Page 70 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

I've experienced many forms of violation in my life, but this might be the most civilized.

Two female guards escort me back to my quarters, their expressions blank as they flank me through Victor's palace.

My new ring weighs heavy on my finger, the massive diamond catching the light with every movement.

beautiful shackle. Neither woman speaks as we walk, the only sound is the rhythmic click of our heels against the marble floors.

“Where's Talon?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual despite the anxiety churning in my stomach.

“Mr. St. James has been relocated to more appropriate accommodations,” the taller guard responds without looking at me. “Mr. Petrov felt it unsuitable for your security detail to remain in your personal quarters.”

Of course he did. First, Oz and Zaire. And now, Talon. Isolation at its best.

When we reach my door, the guards position themselves on either side, a clear indication they won't be leaving. The message is unmistakable. I'm no longer a guest but a prisoner in gilded shackles.

“The physician will arrive momentarily,” the shorter guard informs me as she opens the door. “Mr. Petrov requests your full cooperation.”

I step into my room and freeze. Where my luxurious bed once stood now sits a gynecological examination chair, its stirrups extended like metal arms waiting to embrace me. Beside it, a small table holds an array of medical instruments, neatly arranged. The sight sends ice coursing through my veins.

A sharp knock at the door startles me from my horrified contemplation.

Without waiting for my response, the door swings open to reveal a mountain of a man, his shoulders nearly touching both sides of the door frame as he enters.

His coat stretches tight across his broad chest, and a stethoscope hangs around his neck like an afterthought.

"Miss Rossi," he greets me, his Russian accent so thick it turns my name into something almost unrecognizable. "I am Dr. Lebedev. I will examine you now.”

There's no warmth in his assessment, no bedside manner, just the cold efficiency of a man accustomed to following orders without question.

"Please remove clothing from waist down and sit at the end of the table," he instructs, gesturing toward the stirrups with a meaty hand. "We will be quick."

I remain frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. The doctor sighs, impatience flickering across his broad features.

"I will give privacy," he says, moving toward my bathroom. "Two minutes."

The bathroom door closes behind him with a soft click. I glance toward the main door where I know the two guards stand just outside, ready to intervene if I resist.

My fingers tremble as I approach the chair, bile rising in my throat. This is just another tactic. Victor’s way of asserting control, a silent reminder that my body now belongs to the Petrov empire. You’ve survived worse, I tell myself. Much worse.

With stiff, mechanical movements, I slide off my underwear, leaving the midnight blue dress pooled around my hips as I perch on the edge.

The cold metal bites into my skin, and a violent shiver rips through me.

I fix my gaze on the ceiling, forcing each breath to remain steady as I count the delicate swirls etched into the plaster overhead.

Then, vibration. Soft, almost imperceptible, against my wrist.

The watch. Our encrypted line.

I angle my wrist, eyes scanning the message scrolling across the diamond-studded face.

STAY STRONG. WE'RE WORKING ON IT. – Z

The words hit harder than any touch, solid ground beneath my feet when everything else threatens to collapse. I’m not alone. Not completely.

The bathroom door creaks open. Dr. Lebedev steps out, latex gloves already in place, his movements swift despite his size. He stations himself at the foot of the chair.

“Feet in stirrups,” he commands, not bothering to look at my face.

I comply, swallowing my revulsion as I place my feet in the cold metal supports. The vulnerability of the position makes my skin crawl, memories of the clinic during my captivity threatening to overwhelm me.

“This will be cold,” Dr. Lebedev warns, his voice devoid of empathy.

The shock of the cold speculum makes me flinch despite my determination to remain stoic. I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling, retreating into my mind as the doctor's clinical examination proceeds. His touch is impersonal, mechanical, just another man handling my body without my consent.

I hear the door opening, but assume it's one of the female guards checking on the examination's progress.

“We are not done here,” the doctor bellows from between my legs.

“Leave us.” The voice attached to that command chills my blood. I shift, just enough to see Dmitri standing in the doorway. “Get out,” Dmitri commands, his voice quiet yet carrying such authority that Dr. Lebedev immediately withdraws the speculum and straightens.

The doctor nods stiffly, stripping off his gloves and gathering his instruments. He moves past Dmitri, the door closing behind him with a soft click that echoes in the sudden silence.

I scramble to close my legs, fighting against the stirrups that hold them apart.

Humiliation burns through me, hot and suffocating as I struggle to maintain what little dignity I have left.

Dmitri watches me, his expression unreadable as he steps further into the room.

With a few short steps, he’s at my spread feet

“Get your hands off me,” I snap, trying to push myself out of the chair, but Dmitri moves with unexpected speed.

His hand shoots out, pressing against my knee, stopping my attempt to close my legs. “Not yet,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “I want to see what my wife’s blood bought me.”

“Don't you dare,” I hiss, struggling against his grip, but he's stronger than he looks, his fingers digging into my skin as he forces my legs to remain spread in the stirrups.

“Stop fighting,” Dmitri commands, stepping between my legs where the doctor stood moments before. “If we're to be married tomorrow, I should know what I'm getting, shouldn't I?”

I twist against his hold. “I am not merchandise to be inspected.”

His fingers press harder, bruising my skin as he leans closer. “Everything in this house belongs to my father. Soon, you'll belong to me.” His free hand moves toward my inner thigh, and I recoil from his touch.

“I belong to no one,” I spit, summoning all my strength to kick out with my right leg, wrenching it free from the stirrup. My heel connects with his shoulder, sending him stumbling back a step.

Dmitri recovers quickly, his expression shifting from shock to something darker as he straightens. The blow didn’t injure him—only caught him off guard.

“I like it when they fight back,” he snarls. “Breaking you will almost be worth the cost.”

I yank my other leg free from the stirrup, scrambling backward until my back hits the raised portion. My dress is bunched around my waist, my dignity in tatters, but my eyes never leave his face as I reach for anything I could use as a weapon.

“Did you fight my cousins when they fucked you? Did you let your security guard stick his dick inside of you like a fucking whore, Vesper?”

His words hit like physical blows, but I refuse to show how they affect me. Instead, I reach for the only weapon within reach, a metal speculum from the doctor's abandoned tray.

“Touch me again and I'll gouge your eyes out,” I say, calm and cold, each word honed to cut through the heat of my rage.

Dmitri studies me, his head tilting slightly as if seeing me for the first time.

To my surprise, he laughs, a sound devoid of humor that raises gooseflesh along my arms. “You think I'm the monster here? My father just executed my wife. The mother of my—” He stops abruptly, jaw clenching as something like grief flashes across his features before hardening into rage.

“Your wife was a fraud,” I remind him, still clutching the speculum. “And that boy is my son.”

“A son you've never met. A son deprived of his mother because of you.”

“I. Am. His. Mother.”

“She's gone because of you!” Dmitri snarls, lunging forward with unexpected speed. His fingers clamp around my wrist, twisting until pain shoots up my arm. The speculum clatters to the floor as he wrenches it from my grasp.

I refuse to cry out, even as his grip tightens to the point of agony. His face contorts with rage, features twisting into something barely recognizable as he raises his hand, palm open and ready to strike.

“Dmitri!” Victor's voice cracks like a whip from the doorway. “Lower your hand. Now.”

Dmitri freezes, his arm still raised, fingers still digging into my wrist. His breathing comes in harsh pants.

“Release her,” he commands. When Dmitri hesitates, Victor's expression hardens. “I won't ask again.”

The pressure on my wrist vanishes as Dmitri drops my arm. I immediately pull my dress down to cover myself, the humiliation burning hotter than the pain.

Victor moves with surprising speed for a man his age, crossing the room to grab his son by the collar. “Out,” he hisses, shoving Dmitri toward the door with enough force to make him stumble. “We will discuss your behavior later.”

As Dmitri disappears through the doorway, Victor eyes the disheveled state of my dress and the red marks deepening on my wrist.

“My apologies for my son's...enthusiasm,” he says with chilling formality. “He's taking his wife's death rather personally, it seems.”

I yank my dress down further, desperate to cover myself. “Get out.”

Victor's eyebrows rise fractionally at my tone. “This examination will happen, Miss Rossi. One way or another.”

He turns toward the door, his movements unhurried as he steps into the hallway. I hear his voice, low and commanding, followed by heavy footsteps. My stomach drops as Dr. Lebedev reappears.

Victor shoves the doctor back inside. “Do your fucking job. Properly this time.”