Page 76 of Darkest Oblivion

The dress clung to my curves, the rolls I’d always loathed now accentuated, but I straightened my spine, forcing courage into the hollow places of my chest.

I wouldn’t let him break me tonight.

Footsteps shattered the silence behind me. I didn’t need to turn. The mirror betrayed him first: Dmitri, in his tailored black suit. His icy blue eyes pierced mine through the glass, a storm of hatred and possession that made my breath hitch.

He moved to his wardrobe, dragging a hand along the carved silver wolves, and pulled out a black silk shirt, the fabric shimmering under the chandelier’s light.

“Wear this,” he said, his voice a growl threaded with command.

I met his gaze through the mirror. “Why? Your clothes don’t even fit me.”

“I have my reasons,” he said, stepping closer, eyes dark. “Wear it, milaya.”

“No,” I muttered, hiding the tremor that betrayed me.

“Penelope.” His tone dropped, edged with danger.

The air between us thickened, a tangible warning.

“What?” I snapped, spinning on my heel, brushing past him as I headed for the door. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

A sharp sound cut through the air—“Stop.”

I froze mid-step, my hand on the doorknob, heart hammering.

“Do not dare to walk out on me, Penelope,” he said, each word a low growl, heavy with warning. “Not now. Not ever.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

I turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

“Or what?” I demanded.

His gaze hardened. “Or I’ll strip you bare of that cloth you’re wearing,” he said, calm, almost flat, yet each syllable carried the weight of absolute intent. “And make you remember what it means to disobey me.”

I swallowed hard, and with a shaky hand, I snatched the shirt from his hands, forcing myself to act before my mind could betray me.

I stripped off my dress and pulled the silk over my head. It hung loose, cool against my skin, carrying his scent.

The memory of the art room, of him stripping me, kissing me, worshipping every flaw while crushing my pride, gnawed at me.

“How do I look?” I asked finally, my voice cold, testing him.

“Pretty,” he said, his eyes blazing with that dangerous possession that made my chest ache.

One hand pressed to my lower back, guiding me out of the room, the silk brushing my thighs, his touch searing.

We looked like lovers to anyone observing, but I knew the truth. He wasn’t here out of affection—he was here because he needed me under his control, body and mind, for reasons I might never fully understand.

Every step I took with him beside me, every brush of his palm along my spine, reminded me of the boy I’d loved—a memory twisted into a nightmare of obsession.

And yet, in spite of the terror, a stubborn ember of rebellion stayed alive within me. I would not surrender entirely.

Not tonight.

We stepped into the cool night, the villa’s marble steps gleaming under the moonlight. I froze for a heartbeat when Dmitri slid into the driver’s seat of the sleek black Rolls-Royce, his hands gripping the wheel with a predatory ease.

“I thought Giovanni would be driving us,” I said, keeping my voice measured,