Page 86 of Twisted Addiction
“Keep moving,” Dmitri ordered, his voice a cold blade slicing through the tense corridor.
Each word vibrated with fury, edged with grief, leaving no room for hesitation.
My legs shook as I stepped forward.
The weight of his revelations pressed down on me—the knowledge of his mother’s death, my family’s betrayal, the blood that seemed to stain us both.
I stopped, planting my feet like a defiant sentinel, even as the tremor of panic coursed through me.
“My secretary’s sister is Seraphina,” I said, my voice sharper than I expected, trembling under the strain. “She came to the office for Elena—slim, elegant, graceful. Is that her? The flawless phantom you’ve been comparing me to? The woman you think I should’ve been?”
Dmitri’s eyes narrowed.
He didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers moved with precise, deliberate motion over his phone. Seconds stretched like hours.
“Keep moving, Penelope,” he repeated, voice harder this time.
“No!” I snapped, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I’d held back—rage, fear, heartbreak. “Answer me, damn it! Tell me why you always shut down when I ask about her! Why you never say her name, never tell me who she is. I’ve asked you over and over, Dmitri, and you just—pretend she doesn’t exist!”
My breath hitched, tears burning my throat. “You’ve already broken me... so what truth could possibly destroy me now?”
The hallway seemed to shrink, shadows crawling along the marble walls as his silence pressed against me.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Movement flickered at the edge of my vision.
Giovanni emerged from the shadows, the limp in his stride barely noticeable, his scarred face a mask I couldn’t read.
“Lock her up,” Dmitri said flatly, almost casually, yet the cold precision in his tone made it final.
“No!” I staggered back, breath hitching.
My hands scrambled for anything—vase, lamp, candlestick—anything that could give me leverage.
Panic coiled in my throat.
The gun in Dmitri’s hand gleamed like a promise of pain, and Giovanni was closing the distance, inexorable.
“Don’t make me force you, Penelope,” Giovanni said, voice low, almost pleading, but with an edge that told me he would do it if I resisted. “Come with me.”
The walls of the mansion seemed to pulse around me.
My back hit the cold marble, the chandelier light catching on Dmitri’s gun, his eyes burning into mine.
Every part of me screamed defiance. Every nerve in my body screamed terror.
“You can’t lock me up for asking about Seraphina!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “Why can’t you just say it? Tell me who she is! Locking me up won’t erase her!”
The thought of being locked away ate at me. How long would he keep me—one night, a week... forever? No. I refused to be his captive.
Dmitri’s face hardened, eyes like steel, the barrel of the gun unwavering. “You shot me,” he growled, the words like acid. “Consider this the beginning of your punishment.”
He paused—just a second—but it was enough. “Had nothing to do with...” His throat worked, his jaw tightened, and he looked away.
He couldn’t even say her name.
Giovanni’s hand reached for me, and my fight-or-flight flared.
