CHAPTER 5: TRANSFORMATION

Natasha was led upstairs by the maids, and as she walked through the penthouse, she couldn't help but notice the sheer size of it. The ceilings were impossibly high. The windows overlooked the entire city. The furniture looked like it belonged in museums. Who the hell wasted money on a place like this? Who needed a space this massive?

She had no choice though. She just followed the maids silently.

The room they brought her to was nothing like the basement. It was a bedroom, and it was distinctly feminine. The walls were painted a soft cream color with gold accents. The bed was massive, a four-poster king with cream silk sheets and velvet throws. The furniture was delicate and elegant, clearly expensive. There were paintings on the walls of abstract art in soft pastels. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting warm light across the space. There was a reading nook by the window with comfortable chairs and shelves filled with books. Soft area rugs covered the marble floors. Everything about this room screamed luxury and femininity.

Natasha wondered if they'd done all of this in just twenty minutes. Then she realized they probably had. For a man like him, anything was possible if you had enough money and power.

The maids led her to the bathroom, which was even more impressive than the bedroom. Marble countertops. A soaking tub with jets. A rainfall showerhead. Heated towel racks. The kind of bathroom that made you feel like royalty.

"We'll be right outside if you need anything," one of the maids said softly.

Natasha stared at the bathroom for a moment, taking it all in. Then she moved toward the tub and sank into it.

The water was perfect. Warm. Almost hot. And as she settled into it, she realized how desperately she needed this. Her muscles ached from sitting on the concrete floor. Her skin felt like it was covered in a layer of filth that had accumulated over her captivity.

It had been so long since she'd had a warm bath. So long since she'd felt anything resembling comfort.

She played with the water, running her hands through it, feeling it warm her from the inside out. She grabbed the shampoo and began washing her long dark hair, watching as dirt and grime fell away, swirling down the drain. The shampoo smelled expensive, like lavender and something she couldn't identify.

Thirty minutes of thorough washing. She scrubbed her body until her skin was pink. She washed between her toes. She cleaned her fingernails. She wanted to wash away everything that had happened to her in that basement. As if the water could erase the fear, the defiance, the way he'd looked at her.

When she finally got out and toweled herself dry, she discovered the varieties of underwear laid out on the bed. Silk. Lace. Colors ranging from black to white to red. Different styles and sizes, and they were all in her exact size.

Had he really told them to get these? Was he such a pervert that he'd ordered custom underwear for her? The thought made her skin crawl and her stomach flip simultaneously.

She chose a simple black silk pair and got dressed. But that wasn't all.

As soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, two of the maids came in and told her that her appearance wasn't complete. They sat her down and began working on her. They did her hair, blow-drying it until it was silky smooth. They did her makeup, applying products to her face that made her look like a completely different person. She wasn't used to this kind of treatment. Nobody had ever pampered her like this.

When they were done, she barely recognized herself in the mirror.

The woman looking back at her wasn't the Natasha she knew. This Natasha had perfect waves in her dark hair. This Natasha had subtle makeup that highlighted her features. This Natasha looked like a doll. A beautiful, expensive doll.

The maids bowed and offered to lead her downstairs.

She followed them, her legs feeling unsteady in the heels they'd insisted on. As she descended the staircase, she could hear his voice coming from the living room. He was on the phone with someone, his tone commanding and cold.

He looked up as he sensed their presence, his eyes meeting hers for just a moment. The maids immediately disappeared, leaving Natasha alone with him and two of his men.

He dropped the call without saying goodbye.

His eyes raked over her body from head to toe, taking in every detail of the transformation. The dress they'd put her in was tight, black, and elegant. It hugged her curves in ways that made her uncomfortable. She felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like he could see right through the fabric.

She was deeply uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her. Like she was a piece of art he'd commissioned and was finally seeing completed.

He actually clapped. The sound echoed in the living room.

"Now there's a great transformation already," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.

Natasha just rolled her eyes. She was done with this. She was done with being his captive, his possession, his project.

"I want to leave," she demanded. "I've bathed. I've done what you wanted. Now let me go."

Dimitri laughed. It was a dark, dangerous laugh. He walked toward her slowly, his hands in his pockets. She moved backward instinctively, maintaining distance between them.

"You need to remember something," he said, his voice dropping. "You are mine now."

"I am not your property," she shot back, her voice rising. "You killed Viktor right in front of me. You have no right to own me. No right to keep me here."

The men shifted slightly at her words. The gravity of what she'd said hung in the air like a physical thing. She'd acknowledged Viktor's death. She'd confirmed that she'd seen it happen. And most importantly, she'd revealed that Viktor's death meant something to her.

Dimitri chuckled. He walked around her slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. She kept her eyes alert, tracking his movements, refusing to show fear even though her heart was pounding.

He stopped behind her. She could feel him there, close enough that she could sense his body heat, but not touching her. She went stiff, maintaining her composure, refusing to flinch.

"Let me tell you something," he said softly, his voice right near her ear. "You need to know your place. I am your master now. You do whatever I demand. Whatever I want. Whenever I want it."

He breathed on her neck, and she felt goosebumps rise across her skin.

He came to her front, his eyes boring into hers.

"You're stuck here," he said flatly. "You cannot make any attempt to leave this penthouse. If you do, I will kill you. You cannot communicate with anyone. No phone. No internet. No contact with the outside world. Your room is your only abode."

Natasha wanted to respond. She wanted to fight back. She wanted to spit in his face and tell him to go to hell again.

But something in his eyes told her he meant every single word.

He walked past her and picked up his phone, already dialing someone. He was done with the conversation. He'd made his point and now he was moving on.

Natasha stood alone in the living room, the two men watching her with blank expressions. She looked around at the luxury surrounding her. The expensive furniture. The art. The view of the entire city.

It was a beautiful prison.

She felt the tears coming before she could stop them. She turned away from the men, not wanting them to see her break.

She needed to be strong. She'd always been strong. She couldn't give up now. Not when she had information. Not when she had leverage. Not when she had a mission.

But as the tears fell silently down her perfect makeup, Natasha realized that things were becoming more complicated than she'd anticipated.

Because as much as she wanted to hate him, as much as she wanted to resist him, part of her was beginning to understand why Viktor had begged so desperately.

Part of her was beginning to understand the power Dimitri Volkov held.

And that terrified her more than anything else.