Page 65 of Darkest Oblivion

Evening pressed against the villa with a suffocating stillness, the kind that made every breath feel borrowed.

I sat at the dining table, forcing down spoonfuls of risotto that turned to ash on my tongue. Hunger gnawed at me, but the food was sour, my appetite strangled by the storm in my head. Every bite was a battle, every swallow choked by the same fear:what would happen when Dmitri came back—if he made it out alive?

The main room’s door creaked open. The sound wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

I turned, half-expecting Giovanni’s stoic frame.

But the sight that met me made my stomach lurch.

Dmitri stood in the doorway. Towering. Terrifying.

His tailored black suit was shredded, dark stains spreading where blood had seeped through. His face was pale from loss of it, but carved in granite fury.

Those icy blue eyes fixed on me, blazing with the kind of rage that could burn a kingdom to ash.

He was alive. Barely—but alive. And looking at me as if survival had only given him strength to hate me more.

Every instinct screamed to run, yet my body locked in place.

He stalked toward me, slow, deliberate. The rhythm of his boots echoed like a death march.

My chest dropped.

Giovanni must have told him. Of course he had. His loyalty was iron.

Before I could draw breath, his hand lashed out, iron around my throat.

He slammed me back against the wall, the impact rattling through my bones. Air fled my lungs in a strangled gasp as my nails clawed against his grip, but he only tightened, his fury radiating off him like heat from a forge.

“You sold me out.” His words were a venomous snarl, his breath searing my cheek.

“You handed me to wolves.” His lips curled, his eyes burning into me like brands. “And you thought there would be no price? The consequence of betrayal is death, Penelope. But your father clearly failed to teach you the meaning of loyalty—or the cost of breaking it.”

Tears stung, rage and shame tangling inside me.

My voice came ragged. “Please...” I gasped, the sound strangled. “Don’t—don’t hurt me.”

His grip tightened for a beat that stretched like eternity.

I saw it then—how much he wanted to crush the breath from me, to punish me for the crime of not being his to command.

His obsession burned so hot it hurt.

And then, with a sharp wince, he released me.

I collapsed against the wall, coughing, the bruises blooming on my throat already throbbing.

He stepped back, one hand clamped to his side. The mask slipped for only a second—pain flashing across his features before his jaw locked, his control snapping back into place.

He dropped heavily into the leather chair, his posture still regal, alpha even in weakness. His chest rose shallowly, his breaths edged with pain, but his eyes never left mine.

I pressed trembling fingers to my throat, my pulse wild. “Can I... check?” My words came out small, almost shameful—but my stubbornness laced them still.

His glare cut into me. “Don’t.” His voice was a growl, a command meant to cage me where I stood.

But something in me refused to yield.

Maybe guilt. Maybe defiance. Maybe that same foolish love I couldn’t burn out.