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Chapter Eight
Petsa ng paglalathala:
2026-04-09 17:44:14
Pinakabagong kabanata
The Debt Of Sin: I’m sleeping with my husband son! Chapter Ten
I move quietly toward the main door, my heels barely making a sound against the carpeted floor. My pulse is still elevated, though not from what I overheard. It is from the accumulation of everything the party, Viktor’s grip, my father’s dismissal, the private tears, and now this strange accidental proximity to something so intimate and unguarded.I reach the door.I open it slowly.And stop.He is standing there.Not inside the room.Not approaching.Just outside the doorway in the corridor, as though he has been there long enough to settle into stillness.Roman.He does not startle. He does not step back. He does not look surprised to see me emerge from that particular room.He is simply there.The corridor lighting casts subtle shadows along the sharp lines of his face, emphasizing the quiet severity of his expression. His suit is immaculate, black against the warm gold glow of the mansion, his posture relaxed but deliberate. One hand rests loosely at his side. The other is tucked
The Debt Of Sin: I’m sleeping with my husband son! Chapter Nine
I do not know how long I remain seated on the cold marble floor after the tears subside. Time feels suspended inside the quiet of the bathroom, detached from the polished perfection unfolding beyond its walls. The silk of my gown pools around me like something that belongs to a different woman, someone composed and unbreakable, someone who does not crumble behind locked doors. My reflection in the mirror looks distant, as though I am observing a stranger who simply happens to wear my face. The faint discoloration around my hand has deepened slightly, subtle but undeniable, and the humiliation lingers far heavier than the ache beneath my skin. I tell myself to stand. I tell myself to breathe. I tell myself that composure is survival in this house. The music outside swells faintly through the walls, elegant and controlled, as if the night itself refuses to acknowledge fracture.I push myself up slowly, steadying my breathing, pressing cool water against my wrists, against the back of my
The Debt Of Sin: I’m sleeping with my husband son! Chapter Eight
By the time the investor moved on, the warmth in my fingers had turned into a sharp throb.“Excuse us,” Viktor said calmly to the next guest, and guided me slightly aside, though not far enough to draw attention.His smile remained in place, but his eyes were ice.“You do not speak beyond what is necessary,” he murmured without moving his lips.“It was not deliberate,” I replied quietly.“That is the problem.”His fingers tightened again, and this time there was no mistaking the warning. The pain flared, but I refused to react outwardly. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.“I understand,” I said evenly.“Do you?” His tone was almost conversational. “Because tonight is not about your understanding. It is about precision.”“I handled this entire evening.”“And nearly fractured it with one careless sentence.”The music swelled slightly as the quartet transitioned into another piece. Around us, laughter rose again.“Smile,” he instructed softly.I did.He released m
The Debt Of Sin: I’m sleeping with my husband son! Chapter Seven
The Morozov mansion never feels larger than it does on the nights when it is opened to the world.From the moment I woke up that morning, I was moving. Instructions, confirmations, seating adjustments, floral revisions, lighting tests, security updates, menu changes, wine pairings, guest arrivals, press restrictions. Every corridor echoed with footsteps and quiet tension. The staff did not make it easy. They listened, but they did not accept. There is a difference. I could see it in the way some of them exchanged glances when I corrected a detail or asked for something to be redone. I was not born Morozov, and in this house that fact is stitched into every curtain and carved into every marble column.Still, I handled everything.If I was going to be displayed tonight, then the display would be flawless.By late afternoon, the mansion had transformed into something almost surreal. Crystal chandeliers reflected warm gold light across polished floors. The staircase was lined with cascadi
The Debt Of Sin: I’m sleeping with my husband son! Chapter Six
The drive back to the mansion feels longer than usual. The gates open slowly, deliberately, as if even they hesitate to let me in.I got out of the car, still deep in thoughts. Trying to figure out what’s really at play here. Why the sudden change in my father’s attitude towards me? What went wrong? What happened? Why has my mother refused to see me as well? What was really their deal with Viktor? As I entered the house, I froze. Viktor is waiting in the main hall. Hands clasped behind his back and eyes dark like a troubled dark cloud. He always knows.“How was your visit?” he asks calmly.I didn't answer immediately. “You knew I went.”“Yes.”“Did you send someone with me?”“I don’t need to.”His eyes study my face carefully.“He called you,” I say knowingly. “My father.”Viktor doesn’t deny it.“He expressed concern.”“Concern?” I almost laughed. “About what exactly?”“Your behavior.”“My behavior? What about it?”“You forget your position.”“What position? I do not understand t
The Debt Of Sin: I’m sleeping with my husband son! chapter Five
Morning came suddenly like a thief. I got out of my bed and headed straight to the bathroom, my whole visit aching. Was it from exhaustion or from the grief and isolation that’s slowly eating me away. Then the thought of my parents crossed my mind. How are they doing? How has the business been since I got married? Married. The word still sounds foreign to me sometimes. I splash some running tap water on the mirror, blurring my face out and walking away. The Karelin building still smells the same.Polished marble. Expensive cologne. Burnt espresso from the reception desk machine that was never cleaned properly. For a moment, standing in the lobby, I almost believe nothing has changed.Almost.I had to come. I had to see them. To ask them why they’ve refused to call me or text me since the wedding. To see if everyone has been okay. The receptionist looks up, freezes, then quickly composes herself. “Mrs. Morozov.”Not Elena.Not Karelin.Mrs. Morozov. And somehow, I already knew how
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