I can’t believe this man. His son was obviously hurt, and all he’s focused on is whom I answer to?
Just what type of oppressive man is he?
I try to twist my hand free of his, but he uses his hold to haul me onto the chair. “Sit down.”
“Jeremy needs me.”
“Needs you?” he repeats with veiled menace. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Your wife. You made me into her, remember?”
“And you think that magically makes you his mother?”
Right. I’m not. Why the hell am I so angry? Adrian is his father and he doesn’t seem to give a damn, so I shouldn’t be worked up over this.
And yet I am.
Hot flames bubble in my veins at the way Adrian dismissed his son so casually. People like him don’t deserve children—or anyone, really.
He goes back to cutting his eggs like nothing happened, his fingers handling the knife with infinite ease. Pursing my lips, I opt to have breakfast, too. After all, this is the reason I’m here.
To eat.
I fix a double sandwich of butter and jelly, using three slices of toast, then take a generous bite. An involuntary sigh leaves my lips as the food settles in my stomach.
It’s not until I take a sip of the coffee, with milk, as I prefer it, that I notice both Adrian and his stern teacher watching me. Their gazes are intent, unblinking, as if I’m some sort of an animal at the zoo.
Did I do something against etiquette or something? I made sure to eat slowly.
My fake husband takes a sip of his own coffee—black like his soul—and continues to watch me over the mug. He has a killer stare, I swear. Without uttering a single word, he manages to push me to the edge of my seat.
“This is Ogla.” Adrian motions at the stern teacher with his head. “You can ask her anything about how you used to act. She knows you’ve lost your memories.”
I’m about to tell him I haven’t lost my memories, that I’m only playing a role, but then I figure out the angle he’s going for. If he tells everyone I’ve lost my memories, he and I can get away with many things when I act out of character from how Lia used to.
He’s smart, but so are most assholes.
The stern teacher, Ogla, gives me a sharp nod that I return with an unsure one.
He continues to watch me eat in that unnerving manner. I force myself to chew slower, but his stare is what will give me indigestion.
“You are allowed to go around the property except for the guest house.”
He has a guest house? It was dark last night, so I couldn’t have seen it even if I’d tried.
Now that he mentions it and has specifically told me not to go there, my attention is piqued. Curiosity is morbid, like a hungry animal demanding a piece of meat. It would’ve been better if he didn’t warn me in the first place.
“You’re not to leave the house.”
“I’m not your prisoner, Adrian.”
He raises a brow. “You are what I say you are. Titles hold little to no value and it’s up to you how you use them. If you prefer to call yourself a princess over a prisoner, by all means, do. The fact remains that you’re not allowed to step a foot outside unless escorted and with my permission.”
Did he just say escorted? “What exactly did you say you do again?”
“I didn’t say what I do.”
“Well, you should, because I’m not fully grasping these insane measures.”
He narrows his eyes on me and Ogla stares at me hard, as if I’m a petulant child whose hands she wants to smack.
“What?” I say to them both, then take a sip from my coffee. “I’m asking a genuine question. If you don’t want me to know, fine, but if you’re somehow a spy and I act against etiquette, you can only blame yourself.”
Adrian calmly places his cup of coffee on the table. “Leave, Ogla.”
I stiffen at his deceptive quietness. Maybe what I said was also considered talking back. I wasn’t snarky, though. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t.
Ogla glares at me, and even with her attitude, I’m ready to beg her to stay. I don’t want to be left alone with Adrian right now.
The door closes behind her with a finality that echoes in my chest.
The air shifts, thickening with unspoken words and tension that can be cut with a knife.
I remain completely motionless, my fingers wrapped around the cup of coffee, but I don’t dare to take a sip.
Adrian’s frame becomes larger than life. He’s still sitting, yet I can almost feel his shadow looming over me like doom. “What did I say about talking back to me?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I blurt. “I was only asking.”
He stands and my spine jerks upright as he looms over me. I keep staring at the unfinished toast I left on the table, hoping that I will somehow become it or the cup of coffee or any of the utensils, just so I can escape his scrutiny.
Adrian slides both his fingers under my chin and lifts it up. I want to look away, and not solely because of the general discomfort his eyes give me. Now, they’re more concentrated, harsher, as if he’s been collecting all his disapproval with me from the moment we met until now.
“You do not disrespect me in front of the staff. You do not disrespect me. Period.”
“Okay.”
“I said to lose that fucking word.”
“Fine. All right.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“No?”
“Why was that a question?”
“I don’t know.” All I’m certain about right now is that I want him to let me go.
The more his skin is on mine, the harder I think about the nightmare. The way his body violated mine and how I didn’t fight.
The frustration is so deep that I want to make up for it now, in real life, but even I know that if I attempt to hurt him, I’ll pay the price.
His fingers travel from my chin to my neck, eliciting shivers and goosebumps. I expect him to choke me or something, but he grips me by the shoulder, his gray eyes darkening just like in the nightmare. “Bend over.”
“W-why?”
“I said if you talk back, you’ll be punished.”
My lips part at that word. Punished. A war explodes in my chest and my thighs shake as I try to bargain, “But I didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t care. You defy me, you’re punished. It’s as simple as that.”
“I won’t do it again. I promise.”
“Unless you know your punishment, you’ll continue to do it.”
“Just give me a chance.”
“I have been lenient since last night, Lia, but you keep defying me and pushing against me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“There, a mere example. You don’t seem to understand the reality of the situation, and I’m happy to engrave it deep in your bones.”
His tone, though quiet, chills me to the deepest corner of my soul. “Adrian…please…”
“Every minute you waste of my time will be extracted from your flesh.” He grabs me by the shoulder, forcing me to stand up. I release the cup of coffee with a pained sound.
My legs shake as he pushes the chair away, its creaking sound on the floor mimicking the scratching sound on the walls of my heart.
Instead of waiting for me to do as he’s commanded, Adrian flips the tablecloth that holds all the plates and moves it away with one merciless tug. Dishes clank together and the cups of coffee spill on the material and drip on the ground.
“Adrian…” I say, in an attempt of one final plea. “Please.”
“It’s too early to beg, Lia. Save it for when you actually need it.” He palms the middle of my back and pushes me down against the table. My cheek meets the cold wooden surface, and I try not to start hyperventilating here and now.
I hate how my body is in a completely alert mode. How a weird zap is tingling at the bottom of my stomach, clenching it, awakening it.
Adrian, however, is sure, confident, each of his movements holding a purpose that’s designed to be met. He reaches to my front and undoes my scarf belt, then my button.
I briefly close my eyes as the cloth slides down my legs and bunches around my ankles. I try to forget what he’s seeing, my position—bent over with my ass in the air and in his full view.
It’s not difficult when his hand meets my backside.
The first slap reverberates in the air, harsh and ugly. Even though I’m still wearing panties, my ass cheek catches on fire.
On the second slap, my entire body reels forward on the wooden surface. I grip the edge of the table with rigid fingers as the flaming pain increases.
His hand is hard, merciless, with the sole purpose of punishing me, of cementing his authority under my skin.
But in that display of authority, as calm and commanding as it is, he shows me a part of him I haven’t witnessed before.
Control.
He thrives on it. In fact, he’s punishing me to ensure that I don’t challenge it—or him. And with each slap against my ass, he’s etching it into my whole being.
I wish I didn’t react to it. Better yet, I wish I viewed it like I did in the nightmare—as a violation. Instead, a shock of sensations explodes on my skin with each of his ministrations. It’s like something has been dormant and he’s probing it, awakening it.
My body’s reaction to his touch scares me more than his punishment. More than the nightmare.
More than anything I’ve experienced before.
Adrian grips my ponytail by the ribbon I used to tie it in and yanks me up by it. “Who gave you permission to dress like this?”
I purse my lips shut, but it’s not only because I refuse to talk to him, it’s also to mute the strange tightness coursing through my legs, my stomach, and even to my damn nipples.
It has to be because of the anxiety and fear. I refuse to believe it’s due to anything else.
Adrian slaps my ass again and a needy sound slips from my mouth. I trap my lip under my teeth so hard that I taste metal by the fifth slap.
I’m ready to bloody my lips and cut my tongue instead of showing him what type of effect he’s having on me. He won’t get the satisfaction of seeing me fall.
No one will.
Not even if my insides are clawing and revolting to release more sounds.
“You will know your place.” Slap. “You will not cross me.” Slap. “Is that clear?”
“Yes…yes…please stop.” I sob, but it’s for something different from pain.
My inner thighs are hot, tingly, getting stimulated by each slap. I don’t like this and would do anything to have it end.
He pauses. “You’ll do as you’re told?”
“Yes…” My voice is breathy—sultry, even.
When he doesn’t slap my ass again, I think he’ll let me go, but then two of his fingers glide against my folds over the cloth of my panties.
My head snaps back to stare at him at the same time as a wicked smirk paints his lips. It makes him appear like a villain who just found his next target. “So this is why you wanted me to stop. Did you like being punished? Did you get off on it?”
I shake my head frantically, refuting the evidence that he’s sliding his fingers over.
He leans over until his lips meet the shell of my ear. “Your soaked cunt says otherwise.”
“No…” I continue shaking my head, not wanting to believe that I’m the sort of person who’s turned on by this type of depravity.
I’m vanilla and always will be.
“Stop denying it, Lenochka.”
That nickname again. I don’t know what it means, but I hate it. I don’t want him to call me by it. I don’t want him to use me as if I’m really his wife.
I’m not. I’m only playing a damn role so I can survive.
“No,” I say, clearer this time.
He continues stroking my folds over the cloth and I close my eyes, waiting for the sensation to vanish, but with every brush, my skin heats to an alarming level. The handprints he left on my ass are burning hotter than when he was slapping me, adding to my agony.
“You can be stubborn all you want, but you can’t deny yourself, Lenochka.” He slips his hand under the front of my panties and his thumb finds the bare skin that his people waxed clean.
He goes straight to the swollen nub of my clit, as if he knows exactly where it is without looking. He flicks it once and my back arches off the table. Coupled with his expert, measured rubs at my folds and the stimulation of my ass, I feel like I’ll go up in flames.
With his hands alone, he’s pushing me off a steep edge. I can feel those noises attempting to break free and bite my lip harder, tasting metal.
But this time, I can’t control the explosion that ignites in my core and bursts through my whole body.
It creeps out of me slowly, but when it engulfs me, I’m a goner. Completely and with no way out.
I continue biting my lip, even as I shake with the violent pleasure he’s wrenched out of me.
I continue biting my lip, even when the feeling gets so intense that I want to scream out loud. Even when muting myself feels like I’m robbing my own pleasure. My desire. My terrifying lust.
A tremor still grips me well after Adrian removes his hand from my panties. He doesn’t release my hair, though, and remains like that long enough that my ass cools a little.
I want to steal a glance at him, to see how the devil looks after he gets what he wants. But I don’t get the chance to argue against that thought as he flips me around. My back meets the table, and I think he’ll fuck me or something, but he just keeps staring at me in that unsettling expressionless manner.
I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I prefer the way his eyes darken over this. At least then I can tell he’s somehow displeased. But now? He seems like a tall, sturdy wall, impossible to climb or destroy.
The more he watches me, the harsher my breathing becomes. I hate being under his scrutiny. Or under his roof. I hate being under his anything.
He runs the tip of his finger over my bottom lip and forces me to release it from beneath my teeth. I forgot I was still muffling my voice even after I came down from my orgasm.
He caresses the broken skin, but it’s far from a doting gesture. It’s deceptive, secretly coarse and callous. “Hide all you like, but I’ll eventually bring you out.”
Good luck finding what’s not there in the first place.
Adrian Volkov might have thought he hit the jackpot by finding his dead wife’s lookalike, but what he doesn’t know is that he fell upon a shell.
And inside this shell, there’s nothing for him to bring out.
