Page 8

ALLURE

“Virgin?! Come here!”

Boaz’s voice rasped down the hall like a broken commandment. Groggy. Throaty. Still sharp enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. I gritted my teeth, holding in the sigh that built in my chest like a stormcloud.

I adjusted my hijab and wrapped my robe tighter around me, feet moving out of muscle memory.

His room was on the east side of the compound, past the marble archway and the gaudy oil painting of himself.

Each step down the hallway made me feel heavier.

Like I was walking into something I wouldn’t come back from.

When I opened the door, the air hit me first—stale, warm, and slightly sour, like the room hadn’t been cleaned or opened in days.

Boaz sat propped up in bed, shirt open, chest damp with sweat.

His skin, normally flushed with color and bravado, looked pale and blotchy.

There was a hollowness under his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

Something was off.

He reached for a glass of water, his hand trembling as he brought it to his mouth. He sipped, coughed, and set it down with a shaking breath.

“I need to see Dr. Fuchs. In Lucerne,” he said, voice dry and strained. “Pack your things. You’re coming with me.”

My brows lifted. “Me? Why?”

“I need someone clean,” he croaked. “Someone I trust. You’ll help with food, travel arrangements, personal care. The others aren’t… suitable.”

I took a step closer, watching him carefully. “What about the girls?” I asked. “Who’s going to care for them while we’re gone?”

He looked at me like I’d just asked what color the sky was.

“You mean my pets ?” He smirked, coughing again. “They’re being put down.”

My stomach turned. “What?”

“I’ve already given the order,” he said, like he was confirming a room service charge. “I’m bored with them. They’ve lost their charm. I’ll get new ones when we return.”

I stared at him, mouth parted, unable to believe what I was hearing.

The girls. Gone. Just like that.

He was planning to kill them like they were expired toys.

Like they hadn’t breathed and cried and lived in this house with me.

Like I hadn’t held their hair back when they vomited.

Like I hadn’t wiped their tears, changed their bandages, bathed their trembling bodies night after night, trying to convince them there was still some reason to keep going.

All of them. Erased.

Boaz took another sip of water and coughed harder this time.

His chest convulsed, and the glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor.

He clutched at his throat, eyes wide, gasping like he was trying to force air into lungs that wouldn’t cooperate.

His legs twitched. He lurched sideways and tumbled off the bed, landing with a sickening thud.

He started convulsing—mouth foaming, limbs jerking violently, the silk fabric of his pajamas bunching under his flailing legs.

I froze.

And for a split second… I didn’t move.

I just watched.

Watched him flail. Watched him seize. Watched his body struggle under the weight of whatever disease had finally decided to collect its debt.

I thought—“let it happen” .

Let him die.

Let his breath cease and never come back.

But then reality cut through the fantasy like a blade.

If he lived, and found out I stood there and did nothing? He’d kill me. Slowly. Cruelly. He’d make it hurt.

I stumbled back from the threshold and bolted down the hallway.

“Avi!” I screamed. “AVI!”

I found him in the kitchen a second later, dressed in all black—black joggers, black fitted tee, black socks like he was mourning something preemptively. He had a half-eaten peach in one hand, a knife in the other.

Avi raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“It’s your father—he’s having a seizure or something. He’s on the floor—he’s not breathing right!”

His eyes sharpened. The fruit hit the counter with a thud, the knife clattered beside it, and he took off sprinting toward the master wing, phone already out, barking into it in Hebrew.

I didn’t follow.

I just stood there in the hallway, hands shaking.

And for a moment, as I listened to Avi shout and the distant gurgling of his father choking on his own lungs, I closed my eyes…

And prayed. Not for a miracle. But for silence. For the long beep of a flatline monitor.

For the death of a man who’d stolen a decade of my life and turned it into ritual and ruin.

If God was listening?

I hoped He was in the mood to collect.

But deep down?

I knew I didn’t want karma—or sickness—or fate—to take him.

I wanted me.

I wanted my hands to be the last thing he ever felt.

Boaz was raced to the hospital in the middle of the night.

I watched from behind the curtain, just barely lifting the edge of the gauzy white drape as Avi and two of his security goons carried him down the front steps like a broken statue.

His face was pale and slack, his mouth twisted in pain even in unconsciousness.

One of the guards held an oxygen tank. The other had a rifle strapped across his chest like someone might try to intercept a dying man.

They laid him in the back of the SUV, slammed the door, and peeled off into the dark.

That night I didn’t sleep.

I lay in bed with my eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above me, waiting to hear the news.

Part of me prayed they’d come back with a body bag.

Another part—a smaller, angrier part—hoped he lived just long enough to feel what it was like to be powerless.

Just long enough to know what it was to beg.

But Boaz wasn’t built to go out easy.

By morning, the black SUV returned.

Avi stepped out, still dressed in black. His expression was hard to read—part tight-lipped concern, part simmering calculation. He walked with the same swagger he always had, even though the king he guarded was crumbling from the inside out.

I was in the foyer when he came in. I didn’t speak. Just waited.

He glanced at me once and rolled his eyes.

“Boaz is stable,” he said. “They’re still running tests, but the main doctor said it’s lung cancer. Advanced.”

I stared at him. “He’s not going to Europe?”

“Nah. Too sick to travel. Treatment’s gonna happen here, in the city. They're moving him to some private facility.”

He spoke calmly, but there was tension behind his eyes. I could tell he wasn’t used to seeing his father fragile. That kind of invincibility didn’t pass down through DNA—it was constructed, drilled into men like them. Seeing it undone scared him.

My mouth was dry, but I forced myself to ask, “What about the girls?”

Avi rubbed a hand over his face and shrugged. “Same plan. He said to put the pets down.”

My stomach clenched.

I couldn’t let that happen.

“Avi,” I said softly, stepping a little closer. “Maybe… maybe your father’s not thinking clearly right now. He’s sick. Probably scared. Cancer messes with the mind.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So?”

“So,” I said, carefully layering sugar into my tone, “maybe it’s best to wait.

Just a little. Until he’s better. You know how much he loves them.

How much joy they bring him. They keep him grounded.

When he’s angry, when he’s stressed—he visits them.

He watches them sleep. They… they make him feel like he still has control. ”

Avi stared at me, unreadable.

I took a breath and pressed on. “Killing them now, without letting him say goodbye? What if he regrets it? What if he blames you?”

There. That was the play.

He didn’t care about the girls. But he did care about his father blaming him for anything. About being the loyal son, the protector, the executor. If Boaz survived and found out his pets were gone without his final word, Avi’s cushy position might not be so secure.

He nodded slowly, the wheels turning in his head.

“Alright,” he muttered. “We’ll hold off. For now.”

Relief washed through me—but I didn’t let it show. I knew better than to exhale too soon around men like Avi.

He looked at me then, really looked at me. And something shifted in his gaze.

Something darker.

“You know,” he said, stepping closer, “you’ve always been my favorite. Even back when I was in military school. I used to sneak back here just to see you in the gardens. You remember that?”

I shook my head, already feeling my body tense.

“You’ve gotten even prettier.” His voice dropped. “And you’re still untouched. Pure. Just the way I like ‘em.”

He stepped in, too close. His eyes scanned my body like he had every right to. Then his hand slid up the side of my robe, slow and greasy, his fingers pressing into the curve of my thigh.

I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He chuckled. “Come on. My father’s halfway dead. Nobody would even know.”

I stepped back, heart pounding. “Boaz would kill you.”

Avi raised an eyebrow. “That man’s insane. But you ? You’re a dream. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to plant my flag. I’m going to be your first.”

He lunged forward, gripping my wrist, and tried to pull me against him. His breath was hot and sour against my face. My stomach turned.

I shoved him back, hard, just as a voice echoed from the front entrance.

“Hello?! I’m here!”

It was Irina.

I jerked away from Avi like he was fire, breathing hard as he straightened his shirt and backed off like nothing had happened.

We both turned toward the sound of the door.

Irina stood in the foyer, her curly hair piled on her head, sunglasses perched on her nose, a Chanel purse on her arm. She looked casual, glowing, effortlessly free—like she had no idea what kind of madness she was walking into.

Avi plastered on a smile and strode toward her. “Hey, sis.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with daddy?”

I stayed silent, still trying to slow my pulse. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, still tingling from pushing Avi off.

The moment had passed.

But I knew it wouldn’t be the last time.