Page 136 of Twisted Addiction

“Penelope,” he breathed, his voice barely human. “Please, don’t—”

“Don’t let him take my child,” I whispered. “Swear it... swear he’ll never find him.”

He pressed his forehead to mine, his tears mixing with the blood on my skin. “He won’t,” he swore, trembling. “As long as I live, he won’t.”

His hands were everywhere—on my head, my cheek, my shoulders—his touch frantic and desperate, trembling with fear. “I won’t let him touch our son,” Dmitri rasped, his voice cracking, his breath ragged against my ear.

He was chaos and devotion incarnate, a storm made flesh, his words trembling on the edge of madness. “You’re mine, Milaya. You’ve always been mine. Stay with me, damn it. Stay.”

His voice broke on the last word, a sound I’d never heard from him before—raw, human, shattered.

The world around me dimmed.

The sterile white walls blurred into nothing.

The sharp scent of antiseptic and gunpowder mixed in the air, clinging to the back of my throat.

I wanted to stay, to keep breathing, to hold on to the sound of his voice—but the darkness was calling, soft and peaceful, promising an end to pain, betrayal, chaos.

It whispered like lullabies from a forgotten childhood—rest now... rest.

I blinked, fighting to focus.

The world tilted, and all I could see was him—Dmitri Volkov, the man who had broken me and saved me, now cradling me like something holy.

His face was a blur of anguish, his jaw tight, his eyes wet.

The mighty Volkov, the mafia king feared by nations, was now just a man begging the universe not to take me.

My lips trembled.

My voice was barely a whisper, each word scraping against the pain burning in my chest. “Do you... ever... love me?”

He froze.

For a moment, he stopped breathing.

The question seemed to tear through him, splintering whatever armor he had left.

His forehead pressed against mine, his voice breaking as he spoke. “Eternally,” he said, the word like a vow carved in blood. “I’ve loved you since I was nineteen... under that oak tree at the estate, when you smiled at me like I wasn’t the monster everyone said I was. You were my light, Penelope. My reason to live. I loved you through every betrayal, every lie, every night I hated you for what I thought you’d done. My heart is yours—has always been yours.”

His hand trembled as he cupped my face, smearing blood across my skin. “You’re my obsession, my salvation, my everything. Don’t you dare leave me now. Not when I just found you again.”

The warmth in his palm anchored me, dragging me back from the edge.

I lifted my hand—weak, trembling—to touch his cheek.

His stubble scraped my fingertips, grounding me in something real, something that mattered. I wanted to tell him I loved him too, that despite everything—every wound, every nightmare—he was the only thing that still felt like home.

But the words wouldn’t come. My strength was gone, my body heavy and hollow.

My fingers slipped from his face, falling limply to my side.

The darkness crept closer, wrapping me in its quiet embrace.

“Milaya...” he whispered, panic flooding his tone. “No. No, no, no—look at me. Open your eyes.” He shook me lightly, then harder, his voice rising, frantic. “You’re not allowed to die on me. You hear me? You don’t get to leave me like this.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks, cutting through the smears of blood.