Page 39 of Sadistic

"Bullshit. You've wrapped me in so much security I can barely breathe. That's not confidence, that's terror."

For a moment, his mask slips. "My uncle had a wife once. Before he took over. Beautiful woman, fierce like you. Someone took her to get to him."

"What happened?"

"They sent her back in pieces." His jaw tightens. "He killed everyone involved. Their families, their friends, their dogs. Painted the streets with blood. But she was still gone."

The story sits heavy between us.

I think about the surveillance, the bulletproof glass, the way he always knows where I am.

Not just possession—prevention.

"I'm not her," I say.

"No. You're not." He steps back, the mask sliding back into place. "Because I won't let you be."

Mikhail clears his throat. "The families are waiting."

"Let them wait." But Doran steps back, gives me space. "Drive your new car home. Get used to how it handles. Tomorrow, we start wedding preparations."

"I have to study tomorrow."

"Then we'll work around your study time. Your education continues—that was the deal." He heads for his own car, pauses. "Revna? If you’re staying at Everly’s again tonight, make sure to double check your windows are locked. I want you safe."

They're gone before I can respond, leaving me standing in an empty parking lot with keys to a car I didn't ask for and a future I can't escape.

I get in the Audi, adjust the seat and mirrors.

Everything's already set to my preferences, because of course it is.

The engine purrs to life, all controlled power and luxury.

It's nothing like my Honda—no rattles, no struggling, no personality.

Just smooth, expensive efficiency.

Like the life I'm about to enter.

The car handles like a dream, all that power purring under my control.

I take the long way to Everly’s, needing time to think.

The wolf charm swings from the rearview mirror, catching streetlights.

My phone buzzes at a red light.

Njal:

Heard about the car. He's already erasing you.

I shouldn't respond.

Doran was clear about no contact, but my fingers move anyway.

Me:

Stop texting me.

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