Chapter Seven

Liliana’s POV

Mikhail caught me off guard. His lips crashed into mine, as he enveloped my mouth with a kiss. But I didn't refuse. I expected harshness but he was gentle.

His hands cupped my face with surprising tenderness, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. With every thrust he made, a wave of pain and pleasure coursed through my veins.

“Breathe Malyshka,” he whispered against my lips, his eyes burning with intense pleasure.

I moaned silently in ecstacy, biting my lips in pleasure.

When he walked in earlier with blood stained clothes, I couldn't help but pity him. Not that I cared. But he was my husband, at least for now.

The sex was pleasurable and I didn't realize I had drifted off to sleep.

The sound of the door opening woke me up from my slumber. A tall figure stood at the door, her aura made a shiver run down my spine.

“Well well. What do we have here?” A cold and calculating voice rang through the room.

“Aunt Anastasia.” Mikhail smiled, not leaving my side.

Her ocean blue eyes scanned my body like garbage. “I see the bride is busy.”

Mikhail glanced at me and smiled. “See you later, aunt.”

She turned away without saying a word.

—

The first rule was silence. I learned it quickly when Anastasia's palm cracked across my cheek the morning after Mikhail left for business.

“Whores speak only when spoken to,” she hissed, her ice-blue eyes glittering with malice.

The sting of her hand burned across my face, but it was nothing compared to the shock. Just hours before, Mikhail had held me with such care. Now his aunt treated me like garbage beneath her expensive shoes.

The second rule was hunger. During dinner, Mikhail was still out on business. I watched Aunt Anastasia eat while my stomach twisted with emptiness. The smell of fresh bread and bacon made my mouth water, but I stood in the corner like a statue. My hands shook from weakness, but I didn't dare move.

“Dogs eat after their masters,” Anastasia said, cutting into her eggs with deliberate slowness. “And you, little slut, are lower than a dog.”

My stomach cramped painfully as I watched her feast. The golden butter melting on warm toast, the crispy bacon that made my mouth water, the fresh fruit that looked like jewels on their plates. Meanwhile, I grew weaker with each passing hour, my body consuming itself.

“Come,” She ordered, her voice dripping with disdain.

I moved closer. And then, a scalding cup of tea spilled across my wrist. The porcelain cup shattered on the floor, and the burning liquid seared my skin. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood.

“Clumsy little thing,” Anastasia tutted, stepping over the broken pieces. “Clean this mess up. With your tongue. That's your dinner!”

My knees hit the cold marble floor immediately. The shame burned worse than the tea. I lapped at the spilled liquid like an animal, my cheeks flaming with humiliation. The other family members watched in silence, their faces showing nothing but cold amusement.

The bitter taste of Earl Grey mixed with salt from my tears. Each lap of my tongue against the marble floor stripped away another piece of my dignity. But I did it. I had no choice.

Each day brought new torments. She made me crawl on hands and knees to fetch her slippers, my palms scraping against the rough stone. She threw my food on the floor and watched me eat without using my hands, crumbs sticking to my face as I tried to satisfy the gnawing hunger. She called me names that made my soul shrivel, whore, slut, worthless bitch.

The words cut deeper than any physical wound. I began to wonder if she was right. Maybe I was worthless. Maybe I deserve this treatment.

But the worst part was the waiting. Waiting for Mikhail to return. Waiting for someone to stop her. Waiting for the nightmare to end.

I found myself staring out windows, searching for any sign of his return. Every car that pulled up to the compound made my heart race with hope, only to crash when it wasn't him. The days stretched endlessly, each one worse than the last.

Three days passed like three years.

By the third night, I could barely stand. My legs trembled from weakness, and dark circles shadowed my eyes. My wrist still bore the angry red mark from the scalding tea, and my knees were scraped raw from crawling across marble floors.

On the fourth morning, Anastasia entered Mikhail's bedroom where I was changing the sheets. Her smile was razor-sharp.

“Time for your next lesson, little whore.”

My blood turned to ice. Something in her tone promised that this would be different. Worse.

The chains were cold against my wrists. Heavy iron links that bit into my skin as she secured me to the headboard. My clothes lay in a torn heap on the floor. Goosebumps covered my naked body, but not from the cold.

The vulnerability was overwhelming. Exposed and helpless, I could only watch as she circled me like a predator studying its prey.

The diamond collar was the final insult. It sparkled mockingly around my throat, the engraved words burning into my consciousness: “Where bastard sluts belong.” Each diamond caught the light like tiny stars, beautiful and cruel.

The weight of it pressed against my throat, a constant reminder of how far I had fallen. The expensive jewels mocked me, so valuable, yet used to mark me as worthless.

“Let's see how much you really mean to my nephew,” Anastasia whispered, her breath hot against my ear.

Hours crawled by. My arms ached from being stretched above my head. My throat was dry as sandpaper. But I didn't break. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

I focused on breathing, on staying conscious, on preserving some small piece of myself that she couldn't touch. The diamonds around my throat caught every ray of sunlight streaming through the windows, creating tiny rainbows on the walls. Beauty and degradation intertwined.

Then I heard his footsteps. Heavy boots on marble, moving fast. The bedroom door slammed open so hard it cracked against the wall.

Mikhail stood in the doorway like an avenging angel. His dark eyes took in the scene, me chained and naked, the degrading collar around my neck, Anastasia standing nearby with that satisfied smirk.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

His fury was volcanic. It rolled off him in waves, making the air itself feel dangerous. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might kill his own aunt.

But what he did next was worse.

Much worse.

He moved toward me with predatory grace. His eyes never left mine as he reached for the diamond collar. Instead of removing it, his fingers traced the cruel words engraved there.

Then he smiled. It was the kind of smile that promised dark things.

“Aunt Anastasia is right about one thing,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “You do belong to me.”

His teeth sank into my throat, right above the collar. The pain was exquisite and terrifying. I felt his canines pierce my skin, marking me in a way that would never fade.

When he pulled back, blood trickled down my neck. His eyes had changed, darker, more primal. Like an animal.

“Run from them,” he growled, his voice rough with something that wasn't quite human. “But never from me.”

The chains fell away from my wrists. I was free to move, but I couldn't. His bite had done something to me. Changed something fundamental.

Anastasia's laughter echoed through the room. “Perfect,” she purred. “Now the real fun can begin.”