Page 9 of Twisted Empire: King's Gambit

He leans in again, so close that his breath mingles with mine and I can tell he’s just accepted the challenge as he says, “Watch me.”

Then he turns and walks out, leaving me alone, stranding me in this nightmarish reality. I’m torn between the life I’ve painstakingly built and a terrible destiny that I can’t seem to shake off.

His image, especially that haunting scar, sticks in my mind as he leaves the room, locking the door behind him. It’s a visceral reminder of a world I thought I had left behind, a world that now seems determined to claim me, no matter how far I run.

GABRIETTE

As the door unlocks and swings open again, I half-expect to see Mikhail’s menacing figure. Instead, two bulky bodyguards enter the room.

They gesture for me to follow them and every fiber of my being wants to resist, to scream, to fight back. But the rational part of me knows it would be futile; I don’t want them touching me.

I’ve seen Mikhail’s world before; I know the kind of control he wields. Besides, I don’t know if I’m even in Seattle anymore.

Resigned, I let them lead me out of the dark room and into the glaring mid afternoon light of the outside world.

We walk across a gravel lot to a sleek, black SUV. One of the bodyguards opens the door for me, and I climb into the back seat.

Mikhail is already inside, sitting as far away from me as the space allows. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence, his eyes focused on a smartphone.

The drive is painfully silent, except for the sporadic bursts of Russian Mikhail speaks into his phone. I try to pick up phrases, words, anything that could give me a clue about what’s happening.

But it’s no use; my Russian is rusty, and his words are like shards of glass that I can’t piece together. The entire ride feels surreal, like a never-ending tunnel with no light at the end.

Finally, the SUV pulls up in the underground parking of a tall skyscraper.

This is no ordinary building; it’s a towering symbol of power and luxury, and I realize that this must be Mikhail’s home; his penthouse.

The elevator ride up is another stretch of suffocating silence. When the doors finally slide open, I’m greeted by a different scene entirely.

The penthouse is an extensive and luxurious space with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city, sleek modern furniture, and abstract art that is likely to be more expensive than a small house.

But what really catches my eye is the group of women assembled in the living room area, a mix of ages and appearances, all impeccably dressed.

“They’re here to prepare you,” he addresses me directly for the first time since this nightmare began.

“Prepare me for what?” Even as I ask, I already know the answer.

“The wedding, Gabriette. Our wedding.” His words are final, a decree rather than a statement, as he looks at his watch. “In about three hours.”

My stomach feels like it’s just fallen into my fucking knees. Three hours?!

He sees the look on my face and smirks, then he takes my face in one of his hands and squeezes. “Be a good girl and let them pretty you up for me, wife. And be sure to wear something sexy and easy to get out of tonight.”

My heart drops. “You’re not touching me—”

“Oh, is that for you to decide? The last time I checked, you’re in a city under my rule,” he says, and I am left sputtering for a response because he’s right.

The deep chuckle he gives after I just stand there with my mouth hanging open lets him know he’s won. Tutting, he looks over my shoulder and calls to the women behind me in Russian, then he leaves.

I’m shaking when the women approach me and, without another word, they lead me to a bedroom that’s larger than my entire apartment.

A room with racks of elaborate gowns, tables covered in cosmetics, and every accessory from veils to shoes. A room where my fucking life as I know it ends.

They start the process of transforming me into a bride, and I can do nothing but stare at myself in the mirror. I feel a new emotion rising, one I haven’t felt in a long time: despair.

I’m a doll, a prop in Mikhail’s world, being dressed up for a performance I never agreed to be a part of. But even as I want to cry and burst out into tears, nothing comes. I don’t know if it’s shock or just me submitting to the fact that I have no say over my life anymore.

Because the truth is, Mikhail owns my life now, no matter how much I fight him.

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