Page 25 of Twisted Addiction
From behind the door came the hiss of running water.
I paced the room, each step silent, my mind a battlefield of rage, disbelief, and something colder—fear. Was her memory fractured, blending me with the predators of her past?
Or was this the poison of everything else—the texts she thought I sent, the absences she thought were betrayals?
My eyes fell to the crumpled contract beneath where she’d slept, its edges jutting out like an accusation.
Ten million dollars. A deal that could lock down our future. It meant nothing. Let it rot. Let the world burn.
She was my axis, the point on which everything spun.
But her whisper still cut at me, a splinter buried deep.
If she saw me as a monster, even in sleep, then something—someone—had put that vision in her head. And I would find out who. I would tear apart her past, her memories, her ghosts, until I dragged the truth out by its throat.
She was mine—to protect, to possess, to rebuild from ash. No nightmare, no ghost, no accusation would take her from me.
Chapter 7
PENELOPE
The cold water stung my face as I splashed it over my cheeks, desperate to rinse away the lingering horror of the nightmare.
It had felt too real—hands grabbing me out of the dark, voices jeering, shadows leaning close enough for me to smell their sweat. I could still feel fingers digging into my wrists, the press of a palm over my mouth, the helpless panic clawing up my throat.
It was like being dragged under a tide I couldn’t fight.
But as the icy droplets slid down my skin, clarity began to pierce the fog.
No, my uncles couldn’t have done that to me.
And the third figure in the dream—the one whose face I couldn’t see—it wasn’t Dmitri. It had my father’s broad shoulders, his heavy silhouette, but that was impossible.
It was just a dream, a twisted conjuring of my fears.
None of it was real.
None of it had ever happened.
I straightened, gripping the sink’s edge, my reflection staring back from the fogged mirror—pale, haunted, but unbroken.
I examined my inner thighs discreetly, my fingers brushing the skin for any sign of violation.
Nothing.
Dmitri had sworn he hadn’t touched me in my sleep, and despite everything, his flat denial carried a weight of truth.
The man was a monster, but he’d never crossed that line.
Still, the nightmare’s claws lingered, and a dark part of me wondered if it had surfaced because he’d been there, watching me sleep, his presence a catalyst for my subconscious fears.
Could I trust a man whose heart seemed capable of such cruelty?
I shook off the thought, brushed my teeth with mechanical precision, and stepped out of the bathroom, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders as I sank onto the bed.
The room was dim, the heavy curtains blocking out Lake Como’s deceptive beauty, but Dmitri Volkov was still there, seated in his chair like a dark sentinel.
He’d dragged it closer to the bed, his piercing gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
