Page 66 of Twisted Proposal

In the bag of cosmetics, picked by whoever Artem had hired, were a few Urban Decay lipsticks.

I had heard of the brand, but was never given the kind of money that would allow me to pay twenty-eight dollars for a single lipstick.

I stared at the tubes, testing the colors on the back of my hand. A dusty pink, a pretty neutral, and then a bright red.

The neutral would be more chic, the pink was pretty and would be very respectful, but that red.

That red called to me.

It was the kind of red that a woman needed to be strong to wear, otherwise it would just wear her.

It screamed defiance and self-possession.

Plus, no man would kiss a woman with demon-red lipstick on, not if he didn’t want to wear it himself. It would be my armor, my shield, my line in the sand, against any further intimacy with Artem.

Then I heard the front door handle jiggle.

Someone was unlocking the door and coming in.

It was Artem.

I knew it before I heard the door open and his strong, confident steps walk across the polished wood floor.

He hadn’t knocked.

It was intentional, to remind me he didn't have to.

He owned the apartment, just like he thought he owned me.

Looking back at the lipstick in my hand, I turned it over and read the color name.

"Unbreakable."

That was what I needed to be.

I leaned into the mirror and carefully painted the deep siren red on my lips.

When I straightened up to admire the color, Artem was standing behind me, watching me.

That same look of possession in his eyes met my look of defiance in the mirror.

CHAPTER21

VIKTORIA

My pulse quickened as Artem's Bentley purred through the city streets.

The heated leather seats caressed my skin, a stark contrast to the ice in my veins.

I couldn't stop staring at his hands. Strong, masculine fingers gripped the steering wheel with casual dominance—the same hands that had explored every inch of my body just hours ago.

"We're here." His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through me.

He didn't wait for a response, didn't ask if I was hungry or what type of food I preferred. That wasn't how Artem Ivanov operated.

He decided, and I followed.

Or at least, that was what he thought.