Page 91 of Twisted Proposal

With any other woman I would have left them in the cabin. Hell, I probably would have left them in the apartment in Virginia, thinking it was secure enough.

Leaning back in the chair, I realized that wasn't true either.

If it were any other woman I wouldn't be paying for their education. I wouldn't give a flying fuck where they lived, and their safety would be the responsibility of whatever next of kin they had.

Maybe if I were feeling generous or guilty about killing her father and brother, I would have paid for one year of tuition. I definitely wouldn't have given a flying fuck if she had gone to a frat party.

Viktoria was different.

She wasn't every other woman.

She was mine.

A cold sweat broke out on my brow as the truth hit me.

This wasn't just about ownership anymore.

This was about need.

I needed her alive, needed her safe, needed her happy in ways that had nothing to do with my pride or my reputation.

The realization left me feeling exposed, vulnerable. Weak.

Men in my position couldn't afford weakness.

Men who fell for women ended up with knives in their backs or bullets in their skulls.

Viktoria may not have known it yet, and I believed she was going to fight that fact with everything she had, but it was still a fact. The funny part was I was pretty sure that if she had just rolled over and accepted it, I wouldn't have even bothered.

She was my princess, my goddess in the making, and I would treat her as such.

I hated myself for the flowery fucking thoughts. What had she done to me? When had I become this pathetic, lovestruck fool? I clenched my fists, anger mixing with the unfamiliar emotions coursing through me.

And I was going to relish the fight that ensued. Almost as much as I was going to enjoy breaking her down again and hearing her beg for me. The words of submission and acceptance when she knew she had lost were beyond sweet.

Not because she said them, but because I earned them.

Pulled the unwilling confessions from her stubborn lips with force.

She may deny meaning them, she probably lied to herself saying they were false promises made in the moment. She could tell herself that all she liked. I knew the truth. I had broken her; she gave voice to her deepest secrets because of me.

She liked being fucked like a piece of property, she liked when I punished her, she liked the way I made her feel, and she hated herself for it. That would ease in time.

And I hated myself for caring.

Artem Ivanov didn't care.

He took.

He conquered.

He didn't pine like some lovesick teenager.

Staring out of the window was like looking at a Hallmark card, it was all so peaceful. I was starting to understand my cousin's choices more and more. Every choice of theirs that I criticized or questioned now made more sense.

Why would Gregor buy this massive estate outside of the city where everything needed to happen? Why not put the girls in a luxury penthouse instead?

Because this estate provided privacy and security that a penthouse could never have. In a penthouse, a sniper could be perched on any rooftop. It was impossible to have them all covered at all times.