Page 21

My eyelids fluttered open, my vision taking a minute to clear as the intoxicating scent of the man I dreaded most in the world invaded my senses. The rising sun streamed in through the windows, the curtains swirling in the gentle breeze.

I rubbed the remnants of sleep from my eyes, my fingers combing through my tousled hair, a tangled mess.

The aroma of fresh flowers wafted through the air, mingling with the rich smell of Sergei’s cologne.

My bones ached and my body was sore, a subtle reminder of last night and how things sprawled out of control.

He’d fucked me. He’d fucked me so hard that I almost forgot how much I hated his guts.

Why? Why the hell couldn’t I resist him? Why did I let myself fall for him again? I gave in to the temptation, even though I knew deep down that I was going to regret my decision. It’s like Sergei had some sort of strange hold over me.

After everything he did, after the shame and disgrace he caused me at the altar in front of all those people, I still let him fuck the hell out of my pussy. To make things even worse, I enjoyed every part of it; my moans and the way I dug my nails into his skin were evidence enough.

I hated how I’d grown so attached to the man who ruined my life.

A man who saw me as nothing but a prized possession—a trophy he’d won after beating my father in their sick fight for power.

I hated Sergei Tarasov, but I couldn’t deny the flame he so effortlessly ignited in me every single time.

His darkness was intoxicating, always drawing me in like steel to a magnet.

Last night was proof that I couldn’t say no to fucking him.

Even in my dreams, I wasn’t free of him; that was how deeply he’d penetrated my soul.

As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, memories of his huge cock plunging into my cunt came flooding into my mind.

The sound of my own moans echoed in my head, taking me back to the night before.

It hadn’t been my intention to let him fuck me. I didn’t plan to, and definitely didn’t want to either. But the moment he looked at me with those sexy gray eyes, it was like something cracked inside me, and the high walls I spent months building came crumbling down within seconds.

When he claimed me, I realized just how much I’d missed him, how much I’d missed his cock deep inside me.

Crazy how the man I loathed the most gave me the most mind-blowing pleasure I’d ever had.

He got me wet without even trying, and my pussy welcomed his cock wholeheartedly.

I felt complete. I felt like a woman when he slid inside my warm, slippery pussy like he owned it.

At first, I was ashamed to moan, to let him know just how much I was enjoying him. But the more he drove inside me—harder and faster, like a hungry beast—the more impossible it became to keep my emotions locked in.

All it took was for the first moan to fall off my lips, and then the others followed, raw and unrestrained.

I let out a sharp exhale and shook my head, refusing to give in to the memories tugging at my mind. Sergei’s side of the bed was cold, empty, and when I rolled over, there were only the tangled sheets and a pillow that carried the scent of his cologne like a ghost that refused to leave.

At least that was a good thing, the fact that I had some time to myself, some time to think and come up with ways to get myself out of this mess. The only problem was that I wasn’t sure I was in control of this situation, nor was I sure that I was in control of my own heart.

“You were sleeping with the enemy?” Dad’s voice, laced with disappointment and anger, echoed in my head, a harsh reminder of how badly I hurt my family.

The shame. The disgrace. The pain I caused them would linger on the fringes of my mind for all eternity. This was more than enough reason for me to hate that son of a bitch, Sergei. Yet my stupid heart still beat for him.

Furious, I got up and sat on the edge of the bed, my face buried in my palm. I was angry at everything and everyone, especially myself. I just wanted to scream at the top of my voice and let out all my frustrations before they drowned me.

My head was full, tons of thoughts overlapping constantly to the point that I was going to lose my mind. The realization set in that I was doomed for life. And even if I somehow managed to escape this new prison, I still wouldn’t be able to repair the damage I caused my family.

They hated me now, and knowing my father, he just might have disowned me. Maybe I deserved it.

I’d always wanted to leave the O’Hara mansion, to forge my own path, be my own woman, and take full control of my life.

However, I never wanted to hurt anyone in the process.

I never wanted to leave on bad terms with my family.

That was why, despite my rebellion, I still stayed back, thinking of ways to earn my freedom and leave with my reputation and respect intact.

All that had been blown away now. The damage had been done, and I would have to live with this guilt, this pit in my stomach, for the rest of my life. A life that I was sure would end in more pain and misery, considering that I moved from a familiar prison to an unfamiliar one.

The devil you know, they say, is better than the devil you don’t.

My father was the devil I knew; Sergei, on the other hand, represented an entirely different kind of devil, one I had yet to meet.

I cursed the day he entered my life and regretted meeting him.

If I had the chance to go back in time to change this, I would avoid him at that art gallery.

I would warn my younger self to stay the hell away from him.

But sadly, we don’t get do-overs in real life. If wanting could make it so, I’d already have erased him.

I rose to my feet, grabbed a white robe from the wardrobe, and slipped into it, wrapping the silk fabric around my frame.

I stepped out of the room, the robe shielding me from the nasty chills in the penthouse.

My bare feet made no sound against the polished marble floor as I explored the building—serene, cold, and silent.

The place exuded luxury and style, with gold-accented walls and expensive chandeliers that cast warm glows over the space. Every hallway I walked through felt less like a home and more like what it was—a fucking prison.

This mansion was a huge fortress, guarded by heavily armed men in black suits at almost every corner.

And each time I walked by, they all gave me a curt nod.

I came across a couple of maids at different parts of the house, and none of them looked me in the eyes.

They just bowed their heads in reverence like I was the fuckin’ Queen of England.

Why accord me, a prisoner, so much respect when they were better off than I was?

Unlike me, they could leave. They could decide to wake up one morning and tender their resignation and just simply…

walk away without turning back. I wish I had that kind of freedom.

Why would anyone even work for this prick anyway?

I explored the massive building, taking mental notes of every possible way out and every detail my eyes could catch.

Exits. Corners. Hallways. Security blind spots.

It felt less like a stroll and more like I was planning a prison break; I wasn’t Michael Scofield—I didn’t have a blueprint tattooed on my back.

On the top floor, I found a balcony tucked behind heavy doors, and curiosity made me step out. A rush of cool wind slapped against my face, carrying the faint scent of pine, jasmine, and something distant. The breeze whipped my hair back, strands dancing wildly, and I squinted my eyes.

From up there, I could see everything: the winding driveway snaking through the vast expanse of land below, the manicured lawns, and the sharp edges of the compound walls. Far beyond, the city skyline gleamed in the distance, beautiful yet suffocating.

My jaw clenched, my grip tightening on the stone railing as my gaze swept across the mansion’s expanse sprawled beneath me. I could almost taste it: freedom, the outside world. Almost. But I knew better. For now, I was trapped.

Later that morning, after I’d finished exploring the building and taken a long, steaming shower, a soft knock came at the door. At first, my heart skipped a beat, thinking it was Sergei. But on second thought, why would he knock on the door to his own room?

“Ma’am?” a gentle, feminine voice called from the other side of the door. “Your husband says you’re wanted in the dining room.”

My blood boiled at how conveniently she described him as my husband.

“He’s waiting for you now,” she added after a short pause.

I heard her footsteps receding. She’d passed the information, and her job here was done. I was so pissed at those two little words “your husband.” It would take me a long time to get used to that.

With slow, deliberate steps, I descended the grand staircase, dressed in a soft beige gown that clung to my skin only lightly.

The mansion, silent as a graveyard, seemed to be closing in on me as I drew closer to the dining room.

The air was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and spiced sausage that made my stomach growl in anticipation.

I walked quietly into the dining room: a massive space with vaulted ceilings, dark paneled walls, and a mahogany table that dominated the center of the room.

On the other end of the table, set with perfectly arranged silver-domed trays, candle holders, and a lavish variety of meals, Sergei sat poised.

He was clad in a charcoal tailored suit, exuding an air of confidence and control. His crisp white undershirt was undone at the collar, his head lowered, as he cut into the bacon on his plate with practiced precision.

His mouth moved gracefully, chewing with slow, deliberate bites—like a man completely in control, unbothered by anything at all.

I hated how composed and calm he was while my whole world fell apart.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna take a seat?” he asked without raising his head to look at me, his voice low and cool.

I didn’t respond. I just stood there, glaring at him in silence.

He dabbed his lips with a napkin and lifted his eyes, meeting my gaze.

A small grin lit up his face for a moment.

“Suit yourself,” he said, reclining in his chair.

“By the way, there was an explosion last night, near one of your father’s units.

” He locked eyes with me, his expression flat and unreadable.

“Story goes: Millions of dollars’ worth of merchandise were destroyed in the tragic fire.

” A deadly smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Luckily, no life was lost.”

I drew closer, my blood boiling with rage, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. He told me this to spite me—to keep me in the loop while dismantling my father’s empire, piece by piece.

“Was this why you called for me? Just so you could gloat?” I asked through gritted teeth, my eyes blazing with fury.

“Gloat?” He chuckled lightly. “I just passed across a piece of information I thought you might find useful.”

“Bullshit!” I snapped, slamming both hands on the table, the sound echoing through the room.

He raised his eyebrows in response, but said nothing.

“You did that on purpose because you’re a sick, twisted devil who gets off on watching other people suffer!” My words shot out like bullets from the barrel of a gun.

I glared at him, my chest heaving, eyes glistening—not with tears but with unfiltered rage.

Sergei didn’t flinch. He just reached his cup of coffee, took a slow sip, and said calmly, with the most infuriating smile on his lips, “I must admit…getting under your skin is almost as satisfying as getting between your legs.”

For a second, I was completely speechless, stunned by the sheer audacity of his words.

My breath caught in my throat, his nerve striking me like a goddamn dagger to the heart. My eyes widened in shock, fury flashing across my features like lightning. I was so pissed I actually imagined driving a fork straight through his neck.

“It’s not enough that you ruined my life,” I began, my voice low and even, cracking slightly under the weight of my shame. “Now, you mock me too?”

He lowered his mug on the table and faced me squarely. “I didn’t ruin your life; if anything, I saved it.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep better at night?” I asked with my gaze, unwavering, so he’d see the pain he caused me.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he began, still maintaining his calmness.

“Your father traded you in like a pawn to the Bianchis; he sold you out, Ayla. In exchange for what? An alliance with the Italians.” He paused, letting the cold truth he spewed sink in a bit.

“At least with me, you can be a better version of yourself.” Then came that crooked grin again.

I drew a deep, long breath and shook my head, my heart shattering in my chest. “You’re no different from my father,” I said, my voice low and even. “You’re both monsters who care about nothing but power and influence, regardless of who you have to hurt to get it.”

Quietly, I walked away, heading back to the bedroom, more broken than I was when I came downstairs. My hands were shaking, my lips were trembling, and when I lay on the bed, a sudden cold overwhelmed me. I pulled the sheets over my body, my mind reeling from the short argument I had with Sergei.

As annoying as the man was, he was right about my father’s motives. But he, too, was no saint. I hated both of them for ruining my life, especially Sergei.

My heart pounded like a drum in my chest as I fought between loathing and craving the man who had me locked up in his mansion.

Despite his condescending words about getting between my legs, I still wanted that ruthless devil. How long would I survive being tethered to the man who stole my freedom and somehow made me feel more alive than anyone else ever had?