Isabella's POV
I walked into my room, the tension of the day still clinging to me like a second skin. The thick, heavy air of Viktor's mansion did little to ease my burden as I closed the door behind me, shutting out the world outside. The faint scent of my perfume mingled with the lavender Viktor had requested the maids use when they cleaned my room. It was supposed to be soothing, but tonight, nothing could calm my mind.
The large mirror on the far wall reflected the dim glow of the bedside lamps. I walked toward it, my movements slow and deliberate as I unzipped my dress. The fabric slid off my shoulders, pooling at my feet like a discarded memory. I stood there, staring at my reflection, bare except for the lingering bruises—both visible and invisible—that marked my body and soul.
My eyes wandered to a faded scar on my side, just below my ribs. I hadn't seen it in a while, and hadn't wanted to. But now, here it was, staring back at me. My fingers traced the jagged line, the touch igniting the long-buried memory of my father's rough hands. His voice, his breath. The nights I had tried to forget.
A sharp breath escaped my lips, and for a moment, Ithought Imight break down. The tears I had fought so hard to hold back in the car threatened to spill over, my throat tightening with the weight of all I carried. I wanted to scream, to tear myself apart just to escape the ghost of his touch.
But instead, I stood frozen, my hand still pressed to the scar, as a presence appeared behind me.
The sudden, cold caress of hands on my bare shoulders made me flinch, my breath catching in my throat. I recoiled instinctively, but the grip tightened gently, almost possessively. I knew who it was before I even looked up.
Viktor.
His reflection loomed behind mine, his sharp features softened by the low light, his eyes locked on me through the mirror. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the curve of my ear as he spoke, his voice low, almost soothing. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Isabella. What's wrong?" His fingers trailed along my shoulders, his touch light but invasive, and I stiffened beneath it.
I swallowed hard, myskin crawling under his hands, not from fear but from the suffocating memories they triggered. Every time Viktor touched her, I was reminded of my father. The sensation of being owned, controlled, used. I forced myself to breathe, steadying my heart, which had begun to race.
"I'm fine," I said quietly, turning slightly, just enough to step out of his reach. my movements were fluid, deliberate, as I reached for my robe and pulled it around my body. The silk fabric felt cool against my heated skin, a thin barrier between me and the man who watched my every move.
Viktor's eyes followed me as I covered up, but he didn't move. Instead, he turned away, his fingers trailing over the ornate decorations that lined my walls—the paintings, the sculptures, all carefully curated by him to remind me of my place in his world. He walked slowly, methodically, as if inspecting his collection.
"I spoke with Pete, the driver," Viktor said after a pause, his tone casual but laced with an edge of curiosity. "He told me you were crying in the car." He stopped by the window, his fingers brushing the velvet curtains before turning to face me, his eyes searching mine. "Something wrong, my dear?"
I felt my stomach tighten. I had known this would come. Viktor always knew more than he let on, always kept tabs on me even when I thought I was free for just a moment. I met his gaze, my face composed, as though I hadn't just been on the verge of breaking down.
"I wasn't crying," I replied firmly, my voice steady. "I already told the driver—something got in my eyes. That's all."
Viktor's lips twitched, a small smile playing on the edges of his mouth, though his eyes remained dark, unreadable. He didn't believe me. I knew that look. He didn't have to say it, but his silence spoke louder than any words could.
Still, he didn't press the issue. Not now.
He crossed the room again, this time standing closer to me, his presence suffocating yet calm. "Tell me about the attack," he said, his voice smooth, almost casual. "The man at the depot. You said he was a foreigner and a self acclaimed friend of mine?"
I swallowed the rising tension in my chest, my hands gripping the silk of my robe. I hated this. Hated every second of being forced into this world, forced to answer to him like I was nothing more than his tool. But my daughter and my brother were all that mattered now.
"Yes," I said finally, my tone measured. "He wasn't from around here. He was… different. Skilled. Whoever he is, he knows what he's doing. He wasn't detected coming in or leaving."
Viktor's eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the back of the chair he stood beside. His mind was already working, already calculating the next move, the next threat. But I wasn't finished.
"I don't know him," I added, my voice firm. "I've never seen him before. His only message was that he was a friend of yours and that he was your pending nightmare."
Viktor studied me for a long moment, his gaze piercing, as though he could see right through me. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I held my breath, waiting for his response, knowing that anything could set him off.
But he merely nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Strange," he said quietly, his voice low. "A stranger disrupting my shipment on the same night Don Esteban and his family were gunned down at their residence is nothing out of a coincidence. Same timing… same way of attack."
My stomach dropped. My mind raced, piecing together what Viktor was implying, but I kept my face neutral, unwilling to show any weakness.
Viktor's gaze never left me as he continued, his tone almost missing. "It isn't a coincidence, right? An attack on our shipment, then a hit on one of our own, all in the same night." His eyes darkened. "Something doesn't add up."
I remained silent, refusing to be baited. I knew Viktor was fishing for something, but I wasn't going to give him anything more. I couldn't. The less he knew about what was going on inside me, the safer I and my family would be.
Viktor moved closer again, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. I fought the urge to flinch, keeping my body still, my expression calm. "I'll look into it," he said softly, his voice almost tender. "But in the meantime, I need you to be careful. Don't do anything… reckless."
The word hung in the air between us, a warning, a threat wrapped in concern.
"I won't," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
Viktor's fingers lingered on my hair for a moment longer before he pulled away, turning towards my door. "Good," he said, his tone lightening.
I prayed and wished that he was going to leave and not stay back with me, I had avoided him for a week now and I know that there was no escaping tonight.
Viktor carefully locked the door, bolting it locked with the keys as he turned to face the already trembling me. How I hated this part of my life—how I wished to be free from the torment of being Viktor's pet.
"It's time for some fun, Mí Puta," he said in a low tone, lust and desires filled his eyes. "Strip."
I felt a lump in my throat as I stared at Viktor hoping he could change his mind given that I had gone through a lot for the night already, but Viktor didn't look like he cared what I wanted. He wanted me on his bed and he would have me on his bed.