Chapter Four

FOUR

Marlowe Sage Kunetsov 

I sat still in the tub, staring out at nothing. It had been like a dream. I was not sure if to call it a good one or a nightmare. 

Mikhail. Mikhail Romanov. I remembered him like the back of my hand. He had always been in my heart, in the back of my mind. 

The one person I had loved asides my parents. We had been in highschool together. He had been an exchange student from Russia and he often got picked on by the guys because he didn't speak to anyone. The girls had found that mysterious and hot. Somehow, we had become friends, and then I had fallen in love with him. He had loved me too. 

I shakily inhaled, remembering the last night I saw him. I had been coming home from cheer practice and he had called me, telling me he wanted to see me. We had met at our favorite spot in the park and he had wept. He had clung to me and cried his heart out. He never told me what was wrong, no matter how much I pleaded. 

The next day, our homeroom teacher told us that his mother had passed, and he had gone back to Russia. The devastation and pain I had felt was nothing I anyone could imagine. I tried reaching out to him, but I never heard from him again. 

And I got distracted, because the very next day, news reached my mother and I from the police that my father had been brutally murdered in the town he had gone on a brief trip to. 

“Your hair,” the groomer pulled me out of my thoughts. I blinked and leaned forward, allowing her easy access to my hair. 

Mikhail had not said a word to me after I called his name the previous night. He had only dismissed me with a wave of his hand and an unreadable expression. 

I had been in a turmoil since. What was he doing back in the US? When had he gotten back here? Why had he not reached out? Why had he not spoken to me? Why… why was he at an event where people were being sold? Why did he buy me?

My heart sank and I looked at my groomer desperate. “I have a question.”

“No questions. I can't answer your questions.”

“What kind of person is Mikhail?” I asked anyway, dreading the answer. 

“No questions.” She hissed quietly. “We need to get you ready to see him. Then, you can ask your questions.”

I anxiously picked at my nails, unable to stay still. I was not sure if it was excitement or fear. 

Mikhail looked like the same person, only three years more mature and with a beard. At the same time, he felt different. We had a connection back then. Now, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just ice and a hundred foot concrete wall between us. 

“Sit still,” the groomer pleaded and I forced myself to stay still, letting her do her job. Within the next ten minutes, I was out of the tub, my hair was dry and she had bathed me in perfume that complimented the scent of my bath water; strawberry and milk. 

She pulled a skimpy-looking silk dress over my head and it settled on my midthighs, right below my ass. The neckline was plunging on both sides of the dress, front and back. Most of my cleavage was visible and my back was exposed. I fiddled with my fingers, incredibly uncomfortable.

“I can't wear this.” I felt too exposed. It was too sexual. 

She shook her head. “This is what Master Mikhail gave me.”

I took a deep breath. My back was exposed. All the scars there would be on open and I felt deeply insecure about them. Half of each of my boobs was on display. I did not know who I would meet on my way to see him. I did not want him to see me like this.

“Please,” I pleaded. She sighed, looking conflicted. She ruffled through all the satin dresses strewn across the bed and picked a black one. 

She helped me change out of the beige one and wear the black one. The dress was just a bit less revealing. Half of my back was covered but my boobs were still on display. 

She let my hair down and a soft strawberry scent enveloped me from it. Since my hair covered my back, my discomfort calmed. 

I was anxious to see Mikhail. I had a lot of questions for him, I needed a lot of clarifications for what had happened between us three years ago, I needed to know when he would let me go home to my mother, and for the love of God, I needed to know why he had me in these dresses. 

I was excited and hopeful at the prospect of seeing my mother again. Tears stung my eyes. How had she been doing? How was she coping without me?

We made our way out of the room and I was conscious of the way my boobs threatened to spill out of the dress, conscious of the tiny panties the groomer had given me. 

She led me to a door down the hallway and gestured towards it. I took a shaky breath, trying to calm my racing heart. 

“Go in. He invited you earlier. He doesn't like sudden noises so we can't knock.”

I nodded and hesitantly touched the door knob. I turned it and pushed the door inwards. 

“Who is it?” I heard his voice and my heart fluttered almost painfully. I came to a shocking realization. He still made me feel the same way I did back in highschool. I still had feelings for him. 

I spotted him sitting at the edge of the large bed. “Marlowe. It's Marlowe,” I said timidly, noticing that his beard was gone. He looked more like the man I knew. He was incredibly handsome, so handsome it took my breath away. 

“Hey,” I added, walking towards him slowly. I was embarrassed by what I was wearing. I wanted to tell him that I didn't like it and I'd prefer some proper clothes. 

“What are you wearing?” His voice was quiet but I was startled by the question. 

“I… I don't like it either. I th6ought it was a little weird that you'd give instructions for me to wear this.”

He stared at me with cold scrutiny that made my skin crawl. Something was seriously wrong here. With him. 

“This is not what I asked you to wear.” 

I swallowed, confused. Fear started to grow within me. 

“Malia,” he called and the door immediately swooped open. My groomer came in. She looked terrified. 

“Yes master?”

“What is she wearing?”

“O-one of the dresses you provided.”

“Not the one I told you I wanted her to wear, is it?” Goosebumps rose on my skin at the way he said those words. Malia cowered. 

I realized that I had put her in trouble with her boss. 

“Mikhail, I asked her to give me something l-less revealing. It…it's not really a big deal.” I tried to lighten the mood. 

He glanced at me for a second and looked back at Malia. “Is she your boss?” He stood and took a steo towards her. Malia staggered backwards and that was when I noticed that I had shifted backwards too. 

This man… this man was not Mikhail. This was a demon. Only demons affected people this way. The sinking feeling in my stomach expanded and I worried that I would get swallowed up by it.

“N-no sir.”

“Get that dress now, and go wait for Maxim to find you.”

Malia scurried off and he walked towards me. I was painfully aware of the fact that we were alone. I was scared. No, I was terrified. 

His eyes were cold, dead. His presence was oppressing. 

“Mikhail,” I swallowed.

“Yes, Marlowe?” His voice was calm, unnerving. The way he said my name caused flutters in me again. I was pathetic. 

“What's going on?” I asked carefully. 

“Whatever do you mean?” He circled me and I held my breath. 

“I… I don't understand. Why are you acting like this?” My fear as spiking the agitation I was feeling.

“Are those all your questions?” He appeared in my line of vision again, standing in front of me. He closed the distance between us, his chest almost touching mine. 

“When do I get to go home?” I managed breathlessly. My entire body throbbed with fear and a strange excitement at the way he looked at me. 

“You don't.” His head tilted to the side and for the first time, I saw a break in his expression. There was dark amusement in his eyes.

“What?” My voice was weak. 

“You aren't going home, Marlowe. You're mine.”