Page 103 of Twisted Addiction
“Why would he do that?” I asked, my voice trembling, my chest tightening with that familiar, suffocating burn that always came before an asthma attack.
Dmitri’s gaze didn’t waver. “Ask him,” he said quietly, the words like a verdict. “You need a break. Go to your family, see your world again. Rest. Have fun. Breathe different air. Talk to people who don’t make you flinch. You need distance.”
He smiled faintly. “It’ll make you easier to keep.”
For a moment, I just stared—unsure if I’d heard him right.
Then I coughed, the motion tearing through my ribs, raw from too many nights gasping for air. “Is that guilt talking?” I sneered, each word laced with poison. “Or just another one of your strategies?”
“There’s something you don’t see yet,” he said, voice low. “Your parents aren’t who you think they are.”
His voice was calm, almost eerily so. “Go home, Penelope. Ask questions. Listen. You’ll understand soon.”
I laughed—a cracked, ugly sound that scraped my throat raw. “And what makes you so sure I’ll come back?”
“You will.” His tone didn’t rise, didn’t even shift, but something in it crawled under my skin.
That certainty. That quiet faith twisted into possession. His eyes locked on mine, and I could almost feel the promise there—if I didn’t return, he would come for me.
“I won’t,” I snapped, forcing strength into my voice. “Once I leave Lake Como, I’m done. I’m never coming back to this place—or to you.”
He leaned forward, slow, deliberate.
His presence filled the room like smoke—dense, invasive, choking. “Your flight leaves tomorrow,” he said, his voice a whisper of command. “Ten a.m.”
The way he said it made it clear: this wasn’t freedom. This was parole.
He straightened, eyes sweeping over me like a final inspection. “Rest. I’ll check on you in an hour.”
“You don’t have to.” The word tore from me before I could stop it.
My fists clenched around the sheets. “I don’t want you here. And I’m not staying in this sterile box like some invalid. I’m leaving.”
“Then walk out on your own two feet first. Until you can, you stay.” he said, already turning away.
The click of his boots against the tile was the only sound that followed, echoing down the sterile corridor until silence swallowed everything.
And I was alone again—surrounded by the machines that had kept me alive, and haunted by the man who refused to let me truly live.
I sighed, leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out, the IV tugging faintly at my arm.
Why wasn’t I exhilarated? Leaving Lake Como, escaping Dmitri’s cage, should have felt like victory—freedom finally within reach.
This had been my obsession, the reason I’d whispered plots with Alexei, the reason I’d clung to Giovanni’s lies about the abortion.
And now, it was being handed to me.
Yet my chest tightened with a strange, reluctant dread.
Was it fear? Desire? Or some lingering tether to the boy he’d once been—the one beneath the oak tree, whispering of futures that would never exist?
The door creaked.
The doctor entered, clipboard in hand, a middle-aged man with kind, professional eyes.
He checked the monitor—heart rate elevated but steady, oxygen levels hissing softly with each breath. “Let’s see how you’re doing,” he said calmly, inspecting the IV, ensuring the saline was flowing correctly.
He adjusted the electrodes on my chest, notes scratching onto the clipboard. “Your vitals are stabilizing, but we’ll keep observing a bit longer.”
