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19

Scarlett

My eyelids flutter open, and I'm greeted by a ceiling that's not mine. It's a vast expanse of white, trimmed with gold detailing so intricate it could belong in a museum. For a moment, disorientation grips me like a vice. Where am I? The question spirals through the fog in my mind, but then it all clicks — Viktor's bedroom. His scent lingers in the air, a mix of cologne and something distinctly him, a reminder of my captor turned ... what? Protector?

I sit up, taking in the opulence around me. The suite is a masterpiece of dark luxury, with every piece of furniture designed to intimidate and impress. Heavy velvet drapes block the morning light while a grand chandelier looms overhead like a watchful guardian. But none of this splendor can ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach.

Viktor's oversized t-shirt that I have on hangs off my shoulders. It feels like a soft dress against my skin. It's both foreign and intimate, a contradiction that has become the very essence of my relationship with him. Clutching the fabric, I stand, feeling suddenly vulnerable yet shrouded in his presence. Curiosity and hunger drive me towards the door; the latter makes my steps tentative, each one cautious as if the floor beneath me might betray my weight and sound an alarm.

I need to eat. The thought is simple and urgent. With my free hand, I reach for the door handle, steeling myself for whatever lies beyond. It's not just the mansion's unknown corridors that unsettle me; it's the man who owns everything here. The billionaire mafia lord who's as enigmatic as he is dangerous.

But he's also the father of my child, the man whose gaze ignites a fire within me despite the coldness of our circumstances. I take a deep breath, ready to face whatever comes next, because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that nothing is ever straightforward with Viktor. And somehow, against all odds, I'm starting to be okay with that.

Pregnancy hormones, I guess.

The door clicks shut behind me, a soft snick in the overwhelming silence. I pause, letting the hush of the house wrap around me like a heavy cloak. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet, each step tentative as I move down the corridor.

Shadows play tricks on my eyes, stretching and twisting in the dim light spilling from hidden candelabra. The opulence of Viktor's mansion is muted here, turned to monochrome by the twilight. I hug myself. Viktor's T-shirt is a flimsy barrier against the chill coming from within. Each breath I take seems loud and intrusive, but it's the pulse thrumming in my ears that truly marks the rhythm of my trepidation.

I'm not just carrying my fear; there's another life inside me, a tiny heartbeat that echoes my own. My hand drifts to my belly, a protective gesture that's become second nature. I need to be strong for us both, even if everything within this gilded cage makes me feel small and lost.

There’s a sense of movement just ahead of me—more like a whisper in the quiet, snapping my head up. I freeze, the sound slicing through me, sharpening my senses further. Every shadow could be an ally or an enemy—I’m sure in Viktor’s world, these lines often blurred.

My next breath is a gulp of air, but I press forward, drawn by the primal need to nourish the life growing inside me. The corridor feels endless, every corner leading to another stretch of uncertainty. I’m too hungry to retrace my steps back to his room; in fact, I’d worry about finding my way back after eating.

Perhaps I’ll call an Uber to take me back to his room.

This mansion is certainly huge enough to require a taxi to go from one end to the other, I muse.

“Aww.” I moan painfully from colliding with a wall. A solid wall of muscle halts me in motion, and I stumble back with a gasp, arms flailing for balance. Viktor's hands clamp onto my arms like steel bands, steadying me. His touch sears through the fabric of his shirt, burning into my skin.

"Careful," he rumbles, the single word a low growl that resonates in the space between us.

Our eyes meet, and the world narrows down to him and me. Surprise flickers across his features, quickly masked by the stoic facade he wears like armor.

"Hi," I breathe out, a shaky whisper that betrays my inner turmoil.

He doesn't let go, and the tension coils tighter around us, a tangible force that threatens to consume us both.

A charged hush wraps around us. I can't move, can't think. His grip on me is iron yet gentle as if he's holding something precious. Viktor's eyes, a piercing blue that I swear could cut through steel, search mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. I see questions in them, questions I'm unsure I have answers to.

"Scarlett," he says, voice barely above a whisper, but it echoes like thunder in the silence. His gaze never wavers, and I find myself lost in the depths of those eyes, drowning in emotions too complex to name.

I swallow hard, my hands lifting to rest against his chest. I can feel the steady thump-thump of his heart beneath my palms, a rhythm that becomes my anchor in this sea of uncertainty. Our breaths mingle, a silent conversation in an enigma of feelings we dare not voice.

Abruptly, Viktor's arms tighten around me. In one fluid motion, he sweeps me up. The world tilts, and instinctively, my arms circle his neck. The strength in his arms is unmistakable, cradling me close to his body. I can almost hear his heartbeat now, a powerful drum that vibrates against my ear.

"I’m looking for the kitchen," I start, trying to quench the storm within me. “I’m hungry.”

He responds by picking me up, and my eyes widen in surprise. “Please put me down.”

"Shh," he cuts me off, a gentle command that stills my words. "Just let me."

I yield because my body recognizes this closeness and craves the safety of his embrace. As he carries me, each step is a promise, each breath a shared secret. This is more than physical proximity; it's the dance of two souls inexplicably entwined. At this moment, I realize resistance isn't just futile—it's unwanted.

The cool tiles of the kitchen floor press against my bare feet, grounding me as a wave of queasiness rises in my throat. I lean heavily against the marble countertop, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths, trying to steady the roil in my stomach.

"Scarlett?"

“I’m fine. Just queasy from the movement.”

Viktor's voice is low, threaded with concern. Even without looking, I sense him moving around the spacious kitchen, his presence both commanding and comforting. My hands clutch at the edge of the counter, knuckles white.

"Here." A glass of water appears before me, followed by the scent of fresh lemon. Viktor's hand brushes mine as I take the glass, his touch a silent reassurance.

"Thank you," I whisper, sipping slowly. The coolness helps, but it's the subtle undercurrent of lemon that eases the nausea just enough for the hunger to peek through.

I watch, leaning on the counter for support, as Viktor moves with quiet efficiency. He's a symphony of controlled movements, cracking eggs into a bowl, whisking them seamlessly. The mundane task seems out of place with the image of the powerful mafia lord I know him to be.

"Can't have you going hungry," he says, almost to himself. The stove clicks, and a pan sizzles to life. I'm struck by the oddity of this moment — Viktor Makarov, billionaire mafia lord, cooking breakfast like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Sit." It's not a command but an invitation. I slide onto a stool, watching as he cooks omelets with a dedication that speaks volumes. He doesn't speak much, and neither do I, but the silence between us feels full.

Viktor dishes the food with a flourish, setting one plate before me. His blue eyes capture mine across the expanse of gleaming wood, intense and unreadable. I pick up my fork, my hand trembling slightly. The first bite is hesitant, a test against my unsettled stomach.

"Good?" he asks, and there's a hint of something like vulnerability in the question. As though he is waiting for my approval.

"Very," I manage, and it's true. The simplicity of the meal and the care behind it all comes together perfectly on my palate.

We eat with minimal words, but each glance carries a conversation. I chew slowly, taking in the man opposite me. Viktor's attention never wavers, his gaze occasionally dropping to my still-flat abdomen, then back to my face.

"Scarlett," he begins, breaking the charged silence. His voice is soft, so unlike the hard edge I've come to associate with him. "You need to see a doctor."

I nod, with my mouth full, and feel my face burning from the intensity of his gaze. There's no escaping this connection, this unspoken bond that pulls tighter with every shared look, every careful gesture.

And though I'm trapped in this lavish prison with a man who's both my captor and unexpected caretaker, I find myself caught in the gravity of his orbit, unable to look away.

Done with my food, I push the chair back, the sound grating against the marble floors. My body feels heavy with nourishment and an unspoken need to move. To prove I'm not as fragile as my condition suggests, I lift my plates to carry them to the sink, but he beats me to it.

"I can clean up after myself," I insist, but Viktor's already around the table, his hands firm on my elbows.

"Let me," he says, and there's no room for argument in that deep voice that seems to rumble from the very walls of his mansion.

I open my mouth to protest again, but the look in his blue eyes silences me. It's not just a command I see there; it's a fierce kind of care that confuses and warms me all at once.

“I’ll take care of those later.”

I nod, submitting to his support, and his arms slide effortlessly beneath my knees and back. In an instant, I'm lifted into the air, the world tilting slightly as I'm cradled against his chest. My hands instinctively go around his neck.

We move through the corridor slowly, each step measured and deliberate. His heartbeat is steady against my ear, a grounding rhythm in the vastness of his home. The closeness is intimate, too much so, and a warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the weather.

"Viktor," I whisper, but he only tightens his hold, as if he's afraid I'll shatter.

"Shh," he murmurs. His breath fans my hair, and I close my eyes against the swirl of emotions.

At the threshold of the bedroom, he stops. Hesitation flickers across his face, a crack in the stoic mask he wears so well. His hands linger on my hips, heavy and warm. I catch my breath, sensing the shift in the air between us. The moment stretches, taut as a wire.

"Scarlett," he breathes out raggedly, and my name is a prayer, a curse, a promise all at once.

His eyes search mine, seeking permission, or perhaps offering it. I'm suddenly aware of how small I am in his embrace, yet how powerful this moment feels. There's a question in his gaze that goes deeper than the words we've left unspoken.

Viktor's head dips lower, and I feel the warmth of his breath against my neck. A shiver runs down my spine, not from cold but from being so close to him. His presence envelops me, a cocoon of heat and unspoken promises. Inside, my heart races, pounding out a rhythm that matches the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. I can't look away from his intense blue gaze, so full of dark oceans and hidden depths.

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice, but it's lost, drowned by the thrumming desire that ripples through me. My body responds to Viktor's nearness, every nerve ending alive and on fire. Rational thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm, leaving only this visceral need, this hunger that goes beyond appetite. I'm aware of everything—his scent, the solid strength of his arms, the heat radiating from his skin. My core becomes moist, and I rub my tights together.

His head tilts, a fractional movement bringing his lips dangerously close to mine. My breath hitches, my heart a drumbeat loud in my ears. I can almost taste him—power and danger mixed with an intoxicating hint of mint.

"Are you afraid?" he asks, his breath warm against my skin.

"Should I be?" It's a challenge, a flicker of the feisty spirit he's awakened in me. But it's weak, half-hearted, drowned out by the roaring in my veins.

His chuckle is a low sound that vibrates through me. "Yes," he eyes me, and there's a rumble in his voice that says I should be running in the opposite direction. But instead, it sends delicious shivers down my spine. “You should be afraid of the things I want to do to you.”

Pleaseeee do them. I permit you to do them. No, I order you to do those things and more.

Time stands still. His lips hover mere inches from mine, the distance insurmountable yet trivial. A paradox that ties my stomach in knots. The anticipation is a living thing, a serpent coiled and waiting to strike.

My thoughts spin a carousel of what-ifs and maybes. This isn't just a kiss. It's a crossing of lines, a breaking of barriers. It's giving in to the storm that's been brewing since the moment he took me from my life into his world—a world of shadowed corners.

His eyelids flutter—a nearly imperceptible motion—and I know. I know that the fall is inevitable. We're not two people anymore; we're bound by a magnetic pull, and neither one of us can escape.

Viktor’s lips brush mine without quite touching, a tease, a test, a torment. My body leans into his, betraying my inner turmoil. It's a dance, a prelude to the passion that threatens to consume us both.

Without warning, he stops abruptly and walks away.

As I watch him leave, tears of sexual frustration fall down my eyes.