demands?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of softness that made my skin prickle. “You defy me, Penelope, and I will show you what forcing looks like. Don’t test me.”
His hand lifted—not to strike, not to shove—but to catch my jaw, holding me still. His thumb pressed lightly against my chin, not cruel, but firm enough to remind me he owned the moment.
“You’ll sit down,” he said, each word clipped. “You’ll let the doctor examine you. And you’ll thank me for even caring enough to ask.”
My pulse thundered, my body torn between the urge to recoil and the shameful heat of being caught in his gravity again.
I stood my ground, my lungs burning as if an asthma attack were brewing just beneath the surface, tightening my chest with every ragged breath.
“Sir... there is...” The doctor’s eyes were fixed on something behind me, his voice hesitant as he tried to catch Dmitri’s attention.
Dmitri’s gaze shifted, and his expression darkened.
He barked at the doctor, “Get the fuck out. Now!”
The doctor scrambled out, door clicking shut behind him.
Confused, I turned, scanning the bed for whatever had caught their eye.
“You’re bleeding,” Dmitri said, his tone unnervingly calm.
I frowned.
Bleeding? Again? The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through me.
I quickly twisted my body so he couldn’t see my back anymore, but the shame burned hot in my cheeks. Both men had seen it. Seen me like that—vulnerable, exposed.
Mortified, I rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
